Our Lady of Silence – Cistercian Community, Ireland
Welcome, friends in Christ.
Today, the Church invites us to celebrate something that might, at first, seem a little unusual — the dedication of a particular building in Rome: the Lateran Basilica, the cathedral of the Pope, and the mother church of all Christian churches.
It’s easy to think of this as a distant feast, about a place most of us will never visit. But it’s not really about a building. What we are celebrating is what that building represents: the Church herself — living, breathing, and built not from stone but from people. Every one of us, through baptism, has become part of this living temple where God dwells.
For us here at Our Lady of Silence, this feast speaks deeply to what it means to be a Cistercian community — and to what it can mean for each of us in our own lives. When we think of a church, we think of a place made holy, a place of prayer and encounter. The same is true of the human heart. Saint Bernard once said that the soul becomes a church when it gives itself completely to God, when every thought and every desire becomes a prayer. That’s the work of a lifetime. It’s also the invitation of this feast.
In the first reading today, the prophet Ezekiel describes water flowing out from the temple — a stream that grows deeper and wider as it goes, bringing life wherever it flows. It’s a powerful image of grace. For us, the monastery is like that temple. From the silence of this place, from our prayer, from the simple rhythm of our days, God’s grace flows quietly into the world. We don’t always see where it goes, but we trust that it reaches those who need it.
The Lateran Basilica has been rebuilt many times — after fires, earthquakes, and wars. Yet it remains standing, a sign of faith that endures. And that’s not just history; it’s a symbol for each of us. There are times when the “temple” of our own hearts falls into disrepair — when we grow weary, distracted, or disheartened. But God never gives up rebuilding us. Through forgiveness, reconciliation, and prayer, he restores us, brick by brick, into something beautiful again.
The Cistercian way is, at its heart, about becoming that living temple — a space where God can dwell. Silence, simplicity, and community life all serve that purpose. But this calling is not only for monks. Every Christian is invited to become a dwelling place for God — not in a grand or distant way, but quietly, in the ordinary moments of life.
In our noisy and anxious world, the idea of being a “temple of God” might sound strange. But imagine what it would mean if each of us became, in our own way, a place of stillness and peace — a person through whom grace flows into our families, workplaces, and friendships.
That’s really the message of this feast. It’s not about stones and statues, but about people who make space for God to live and act through them.
As we share in the Eucharist today, we remember that God’s presence doesn’t remain on the altar when we leave — it goes with us. Each of us carries something of the sacred out into the world.
So let’s ask Our Lady of Silence to help us listen deeply — to the Word of God, to the quiet movements of the Spirit, and to the needs of those around us. May she help us to be, in our own lives, living temples where Christ is welcome, and from which his peace can flow into the world.
Amen.