Last weekend when I was too far from home to see any results of my healing prayer for Dad or activate some miracle (as if I’d have the power) or even know where answered prayer was, we went into an old church in Parma called San Giovanni Evangelista—John, the Evangelist.
It was dark and the place was closing up, all the lights were off and the only person around was an old monk. “Can you turn the lights on for us, please?” we asked, our Italian host slipping the man a 10-euro note. “These people have come all the way from New York to see this place.” A slight exaggeration, but maybe it would work.
Whether her plea or the 10-euro note affected a spiritual transformation, with just a little grumbling, the monk began flipping on lights. “Here,” he pointed to the dome above us, “is a vision of God painted by the great artist Correggio.” We looked up to a magnificent ceiling painting of Jesus descending from heaven, a vision of clouds and light.
“But this is where we sit when we worship,” he lead us up to the choir and the benches where the monks usually sit. He turned back to the dome and the vision of God in the heavens. “As you can see, from here, we cannot see God or his heavens.”
It was true. The glories of the dome were shielded from view. “What we see instead is the writer.” All they could see was John, the evangelist, looking up from his writing. “And that is what we focus on.”
He left us to consider the lesson. When you’re in the dark, when you’re not sure what the right thing to pray for is, when your family feels very far away, there’s still something to focus on. In this case I recalled what John recorded from his vision: “I am the alpha and the omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last…” God at work even when we can’t see it.
Next week I’m going out to California to see Dad. From all reports he’s doing much better. There’s prayer for you.
