Rapture
This essay first appeared on print on Pentecost 14 years ago in Sr. Cecille’s column “Solid Places” in the Sunday Inquirer Magazine. ONE of the simple joys of “maidenhood” is the occasional chance to visit the family and babysit one’s little nieces and nephews. The longing makes one receptive to what these kids have to teach us faded and jaded grown-ups, with the added bonus that when their angelic dispositions expire and they turn cranky, one can always return them to their parents without qualm or conscience. (My harried sister, taking back a squirming toddler in her arms, once lamented: “I wish they came with batteries!”) I was babysitting my 10-month-old niece, who was at that climbing and exploring stage when I was momentarily distracted. Before I knew it, she had discovered the marvels of the dining table’s underbelly, and was now examining the intricacies of our dog’s fur. Our dog, a gentle and affectionate German Shepherd, suffered the indignity with calm resignation. I hastily plucked the sticky-fingered pint-sized explorer and carried her off to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. I held her in front of me, and seated her on the rim of the sink with her feet on its cool surface. As I held her tiny hands under the tap and turned the faucet on, she blinked in surprise and slowly turned to look at me, her eyes big as saucers, lips half parted, with the most beautiful expression on her face. It was pure rapture. Rapture filled her entire being, and it took my breath away. The memory of my baby niece’s rapturous face lingered with me for several days, and brought me to the birthday of the Church which we celebrated last Sunday. Perhaps one way of reflecting upon the feast of Pentecost, when the Spirit came upon the disciples and Mary in the Cenacle (which we Catholics commemorate as the third glorious mystery of the rosary), is to consider this experience of rapture. Three points: First, rapture means being awakened by glory into wondrous joy. From the drudgery of mere existence, we wake up to the stunning truth that, in the words of the poet-priest Gerard Manley Hopkins, “The world is charged with the grandeur of God.” Perhaps this is why they call childhood “the wonder years”——children have not lost their innocence, which is actually an innate sense of God’s goodness permeating the world, waiting to be discovered. The journey into faith involves the same awakening: the God who came, “pitched his tent among us”, suffered, died and rose again, and will stay with us forever. Life, as we knew it, is turned gloriously upside down, inside out, and made new. Second, rapture is not just surprise at some pleasant discovery. The glorious awakening by which rapture bursts upon us leads to an overflowing, joyous gratitude. It is sheer gift marked by unbelievable abundance. The disciples at Pentecost were filled with the Holy Spirit, impelling them to proclaim and bear witness to what they had experienced. So, too, shall we, when we find the grace to live life gratefully, and therefore, joyfully and passionately. Lastly, when my little niece turned to me with her rapturous smile, she did not (and could not) use words. Nor did I need any: I spontaneously responded with delight at her delight, drawn irresistibly into her joy. Perhaps that is why the disciples could speak different tongues and yet be understood by the people around them. Rapture needs no translation. Joseph Campbell, the famous anthropologist who spent his whole life studying the wisdom of the world’s cultures, was once asked what he thought people looked for in life. He surprised his interviewer by saying that, in his opinion, people were not really after the meaning of life. He said, instead: “I think that what we’re seeking is an expression of being alive. . . so that we actually feel the rapture of being alive.” Pentecost is about awakening to the glory and gratitude of a God who restores and sustains us into life in abundance. Live the rapture.
