Divine Dialogue of God with the Soul
When I was in Catholic grade school, times were simpler and safer. At the noon recess (a full hour!) we fourth graders and older were allowed to walk with a partner down to Main Street to visit the shops and make childish purchases—popcorn, a record, a pad of paper for homework. For me it was a welcome break from school, which I found very hard. My friend Marcia and I went off campus every day, but we didn’t head for Main Street. We went instead to the Catholic Church which was on the way if we took a side street. I remember my heart racing as we climbed the tall steps and pulled open the heavy brown doors leading into the silent, dark church. The little red candle up in front flickered a welcome to us, telling us that Jesus was at home. So was I.
I recall the fragrance of incense and old candles. We would walk up to the altar rail and pray silently. I can never forget Marcia’s fervor. She knelt with her hands folded, fingertips to her lips, eyes closed, and I knew she and Jesus were deep in conversation. Prayer didn’t come so easily for me then, but how I loved to be there, drinking in the presence of the One I loved. I don’t know how long we knelt, Marcia and I, though we went from statue to statue before coming back to the center of the altar rail, but we somehow always made it back to school right on time. We didn’t talk much on the way back. I think we both wanted to hold close the love that had embraced us, emanating from the tabernacle. That knowledge was a gift from the wonderful Sisters who taught us the Mystery of the Eucharist.
I wish I could say I was a model student. Far from it. But I hardly ever missed those noontime visits with Jesus. He never asked me my times tables or where my homework was. He loved me, and I loved Him, in my poor, childish way. That was enough to get me through my days, week after week, year after year, until, early in high school, I left home to become a Sister. I yearned to live in a house where the little red candle welcomed me…. It still does.
The memory of those noontime visits with Jesus comes back to me often when I am before the Blessed Sacrament now, these six decades later. How blessed I was to have parents and teachers who believed in the beauty of the Holy Eucharist and regular attendance at Mass. Church was part of the fabric of our lives for my friend Marcia and my brothers and sister. We grew up with as much comfort in church as we experienced at home. We knew we were loved by God in His divine presence.
In this Year of Eucharistic Revival (with two more to come) let our prayer be gratitude for the Holy Eucharist, the dying gift of Jesus. Let us pray for those who first taught us to honor Him there, and who first brought us to Holy Communion. Let us call to mind those times we may have strayed from the practice of our faith and were called gently back by the Mercy of our God who always forgives. Above all let us rediscover, or rekindle if there is such a need, the love of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament that we knew as children, and then pray for families who may have drifted from Him. He may be found just a block away, if we take a side street, behind the heavy doors of the Church where you will remember the fragrance of incense and old candles. Look for the little red candle, flickering you a welcome.
Your Jesus awaits you.
and then