TWO CHURCHES

 

The Lateran Basilica

Tuesday, Nov. 9, the Church celebrated the feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica in Rome, which is, as you may know, the Pope's church as Bishop of Rome. Various readings both at mass and in our monastic Office invited us to reflect on the Jerusalem temple atop Mount Zion. There were images of life-giving water flowing from the temple down into the Dead Sea, and of pagan nations coming up to Jerusalem to worship.

In honor of the feast, I searched in my little collection of postcards that I keep at my place in choir, and found one depicting the great basilica in Esztergom, Hungary, a personal favorite of mine.

Esztergom Basilica above the Danube

The basilica of Esztergom in northwest Hungary sits high on a mount, dominating the countryside for miles around, and looking down on the Danube that curls past the foot of the mountain. The noble domed church is visible  at a great distance from every direction. It is the church of Cardinal Mindszenty, who stubbornly opposed the Communist government who then placed him under house arrest. But all during that time of persecution the basilica stood on its mountain as a symbol of freedom and of God's infinite care.

When the Church celebrates the dedication of a church building, she often presents us with the image of the Holy City, Jerusalem. Consider this passage from Isaiah:

 This is what Isaiah, son of Amoz, saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.

Zion, the Royal City of God

In days to come,

The mountain of the LORD’s house

shall be established as the highest mountain

and raised above the hills.

All nations shall stream toward it.

Many peoples shall come and say:

“Come, let us go up to the LORD’s mountain,

to the house of the God of Jacob,

That he may instruct us in his ways,

and we may walk in his paths.”

For from Zion shall go forth instruction,

and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. (Ch. 2:2-3)

Picturing the basilica of Esztergom on its mount like a new Jerusalem, I laid the picture next to my hymnbook. As I did so, I noticed another card that was already there, this one depicting the fortified monastery on the shore of the little Mediterranean island of Lerins. The contrast between the two pictures was startling. 

Fortified Monastery of Lerins

Let me describe the second so that you can see the contrast for yourself. The other card shows the curious fortified monastery building on the southern coast of the isle of St.. Honorat in the bay of Cannes. It seems that Muslims had begun to visit the island to pillage, kidnap and even kill the monks. But rather than abandon their sacred island, the monks built a monastery-fortress, a box-like stone structure with no windows and only a single small door at the top of a narrow external stone staircase. Every time Muslim ships were sighted, the monks quickly retreated into their fortified monastery and waited for the danger to pass. You can't imagine a more forbidding and less welcoming structure. Which was, of course, the whole idea. 

So now as I placed these two pictures side by side on my choirstall I was truly taken by surprise at the contrast between the two. I immediately thought of these images as two very different views of the role of the church in the world. 

The fortress church, made entirely of walls and one tiny well-defended door. And the Jerusalem Church, a beacon of hope, inviting and welcoming all peoples of the world. You can fill in the rest of this plot, I'm sure, and decide which of the two pictures of the Church you're more comfortable with.

As the Office of Vigils continued, I began to reflect on the contrast of the two pictures in terms of myself, of my way of being in the world, the way I come across to others. Am I more like "the fortress church, made entirely of walls and one tiny well-defended door?" Or am I more like "the Jerusalem Church, a beacon of hope, inviting and welcoming all peoples of the world?" 

It was an interesting Office of Vigils that night!

The Heavenly Jerusalem  (Rev. 21:1-27)