Opening a Door into God

Today, Pope Francis opens the third Holy Door for the Jubilee of Hope.  The first was opened on Christmas Eve in Saint Peter’s Basilica; the second was opened on St Stephen’s Day in Rebibbia Prison; the third is opened in the church of St John Lateran; the fourth will be opened on the Solemnity of the Mother of God in the church of St Mary Major; and the fifth and final door will be opened on Epiphany in the church of St Paul Outside the Walls.

In his Christmas “Urbi et Orbi” message, Pope Francis explains the symbolism of the door:
“Today, amid the travail of our times, the eternal Word of salvation is once more truly made incarnate, and speaks to every man and woman, to the whole world. This is the message: ‘I love you, I forgive you; come back to me, the door of my heart is open for you!’”

In other words, God’s act of becoming incarnate is the archetypal holy door, the passage created between heaven and earth, between God and man.  A door overcomes divisions, not by breaking down the wall, not by eliminating differences, but creating a space of passage, a place of encounter.

The month of January, as the beginning of the calendar year, takes its name from the Latin word for door – janus.  The Roman god Janus, who was associated with doors, gates, and beginnings, was pictured as having two faces, one young, one old, one looking back, one looking forward, uniting opposites.  I think of the hymn for Sts Peter and Paul, in which Peter is called janitor Caeli – the doorkeeper of the heavens.  The porter in a monastery carries out this important role of creating a space of encounter between the monastic community and the people who come to the door to ask for prayers or to receive hospitality.

In today’s gospel, we see Jesus himself at the age of twelve, stepping across a threshold.  He is about to step into adulthood.  And in his relationship with his Father, he is being drawn to take a step closer.  He expresses this physically, by entering the Jerusalem Temple, which he calls “my Father’s house” (Lk 2:4).  In a famous image of this moment, we see the young Jesus standing in the temple with the elders, having just been found by his distraught parents.  On the door of the temple we see inscribed the words of the prophet Malachi in Latin and Hebrew:
     “And the lord whom you seek will come suddenly to his temple;
     The messenger of the covenant whom you desire.” (Mal 3:1)
The Lord comes to his temple – seeking his Father, seeking himself, his own identity and mission.  The implied question is, is he recognized?  Is he welcomed?  Is he received?  Can he set up his home there?


If we ask: where does the jubilee door lead?  It leads into God, into Christ, the place where we belong:
“This is the meaning of the Holy Door of the Jubilee, which I opened last night here in Saint Peter’s Basilica: it represents Jesus, the Door of salvation open for all. Jesus is the Door; the Door that the Father of mercies has opened in the midst of our world, in the midst of history, so that all of us can return to him. We are all like lost sheep; we need a Shepherd and a Door to return to the house of the Father. Jesus is that Shepherd; Jesus is the Door.”

The evocation of the Key of David among the O-antiphons always brings forth the image of the door as an invitation to closeness, to intimacy.  We remember the words of the book of Revelation: “I have left an open door before you, which no one can close” (Rev 3:8), the vision of “an open door to heaven” and the invitation to “come up here” (Rev 4:1).  And then there is the corresponding cry of the Lord, like the bridegroom of the Song of Songs, asking to be let in: “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, [then] I will enter his house and dine with him, and he with me” (Rev 3:20).

William of St Thierry takes St Thomas’s hesitant touch of Jesus' wounded heart to another level altogether:
“I want to see and touch the whole of him and – what is more – to approach the most holy wound in his side, the portal of the ark that is there made, and that not only to put my finger or my whole hand into it, but wholly enter into Jesus’ very heart, into the holy of holies, the ark of the covenant.”
(William of St Thierry, On Contemplating God)

I was struck by the poem we heard on Christmas Eve from our Brother Christophe of Atlas, which draws on the same themes:

“It is like this in the heart,
that is to say,
one must open the doors very wide.

Marveling, I contemplated
the Gospel of God.
The book between us was wide open.

When the second door opened,
first of all I trembled before this infinity
so close,
accessible and poor as a stable.

Showing me the inside of the house,
you let me into the secret,
this wound toward the inside.
Inviting me further in,
you were offering me
the asylum of the kingdom.

The future between us
is a great open silence.”

The reference to a “second door” evokes the existence of multiple veils in the temple leading to the Holy of Holies.  There are multiple veils, multiple sets of doors, multiple passages the lead us closer to God, deeper into intimacy with him and into the fullness of who he is calling us to become.  We may feel that we have said “yes” have opened a door, have entered a new place, or welcomed God into our lives more deeply, but there is always more.

Pope Francis names the fear that can pertain to making this passage:
“Often we halt at the threshold of that Door; we lack the courage to cross it, because it challenges us to examine our lives. Entering through that Door calls for the sacrifice involved in taking a step forward, a small sacrifice.”

The door is opened “in the midst of our world, in the midst of history” in the midst of confusing and seemingly contradictory events in the world, as part of human history, and within us as part of our own personal history.  These outer and inner events must be understood as invitations to enter the Lord’s will more deeply; they must be recognized as doors.  This evokes fear of change, of the unknown, of what may be asked of us, of what we may become.  The Lord’s invitation may bring with it the need for painful self-knowledge and purification:
“But who can endure the day of his coming?
    Who can stand firm when he appears?
For he will be like a refiner’s fire,
    like fullers’ lye.” (Mal 3:2)
It may be that we think we are ready to receive him, but actually put it off with superficial concerns or questions, as does the bride in the Song of Songs:
“I have taken off my robe,
    am I then to put it on?
I have bathed my feet,
    am I then to soil them? …
I opened for my lover—
    but my lover had turned and gone!
    At his leaving, my soul sank.
I sought him, but I did not find him;
    I called out after him, but he did not answer me.” (Song 5:3, 6)

But God is faithful and patient.  He will keep bringing us to open doors and keep inviting us to step across the threshold.

Allow me to conclude with the words of Pope Francis for this jubilee year:
“Let us open to him the doors of our hearts, as he has opened to us the door of his heart.”

Source: Pope Francis, Urbi et Orbi Christmas 2024

Image: William Holman Hunt, The Finding of the Saviour in the Temple