Love is always drawing us toward union, and union naturally opens into communion. Yet communion is so easily fractured. I think of the great cathedrals, Notre Dame, Chartres, each one slowly worn down by an atmosphere that seems harmless at first glance. Pollution settles invisibly on stone, and over time even the strongest structures must be repaired.
Our life together is just as vulnerable. The atmosphere around us matters.
Communion erodes not usually through dramatic failures but through the subtle pollutants of the heart: the quiet turn toward self‑interest, the impulse to control, the ease with which we judge or reduce someone to their limitations. Even generosity can sour when we take back what we once offered freely. And jealousy—that small, sharp contraction of the heart—can cloud our vision of one another until Christ’s presence is quietly replaced by our own fears. When we drift from Him in these ways, we inevitably drift from one another.
Yet there is a deeper truth: communion is not something we manufacture. It is something we receive when Christ’s life flows through ours. The only true communion is in Him.
When we return to His presence, letting Him cleanse the atmosphere around our relationships, love becomes possible again. What has been worn down can be restored. What has cracked can be mended. And we find ourselves once more drawn into the union for which we were made.
Smitten With Goodness 