On a quiet Sunday morning, I made my way through the serene back streets of Charleston, South Carolina, heading toward the Cathedral of St. John the Baptist for Mass. The bustling downtown, just a few blocks from my path, seemed miles away as I strolled in deep contemplation. My thoughts were occupied with the indwelling of the Holy Spirit.
In his sermon “The Indwelling Spirit” Saint John Newman states that the Holy Spirit, the third person of the Trinity, God himself, resides in us. The Spirit takes up permanent residence in our heart. This is his “indwelling.” Newman writes, “This wonderful change from darkness to light, through the entrance of the Spirit into the soul” is called the New Birth. It is “a blessing which, before Christ’s coming, not even prophets and righteous men possessed, but which is now given to all people freely through the sacrament of Baptism.”
As I climbed the steps of the cathedral and walked into the church, Newman’s words about the indwelling of the Spirit were resonating deeply within me. Genuflecting, I looked up at the altar as Mass began. Suddenly, I caught my breath. At that moment I felt as though I had walked into myself! I could hardly make sense of the experience. It seemed that liturgy was happening, in some mysterious way, within me. That the liturgy was making of me a holy temple of the Lord, a dwelling-place for God in the Spirit. I remember this experience lasting for the entire Mass. It was surreal. I didn’t want to leave the church. Could I keep this alive, I wondered.
Guess what! I found that this is actually what happens at every liturgy. I didn’t have to leave the experience behind. The paschal character of the liturgy, found in the transformation of the elements of bread and wine into the living Christ, is also about our own transformation into Christ. The liturgy celebrated daily builds up those in the Church “into a holy temple of the Lord, into a dwelling place for God in the Spirit (Eph. 2:21-22), to the mature measure of the fullness of Christ (Eph. 4:13) (Sacrosanctum Concilium, n. 2).
This is why Pope Francis insists that it is not enough to have only vague thoughts of the Last Supper. In fact, he says that would do “no good.” We ourselves need to be present at that Supper, to be able to hear Christ’s voice, to eat his Body and to drink his Blood (cf. Desiderio Desideravi, n. 11). When we are present at his Supper, in the Eucharistic Liturgy, Christ is brought to birth in us. From the liturgy we are then sent out to give birth to Jesus for our family, our neighborhood, our parish, and all those we encounter. We are the “witnesses God had already chosen — us who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead” (Acts 10:4).
Several years after the experience mentioned, I read the book Mary, Mother of the Apostles: How to Live Marian Devotion to Proclaim Christ, by Giuseppe Forlai. The author writes, “Christ does not put himself alongside a person’s life, but by right penetrates that person to his or her intimate depths: he is more ‘us’ than we are ourselves” (Mary, Mother of Apostles, p. 13).
Forlai explains that Mary, the prototype of every believer, is the first dwelling place of the Son. With the mystery of the incarnation, “in which the eternal Word took mortal flesh in the womb of Mary,” all that is “divine descended into the human, and all that is human has been poured into the divine and transformed.” In the Incarnation, states Forlai, there is “the contact between the reality of God and the reality of flesh.” As the Holy Spirit worked this marvelous exchange in the womb of Mary, he works it also in us. For example, Forlai says, we can freely offer ourselves to the Lord and invite him into our own lives, saying, “Lord I am sad, come yourself to live your sadness in me. I am consoled. Come in me to live your gratitude to the Father. I am dying, come to live your death in me,” and so on.
In her Magnificat, Mary, Spouse of the Holy Spirit, reminds us that this marvelous exchange is not due to our effort or strength, “for he has looked upon his handmaid’s lowliness” (Lk. 1:46-55).
Everything changes when we begin to understand how the liturgy transforms us. My prayer becomes more focused on Christ, on his incarnation and paschal mystery unfolding within me. The Rosary, especially, leads me into the mysteries of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection. Mary, who always cherished her memories of Jesus, invites me to delve deeply into the mysteries of her Son’s loving gift of redemption. Through this prayer, I deeply absorb and internalize what the liturgy presents—Christ’s life, death, and resurrection. “By immersing us in the mysteries of the Redeemer’s life, [the Rosary] ensures that what he has done and what the liturgy makes present is profoundly assimilated and shapes our existence” (Rosarium Virginis Mariae, n. 13).
The Rosary draws inspiration from the liturgy itself and reconnects us to it (Marialis Cultus, n. 48). Just as the liturgy shapes us into a sacred temple for the Lord, a place for God’s Spirit to dwell (Eph. 2: 21-22), meditating on the Rosary’s mysteries is a powerful reminder that Christ dwells in us (Gal. 2:20). Inspired by the liturgy, the Rosary naturally brings us back to the liturgy (Marialis Cultus, n. 48).
The truth that I experienced so profoundly that day in the cathedral of Charleston is realized in all of us at the liturgy. Liturgy builds us into a holy temple of the Lord, a dwelling place for God in the Spirit (Eph. 2:21-22). As I meditate on the mysteries of the Rosary, I am reminded that the life of Christ is lived in me and through me.
Now you can join us and your favorite Pauline Books & Media authors in prayer on our new Pauline Books & Media Spotify channel. Featuring the traditional Rosary with the Daughters of St. Paul, as well as Rosaries for specific intentions—like our new Virtue Rosary with Kelsey Gillespy and the Rosary for Complainers with Sr. Mary Lea Hill—we hope this new channel will help you lift your mind and heart to God, wherever you are.
