Broadway Sacred Heart

This statue, the height of a small child, stands atop a very high wall in front of the Sacred Heart High School near where I live, above the old entrance to the primary school which used to be adjacent. For decades, probably more than a century, it has surveyed the ever-changing face of Hammersmith Broadway, spread before it. It has seen war and peace, crises and stability, and God knows how many fashions and innovations. It has looked down on ambulances and fire engines screeching past at breakneck speed, or frustratingly entangled in traffic jams, and has observed people of all ages and backgrounds pass by, careworn and heavy-laden, or carrying their hopes and joys lightly. And of course, it watched over several generations of excited, chattering schoolchildren and their teachers thronging through the gate below it; now, it watches over a daily stream of excited, chattering teens, absorbing and containing all their concerns, their dreams and ideals. 

And through it all the statue stands, mostly unnoticed, its arms and its heart open wide, in welcome and acceptance. Whenever I remember to look out for it, it feels like a reminder of this year’s Gospel for the Sacred Heart, in which Jesus invites us to come to him, especially if we are overburdened and in need of rest, and to learn from his gentle and humble Heart (Mt. 11:25-30). 

It's an invitation Jesus issues to each one of us, every day, whether through prayer, or a gentle whisper heard amid life's busyness. Come to me... learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart... An invitation to deeper intimacy, and to enter into the dispositions of his Heart: to learn from Jesus’ attitudes and ways of relating; to discover his Heart, wholly given to God and to all people, and to make those dispositions our own. In our intimacy with Jesus we can increasingly know and draw love from his Heart, for ourselves and our world. This is what widens our capacity to love; what opens our hearts, especially to wherever there is pain and suffering. 

But in recent months, whenever I've looked up, I've been noticing ivy; creeping, encircling, catching the sun and bringing grey stone alive. Where streams of blood and living water once flowed, ivy now flourishes, bobbing and waving a greeting in the wind. The statue is undergoing a slow, literally creeping transformation. And - call me fanciful - but I do believe it now seems exultant, delighting in its greening and new life. And why not? Isn't the central message that new life and transformation are always possible, especially when we allow ourselves to accept the invitation to come to Jesus, and enter into the depths of his Heart...? 

Happy feast everyone - and let's pray for each other, that we may allow Jesus' all-encompassing Heart to transform our own...