The Sacred Heart of Christ

Building Basilicas with Our Lives

I just returned from a meaningful trip to Paris and, boy, do I have a story to tell you! But the story is for later when I can take it slowly and do it justice.

Today I want to explore an aspect of my time in Paris that has lingered in my heart in an unusual way. I’ve learned this kind of lingering means God is knocking; and the best thing to do when God knocks is to open the door and invite God in.

We visited a Basilica named Sacre´ Coeur, which was recently designated a French historical monument amid much controversy. The site was consecrated as a gift of penitence from France to Christ, a prayer of atonement for France’s sins and a symbol of trust, hope, and faith in God following a searing military defeat of France by Prussia. This eventually became a “National Vow,” and the construction of the Basilica was voted on and approved by France’s parliament.

At the center of the Basilica is the jaw-dropping Apse Mosaic, 475 square metres of Christ in glory, clothed in white, with arms extended, his golden heart blazing from his chest. Featured around him are various saints, the Virgin Mary, Joan of Arc, a personification of France offering her crown and Pope Leo XIII offering the world. At the base of the mosaic is the inscription: To the Sacred Heart of Jesus. France fervent, penitent, and grateful.”

I had been to Sacre´ Coeur before and, of course, found it beautiful. I recall that it paled in comparison to Notre Dame or Sainte Chapelle, in my opinion.

This time, though, my feet felt cemented to the ground as I stared at the mosaic which covers the domed roof. It seemed like one of the most beautiful sights my eyes had ever seen.

I felt heat rising in my chest as I stared at the artist’s rendition of the gaze of Christ – intense, focused, penetrating. His open arms were wider than I remembered. I found a seat, not so much for better visuals, but because I felt like a student whose revered instructor just entered the room. Taking a seat seemed like the only appropriate thing to do.

Then there was his body. Instead of a fixed position, I saw movement now. He was coming toward me.

He was coming toward us all – every soul, every created thing, the world.

And what stood out most about him was his golden heart. The artist made sure to emphasize its importance – prominent, centered, unmissable. This intense, focused Christ was approaching with arms opened wide, his sacred heart no longer hidden inside his chest but blazing from the inside-out for the world to see.

My eyes stinging with tears, I suddenly understood the French inscription and why penitence was the perfect word for the foundations of this building. As I reflect on the word penitence juxtaposed against the sacred heart of Christ, I’m reminded of Jonah’s complaint to God after his own reluctant ministry to his enemies in the city of Nineveh which led to their repentance and salvation:

“O Lord! Is this not what I said while I was still in my own country? That is why I fled to Tarshish at the beginning, for I knew that you are a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from punishment. And now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better to die than to live.” – Jonah 4:2-4

Jonah gets a bad rap for disobeying God and generally missing the point, but at least his why is better than mine has been. Jonah fled from God’s mission because he knew the heart of God. He was intimately familiar with this God who was gracious, merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and always relenting from punishment. The God represented in the Apse Mosaic would not have surprised Jonah or taken away his breath. It was precisely the sacred heart of God that caused Jonah to flee, reluctantly submit, and then want to die.

And, in this way, Jonah and I are quite aligned.

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God has long been disabusing me of my delusions that there’s “us and them” when it comes to God’s love and faithfulness. Slowly, over the course of at least a decade, my carefully crafted worldview in which I’m on God’s team and my role is to let others know that they’re bad and convince them (and myself) that I’m good, has been thoroughly dismantled. And, in the dismantling, I’ve often felt like death would be easier. It can be devastating to keep returning to the realization that you’re a sinner.

Here’s the truth: People are invited into Christianity with the gospel message that they are sinners in need of a Savior and that Jesus is the Savior they need. The next steps are to confess sin, repent from it, “accept Jesus as Lord and Savior,” and then begin to attend church, read the Bible, and pray. It’s a tried-and-true formula.

After a while, though, the same sinners-who-needed-a-Savior begin to identify more with Christianity (and some might argue Christendom) than with being a beloved human who is being saved by God’s faithfulness and love. And this is because they never actually became acquainted with the true and sacred heart of God. They didn’t have time. There were doctrines to learn and statements to sign and virtue signaling to achieve. They needed to become part of the in-group immediately. Eventually, they become institutionalized, band more tightly together in groups and then, before you know it, they’ve forgotten who they are and from where they’ve come.

Somehow other people’s sin becomes more obvious and more…well…sinful than their own. They find slick ways to differentiate their sins from others:

They have struggles, but others have sin.

They are working on __________________, but others are perpetually living in sin.

Sure, they’re not perfect; but others are clearly giving in to temptation.

They have moments of weakness, while others have moments of wickedness.

There’s a difference between their sin and others’ sins. Anyone can see that, right?

They’ve taken Christianity and made it a lifestyle of cognitive bias, semantics games, protecting of blindspots, and biblical proof texts. This is just like Jonah, an Israelite who was well acquainted with his own people’s sin. And it’s also just like me, a person who spent too many years of her life ignoring and/or petting her own sins while pointing her fingers at the sins of others.

This is often the ghastly high price of being part of the in-group – you forget who you are and who others are. More importantly, you forget who God is.

As I sat in the Basilica, like a student taking her appropriate place at the feet of her Teacher, the reality that we are all in the same boat washed over me afresh.

You, me, Joan of Arc, the unwed pregnant teenager, the Pope, kings and queens, drug addicts, war vets, criminals, the Apostles, the Taliban, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, rich people, poor people, Mother Teresa…we’re all in desperate need of the golden, sacred heart of Christ.

I’m sorry to break this to you, but you sin daily, and your sins have damaging consequences for you and others. The same is true for me and every other sucker on this planet. None of us are squirming away from that intense, focused gaze of Christ. He is approaching and He sees us.

He sees us wagging our crooked fingers at others. He sees how we pridefully represent His heart in such a way that it makes people doubt whether they are welcomed within it. He sees us impatiently demanding change from others, while sitting stagnant in our own failures.

I don’t know about you, but I’m not okay with Him seeing that in me. As His sacred heart approaches and those arms open wider, there is no way I’m going to keep wagging my finger at others.

Instead, I want to reach out and offer to hold their hands. I want to tell them I understand what’s it like to be afraid, lost, rebellious, and confused. I want to cup their chins and ask them to look up at that sacred heart and those open arms and that determined gaze. I want to remind them – and myself – that this approaching God is gracious, merciful, slow to anger, abounding in steadfast love, and always relenting from punishment.

I want to be so busy doing this that I forget about being a part of the in-group and that the “us and them” categories lose all meaning for me. I want to be so busy gathering, loving, and helping people that when I’m finally staring into the real eyes of God, held in the real arms of the Divine, and brought into the real heart of Christ that I can honestly say:

My life has been a Basilica built for You. It was dedicated to You, slowly, and amid much controversy. I welcomed everyone within it. And the inscription at the foundation of it all reads: To the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Amber, fervent, penitent, and grateful.”

Amen.

If heavenly grace and true charity come in, there shall be no envy or narrowness of heart, nor shall self-love keep its hold. For divine charity overcomes all, and dilates all the powers of the soul.

— St. Therese of Liseaux, who dedicated her entire life and vocation to Christ at Sacre Coeur when she was 14 years old