At first it may seem odd to have a feast for a basilica, as Catholics do today for St. John Lateran. But then consider: during the World War II Nazi occupation of Rome, Monsignor Hugh O’Flaherty (yup, Irish) rescued over 4000 Jews and Allied prisoners of war through a clever network of hiding places in churches, monasteries and homes. (The daring exploit was recorded in the film The Scarlet and the Black, 1983.) That feat makes even more special a tradition that has always revered sacred spaces. Furthermore, Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians tells people they are sacred dwellings: “You are God’s building…Do you not know that you are the temple of God?” (3:9, 11)
While scripture and tradition say clearly that churches should be places for good news, beautiful art and music, nurture, affirmations–never condemnations–most of us learn in more domestic spaces what Jesus means by “make your home in me as I make mine in you.” What a blessing it is to stay (or live) in a home where the welcome is authentic, the plush towels are piled high, the frig. is well stocked and the conversations are relaxed, interesting. Sometimes I think Thomas Merton, writing from his stark hermitage would laugh at me checking the thread count on the sheets. But he writes: “all our salvation begins on the level of common and natural and ordinary things….the psalms of one’s coughings and sneezings and coffee drinkings… “
And what of those who wash the dishes, change the beds, fold the towels, tuck toothbrushes and band-aids into bathroom cabinets, do the grocery shopping, cook the food, subtly make sure each room is a haven? They’d probably say, “just doing my job,” like the people in Mathew 25:37, who seem genuinely startled when they ask, “When, Lord, did we see you hungry and give you food, or thirsty and give you something to drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you?” Or they act like the good host in Lk. 14:15-24, who despite their rudeness and lame excuses, keeps inviting people to dinner: “come in that my home may be filled.”
It may seem a stretch from St. John Lateran to the local swimming pool. But there, a drama unfolded when a mom brought a boy with neurodivergence for his first swim lesson. The child was terrified, bellowing in fear as he clutched mom and teacher in a death grip. I doubted he’d be persuaded by the toys the teacher tried, but eventually, she eased him into the water. Cradling him tightly, she never let go as they tentatively entered a little shallow water. Gradually, the screams of terror turned to shrieks of delight. By the end of the lesson, the boy rode grandly as a prince on the teacher’s back as she swam a half lap to the delight of other swimmers. Mom took pictures of a quiet miracle: that teacher had helped the child feel at home in the water. So too parent-God holds us tight in a fearful world, slowly suggesting it’s our home.
Kathy Coffey 