by Vera Grant AMMM                                              Ireland                                            31.01.2026

Reading one of Richard Rohr’s meditations on ‘Sacred Places’ he defined ‘sacred’ as something which pulls us beyond the bounds of our individual selves.  The dictionary defines sacred as something connected to a God and deserving of veneration.

I asked myself where is my sacred place?  Rohr’s suggestion that the sacred place could be sitting in the shade of an overhanging tree made me firstly think of my garden only to be quickly dismissed because it’s a place where I find solace, busyness and a sense of fulfilment but to call it sacred.  No.

Then I thought of my home, the place I look forward to returning after being away.  The sense of relief in closing the front door is for me closing out the world and at times the chaos in it.  It’s a safe place, a private place where I can be myself but is it sacred.  No.

Rohr also suggests reaching the top of a mountain as another example.  I have climbed many and can admit that after the hard slog they can be places which fill me with sheer exhaustion and relief at having reached the summit before I can start to take in the awesome majesty of the panorama.  In those latter moments it can appear like a place of tranquillity, and I can allow myself to embrace the solitude, the peace and the stillness but sacred.  No.

The one experience that stands out for me as being sacred is the day I went into the chapel and saw the door of the tabernacle flung open.  It was a Good Friday but it seemed as if it was the first time I had taken note of the void, the emptiness and the extinguished red light.  I felt at a loss, shocked and totally bereft but by habit, knelt down in the pew all the while not taking my eyes of the bare and stripped altar.  I was choked and all I could think of was, “He’s not there, He can’t hear me.”  It was like a child coming in from school and the house empty, the mother gone and no kettle boiling for the welcoming cup of tea.  I stood up and left.

The leaving was as much a shock as the empty tabernacle and walking home I berated myself for not staying, for not talking to God and telling Him how I felt.

Going back the next evening for The Easter Vigil I was on alert and witnessed the return of the newly consecrated hosts to the tabernacle and the door being closed.  Jesus had risen and was present once again.

The church is my sacred place. It’s where I feel like I am the only person in the world when I bow before the altar.  I feel God’s presence and I can sit or kneel in prayer, at ease, in awe, in a sense of security and of being loved.  The child has found its mother…all is well.