Lent- A Door in the Wall

"If thou followeth a wall far enough, there must be a door in it."

One of my favorite children's books is A Door in the Wall by Marguerite de Angeli.  The story is set in Medieval England and young Robin's dream of being a knight are thwarted by a  separation from his parents, crippling illness, the plague and other circumstances beyond his control.  He is rescued and nursed back to wholeness by a friar, Brother Luke.  It is Br. Luke who assures the bitter young man that every wall must have a door.  A door to place other than the one you are in.
 http://www.amazon.com/Door-Wall-Books-Young-Readers/dp/0440227798


In my last Lenten musings, I focused on walls. The walls we erect between us and others, between us and God.  I was in Tucson and saw walls every time I left the house.  My time in Tucson has ended but during those last few days in the southwest, God opened a door in one of my walls. 





On my trip north to Colorado, I visited the Benedictine Monastery in Pecos, New Mexico.  My only other visit was in 1975 and I have wanted to return ever since.  The monastery chapel was the receptacle for a movement of the Holy Spirit that sealed my heart to God and has remained a touchstone for my spiritual life.  

I had unrealistic anticipation.  You really can't go home again.  
Sometimes home has moved, sometimes you have. 

The trees still frame the adobe structures. My eyes lifted to the same bell tower.  And the bells still ring for lauds and vigils and the daily mass.  There is a timelessness to any monastery that follows Benedict's order of prayer and work. 

 The path didn't lead to the experience I had before or the warm intimacy I expected. The people have changed, the fervor of the charismatic era has ebbed to the more traditional format, monks have come and gone. Even the buildings changed and it took a chance encounter with an elderly woman to confirm that I was not mistaken in my memories.

 But the path still led me there and it was good, both now and all those years ago.

Perhaps God knew what I needed then- a straight and obvious path, an experience that cemented my soul to Himself.  A memory to anchor me and remind me of the day the wind blew through the chapel.  The chapel with closed doors and closed windows.  The physical experience of the power of the Spirit of God.

Now my path feels more like this climb up the hills behind the monastery.

Is this the path? 

Does it need to be this steep?  

Where is it going? 

Is there something at the top or am I just wandering? 

And the next day after my hike, I was sore and had obviously pulled a muscle in my thigh.  I hadn't stretched because I didn't expect the climb.

In my spiritual walk this winter,  I have often forgotten to "stretch", to warm up my soul.  I was busy, I was sick, I was distracted and my quiet times in His presence, my warming up to His still voice were few. And when we are distracted and unaware, the unexpected tough climbs, the news that shakes our soul, the larger world that intrudes on our small world- can be wounding, injuring or even crippling.

In de Angeli's wonderful story, Robin sees his future, the only future he could imagine as the son of a valiant knight, completely changed by his crippling illness.  He was walled into a place he did not want to be.  And it took the wisdom of a godly man to help him see the possibility of a door in his wall.  But sometimes you have to go the length of the wall before the door appears.

The  gate at the monastery at Our Lady of Guadalupe Abbey
Pecos, New Mexico

Sometimes we first need  just a glimpse before we are ready for a door in the wall. 

Monastery doors

Santa Fe, New Mexico

Along the road....
Raton, New Mexico

I don't know where my new open door will lead. Once again, my path appears more like a climb and less like a stroll across a simple bridge. But in this season of Lent, I remember Jesus' somber walk to Jerusalem where He wept over her people.  His heavy climb to the cross. The cross that made it possible for me to be fully part of the great plan of God.  His are the wide open spaces outside the walls I've erected to keep myself safe and secure.  The walls that always have a door if I am willing to walk the length and watch with spiritual eyes for the opening.  

Lent - a season for preparing, for remembering, for finding our door in the wall.