This Lent, like none other, finds the veil of trust holding our Church together, rent from top to bottom, like the Temple of old. Winds of doubt and confusion drive the faithful into desert caves of silence, to prepare their minds and hearts for unchartered tomorrows.

If we turn to 1Kings, 19; 9-14, we may find a sense of direction for our dilemma, in Elijah’s answer to Yahweh’s question: What are you doing here, Elijah?

Elijah replied with a description of the Israelites’ failure to honor the covenant: I am full of jealous zeal for Yahweh Sabaoth, because the Israelites have abandoned your covenant, have torn down your altars and put your prophets to the sword.

Elijah was then instructed to Go and stand on the mountain before Yahweh. For at that moment Yahweh was going by. A mighty hurricane split the mountains and shattered the rocks before Yahweh. But Yahweh was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake, fire. But Yahweh was not in the fire. And after the fire, a light murmuring sound. And when Elijah heard this, he covered his face with his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.

In that quiet whisper, God told Elijah to go back the same way he had come, to the desert of Damascus.

After we have prayed in our private desert caves, God may direct us to pause at the entrance and listen to his whispered instructions to return the way we had come, back to our homes, work places, parishes, listening, ever listening to grace-filled moments in our everyday worlds, with everyday people like ourselves.

And, though we may feel so at times, we know we are not alone. God has sent modern Elijahs to comfort and encourage us. Such a leader many Catholics discovered in Carlo Carretto, the author of I sought and I found.

Carretto was a leader in Italian “Catholic Action” and served as National President of Catholic Youth from 1946 to 1952. At the age of forty-four, he heard God’s call to go into the desert and joined the Little Brothers of Jesus of Charles de Foucauld.

From his desert silence, Carretto spoke of his past, how, as a young adult he was nurtured by his family, and of the experience of community in a Catholic Action group.

And, since I was untrained, the community was always careful to instill in me the humility of study, and daily meditation on the Scriptures.

At times, however, Carretto found an immense need to put aside study: Weary of reasoning, I tried to love ...I sought, for he was seeking me...I found him because he was already there, waiting for me.

This same love of God is reflected in his deep respect and love for women. He describes how angry he was when, as a young cadet in Milan at the Alpine Military Academy, he heard much loose talk, and was even tricked into going to a house of prostitution with other cadets.

Although he chose the celibate life, as a member of the Little Brothers of Jesus, founded by Charles de Foucauld, Carretto did not refuse to associate with women, of whom he said: Women, all women are my sisters.

In his book, I, Francis, Carretto advised women:

Do not let yourselves be guided by men any longer just because they are men. If you let them lead you do so because they are saints, and do not disdain the help of persons like Clare – who, though she is a woman, can tell you things of utility and power.

While the good Brother valued celibacy, he did not think it should be a requisite for the priesthood. Furthermore, he suggested that the priests of the future will be primarily those who are married, who will volunteer their services in the community, while holding down regular jobs.

From a heart that had experienced both great joy and great pain in the Church, we hear Caretto’s echoing the cries of many of our people today:

How much I must criticize you, my Church and yet how much I love you!
How you have made me suffer and yet how much I owe you.
You have given me so much scandal and yet you have made me understand holiness.

We may not want to face it, but the Church we’ve known in our lifetime is dying. A new Church is already beginning to grow, like the winter wheat, to burst forth in the warmth of a yet undated spring.

The dying isn’t easy. Dying should be a private matter, quiet and hidden from curiosity seekers, but the Church’s dying is in the public square and the national headlines, such as in the February 27th issue of Time magazine, with an article, titled “Pilfering Priests” by Tim Padgett, which we shall address next week.

Meanwhile, we move into the first week of Lent, alone in our caves, then out among our people on country roads or city highways. Let us pray for one another, for each pilgrim’s needs, that our days will be blessed with graces to be shared, and burdens made lighter by caring and loving in ways as real as placing garbage bags in the container on the walk, or visiting a sick child, or quietly reading a good book at the end of the day.

Happy, blessed first week of Lent to each of you and your loved ones.

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