Am I worthy?
Picture a lonely creature in the vastness of a cathedral, her feet making no sound on the cold marble floor. Like a scolded puppy seeking reconciliation, she inches toward the altar – two steps forward, one step back – gaze lowering and raising in an uncertain dance of longing. The golden tabernacle gleams ahead, but the space between feels vast and laden with invisible barriers. “Am I worthy to come closer?” asks her hesitant advance, each careful step a prayer of its own.
To the faithful priests who guard these sacred spaces with devotion, I offer deep gratitude. Your hands break bread, pour wine, and hold the holy moments that feed our souls. Yet something profound stirs within me when I witness how this bread, though meant for all, remains so carefully measured in its sharing. I’m not not asking to overturn the altar – I’m asking to be recognized as bearers of sacred hunger, called by the same Spirit that moves through these ancient stones.
In the Presence of Mystery
And so we learn to navigate these sacred spaces like eager puppies, our very enthusiasm both gift and burden. The Spirit moves strongly within us, our hearts leap at the sight of broken bread, yet we must carefully measure our steps. Each tentative advance toward deeper ministry feels like a delicate dance – when to step forward, when to pause, when to simply be still in the presence of Mystery.
In this holy choreography, we’re asked to master countless moves. “Sit in humble silence, bow in reverence, step back from the sacred.” The directions come softly but firmly, shaping our every movement near the altar. Some days, our spiritual sensitivity earns us a closer glimpse of sacred presence; other days, even our deepest devotion seems to fade into cathedral shadows. The bread of belonging is offered in careful morsels, as if our hunger might somehow diminish its abundance.
Love’s Transforming Power
But what if – just imagine – what if this puppy were allowed to grow into her full nature as a she-dog? Not just an observer of sacred mysteries, but a guardian in her own right? Picture her then: alert and dignified, her senses heightened by years of faithful watching. She knows every whisper of incense, every flutter of altar cloth, every shadow that moves across the sanctuary floor. This is no tamed pet seeking approval, but a creature fully alive in her calling, her vigilance a testament to love’s transforming power.
Here she sits now, by the tabernacle, head held high – no longer questioning her presence, no longer apologizing for her place. Her posture speaks of quiet certainty, knowing that when her true Master returns, He will find her exactly where she’s meant to be. Not in the margins, not in the shadows, but in the heart of His house, where she has always belonged.
Home and Freedom
For this is the deepest truth: our feminine presence at the altar isn’t a challenge to tradition but a completion of it. Like Mary’s perfume filling the house with its fragrance, our Spirit-led ministry seeks only to enhance the beauty of worship. We wait, we watch, we serve – not because we’re trained to, but because we’re called to. And in this calling, we find both our freedom and our home.
