Once upon a time, Luke tells us, the Church was full of awe. When a person came to faith, he or she was moved to acts of marvelous courage, selling all possessions and moving away from an individual identity into the heart of communal life. The spirit of Eucharist was infectious. Devotion abounded, prayer was continual.

Every day, people came to the church in droves, urgent to be baptized, wildly embracing a radically transformed life. They were in awe of this assembly of believers, a way of life, and all who saw them wanted a part of the action.

Is this the same church we know and love -- a Church that some times seems top-heavy with rituals and rules, and dangerously low on awe? Is this the same assembly whose members often appear estranged? Whose members are famously tight with a buck, dropping that single dollar into the basket with great mistrust and reluctance? Scholars assure us that Luke was writing more about an ideal than a commonly accepted lifestyle, it gives us little comfort.

Truth is, our reality is so painfully removed from the ideal as to make it seem nearly hopeless to reconcile the two understandings of church. Though there are some experiences in random parishes, SsPP in some ways being one of them, all too often the faithful face a bleak environment of perfunctory ritual, and boredom.

We need to learn from Thomas. A tactile expression of faith is essential. That is how we come to believe through what we see, hear, touch and smell and taste. Those who come faithfully expecting little and giving with the same measure will be challenged and changed by a vibrant assembly that they can sense.

Six years ago, when we had this scripture passage about the AWEsome early church, I received a letter from a mother (at STA).

"I see that same awe in my 4-year-old daughter. She loves everything about going to church: the big building with its small stained glass, the big Baptismal Font and the great cross; the singing, the community and all their responses, sign of the cross, and handshake of peace; the standing, kneeling, and processing to the altar. She rarely fusses, whines or gets distracted (this from a world-class fusser, true whiner, and flirt). She wants her own hymnal and insists on being on the right page for whatever song we're singing though she can't read a single word or note.
The only time her attention wanders and she suddenly needs to use the facilities is during the homily (sorry, Father). In fact, the better the homily, the more likely she will need to leave.
I realize that my daughter is one of those blessed ones, who unlike, many of us doubters, she has not seen but believes. She has no need for philosophical proofs or apologetics. She doesn't even think to ask about sin, redemption, and salvation and how it all works in the context of Jesus' life, death, and resurrection. She instinctively knows that something good takes place at Mass, and she wants to be part of it. No doubt about it."

For many, the journey of faith is mostly a walk in the dark holding a flashlight with fading batteries, religious world looming as a series of shadowy myths vaguely apprehended and only questionably relevant. These people come to church because they are supposed to be there, and they appreciate the obligation if nothing else. They come to church but do not imagine that they ARE that church. What else could explain the behavior of all those who come late, leave early and generally seem to be here to "put in their time".

If such folks showed up one Sunday to discover a party going on and encountered excitement, celebration, and palpable joy, would they feel the same awe that the early Church of Jerusalem, breaking down doors to join in?

Little Robert had been put to bed.
The nightlight in his room did not dispel the darkness,
Rather it heightened and emphasized the shadows of the darkness.
As four-year-olds are in the habit of doing, he first called for a drink of water.
Then had to go to the bathroom. When he called a third time to ask for one of his parents to come into the room with him, his mother called back to him: "Go to sleep. You will be all right. God is with you, taking care of you."
After a short silence came the reply, "Yes, but I want someone with skin on."

God is present to others in our skin. It is both an honor and a responsibility.

Do we continue live behind locked doors? Scared and keeping to ourselves? What do we do with the "peace" that Christ gives us.