The past few years have felt anything but light. Pandemics, political unrest, economic strife, wars, isolation, depression — and somewhere in the mix, even murder hornets made an appearance.
When I first embarked on my faith journey, I believed that knowing the truth was paramount to growing in my relationship with God. I thought that if I could educate myself and receive the right intellectual formation, I would be equipped to weather any storm.
For years, my faith revolved around apologetics. I devoured book after book on Church teachings and the foundations of Catholicism. This knowledge empowered me to engage in thought-provoking discussions and defend the Faith in challenging environments — whether at a secular university, in the heart of the Bible Belt, or while spending a summer immersed in largely secular European culture.
Yet, about five years ago, life began to unravel on a personal level. Even before the world seemed to spiral into chaos, I experienced a sense of discontentment and loneliness. Despite doing all the “right” things — following the rules, staying engaged in Catholic communities, listening to the podcasts, and reading the books — I couldn’t shake the feeling of isolation. Then, life’s challenges compounded. Everything that could go wrong, did.
I exhausted the usual avenues of relating to God — Scripture, devotionals, community gatherings — but nothing seemed to reach the ache in my heart. I found myself adrift and speechless before God. In my search for solace, I began attending daily Eucharistic adoration. Instead of bringing tote bags full of books, journals, and rosaries, I simply brought myself. I sat in His presence, gazing at Him with no agenda.
I recalled the words of St. John Vianney: “I look at Him and He looks at me.” My prayer life transformed into these quiet moments of staring at Him, reassuring myself that He was gazing back at me. I wish I could say that years of this practice have made me an expert at stillness — that each moment of prayer is filled with serene peace. In reality, my restless heart continues to wrestle in prayer. But even in this imperfection, I see evidence of a genuine relationship with Jesus.
In those early days of simply being with Christ, I found comfort in praying within the walls of a physical church. Although we can meet God anywhere, I was blessed to live near a stunning parish. Its cruciform structure echoed Italian artistry, while vibrant stained-glass windows evoked the grandeur of French cathedrals. The white marble altar, accented by gold leaf and intricate carvings, reflected the light streaming through the windows. Above the altar, angels and saints adorned a deep blue dome, celebrating in heavenly joy. The church itself carried the fragrance of holiness — the mingling of burning candles and lingering incense.
This beauty was not merely aesthetic; it pierced through the darkness I carried. Whenever my heart wandered or worries overwhelmed me, the beauty of the parish lifted my soul, quietly realigning me with God’s presence in the present moment.
Beauty, I realized, has the power to illuminate the shadows of our lives, gently guiding us toward goodness and truth. Without saying a word, beauty becomes a vessel for the Holy Spirit, bypassing the intellect and speaking directly to the heart.
Truth, beauty, and goodness are not rivals competing for our attention. They work in harmony, each drawing us deeper into union with the Holy Trinity. In a world fraught with division and discord, beauty steps forward as a bridge — offering a language that transcends argument and touches the soul.
While our culture often distorts and commodifies beauty, authentic beauty heals. It draws us closer to God and to one another. Real beauty restores relationships — with our story, with those around us, and most profoundly, with Jesus. It shines light into our darkest corners, leading us into the fullness of His love.
This post was originally published for Radiant magazine, an online publication of Our Sunday Visitor, in the Fall of 2023. Since Radiant is no longer actively publishing, contributors have been invited to share their articles on other platforms. This version has been refreshed and updated.
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