In response to a fellow blogger who questioned why people loved their church, I have written a reflection on my relationship with the Eucharist. While I know that many people who will read this will not be Roman Catholic, I wanted to be completely honest with myself while answering this question. Why do I have such a devotion to the mass? Why do I love adoration? Why do I make sure I don’t miss my weekly meeting with my Lord at the altar? My formation in faith was greatly deepened by my relationship with my Love through the mass and time spent in adoration. I would not be as whole, as loving, as accepting, as warm, as strong, as devout or as child-like had I not spent countless hours in church and in the adoration chapel during my adolescent years. While this does not necessarily articulate the reasons why I love the Roman Catholic Church so deeply, it may shed some light on the relationship with the one others call Savior, and whom I prefer to refer to as my ‘Divine Husband’.
Thank you, as always, for allowing this to be a safe place for me to share.
“Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed”
I kneel, hands held tightly to my heart. I feel like a child who is anticipating Christmas morning. I feel His Spirit so gently beckoning my soul to come closer, and soon the waiting becomes unbearable.
First row. Second row. Third row.
My heart is racing. My face fights back the smile that so desperately wants to appear. My cheeks begin to burn:
I get to meet the most important and true man of my dreams at the altar once again.
During the week, I have such a hard time not feeling…disconnected from the world. Somehow I feel like I’m less a citizen of this culture because I live a lifestyle so outside of what might be considered ‘normal’.
And after a long week of being made invisible by the men that do not stand in the Light of Our Lord, I am reminded why I wait for the ‘right one’. This feeling that I get when I am in the presence of Him is overwhelming. This feeling of being full, of being complete…it’s worth more than anything society could promise.
It takes three for a perfect romance, and so I assume the Prince of Peace as my only spouse until my beautifully broken and earthly husband arrives to complete the trifecta.
Here, I am joy-filled in my singleness, knowing that one day a man will kneel beside me, as thrilled as I am at the prospect of meeting his Maker at the table of plenty.
I stand early. The people beside me are slow to rise and I find myself begging God for the patience and understanding not to jump over them.
“How can they be so calm?” I find myself thinking.
The Son of Man is standing in our midst! Our Savior is currently less than thirty feet from me.
How is everyone so calm…?
As we begin to move, I find my eyes gripped by the crucifix on the altar. The wounds I’ve inflicted on my Love. The lust, the pride, the envy, the rage, the profanity and disobedience. My sinfulness that drove the nails into His hands, and still He waits with arms wide open.
‘I am not worthy…’ echoes through the brokenness of my human frailty. I am not worthy of the love that He delightfully showers me with.
As a part of the body of His church, am I, too, His bride? Does He think adoringly on my presence as He watches me wait in anticipation to approach His altar?
His acceptance of His cross, His unwavering obedience and trust in His Father’s plan, and the very salvation that He seems to have given to me as a wedding gift… propels me towards His Divine body.
Before I can catch my breath, I realize I’m next. I bow, in hopes to find the right words to express my infinite joy when I approach Him, but I am overcome with emotion.
The priest raises Him before me and my Savior kisses my existence.
There is no way to articulate the complete and utter ecstasy of the initial impact that the most holy Eucharist has on my spirit. My physical being suddenly feels awake. My heart leaps, my body quivers and I am thrown into the most passionately sacred conversation with the great I Am. Each cell in my body dances and soon my heart is replaced by His. They beat in unison, and each beat is a hymn in adoration of His mercy and love for His children.
Our romance, our covenant, is one that is incomparable. In this moment of shared love, I want nothing more than to be His.
I feel something warm drop down onto my hands still pressed tightly against my chest. Surprised at the interruption from my fervent prayer, I open my eyes to discover my cheeks painted with tears.
Tears. Tears like those wept in the agony of the garden. Tears like those wept by our blessed mother as she watched her Son be persecuted.
Tears like those that a broken woman, who I most certainly resemble in wretchedness, used to wash the feet of the Son of God.
“Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much. But he who has been forgiven little loves little.” Luke 7:47
You, oh Lord, make me cry tears of joy.
Because you have taught my shattered soul to love, I am made worthy. Because you have saved me, I can rest in peace. Because you died that I might participate in this meal with You, I am made unbroken.
Love much? In your presence, my Divine Love, this is an easy request!