I had never thought about how our well-meaning adoration might have frozen the hearts of the Saints until I saw the statue of the Virgin Mary out on the lake at Loretto. That hot summer day, I sat on a bench surrounded by the glory of God in nature. God's Spirit flowed through the water, sparkling on the top of every wave; it sang in the birds' joyful chorus, and danced in the ballet of the turtles. There, in the midst of light and shadow, surrounded by an abundance of life, I saw chalk-white Mary, trapped on a concrete block in the middle of the lake, dwarfed by the majestic pine trees at her back. She looked resigned but unhappy under the hot sun, knowing that she was too heavy to float, that she would sink if she were to step off of her small, island perch. All of a sudden, I could picture her shedding the heavy stone with relief and padding softly through the fields, her robes bending back the tall grasses, her scarf blowing in the cool breeze, her kind eyes smiling in greeting at the world around her.
Inside the thick walls of the Church, our plaques and statues seem to pull us into God's presence. Yet when we take our holy story outside, we need to give it the freedom to live.
Holy Mary, come and walk with me around the lake, and smile.
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