Do you ever sit before the Blessed Sacrament and feel as if you want to eject from your seat? I mean, literally for me sometimes, it’s as if I have the engines of a 747 inside me, all revved up, ready for blast-off. I’m not going anywhere, just flying in place at supersonic speed with my insides exploding like shooting stars. There. That was subtle.
The way this is starting out you might not think I want to sit in a dimly lit church in absolute silence with nothing going on. I do. I just don’t want to be the only one there even if I am. I want to have a two-way conversation and not with myself. But here’s the problem. I say “Okay God, I’m listening. Is there anything you want to tell me? I’m all ears. Hello. Anybody home?”
And that’s as far as it goes. No inspiring words. No uplifting thoughts or pictures in my mind. I’m in a cave with a burned out light bulb; the steady drip of a melting stalactite is plopping onto my head (hey, you got to do something to make it interesting).
God isn’t talking today (He’s probably online with one of my friends). But He does send me some company. This one’s very heartfelt. I can tell the way he throws himself prostrate (not to be confused with prostate, which I am lucky enough not to have) onto the hard floor. He kneels, arms outstretched like Moses. His lips are moving. Heartfelt cries, like the cooing of a dove, break the silence. He must be having a heavenly visitation with quite possibly all the angels and saints and of course, God Himself right there.
This gives me hope. I should try again. “It’s me again. I’m going crazy here. I’d kneel to get your attention but I broke my kneecap; I’d throw my arms out but I’m afraid they’d lock up.” Okay, it doesn’t have to be audible. Maybe there’s a message for me in this book… Nope, that ain’t it. I rock back and forth (carefully because of my sacroiliac joint). I fidget. Scratch my head. Yawn. Another three minutes and I’m close to letting loose an ear splitter. (I’m not sure if this would make me feel better. I’m sure it would do no good for anyone else—including Moses. But I’ve seen some pretty distracting behavior i.e. just mentioned, going on in church which I mostly try not to notice. Mostly.)
I realize there might be a good reason for me going through this. I could be missing the adorer’s gene. Or God doesn’t like me (just kidding).
So why do I sign up for week after week of total tedium?
Well, you might think I’m presumptuous. You might think I’m fooling myself. But here’s the real reason I sit there bored out of my mind.
I think Jesus is so good that He’s pleased with anyone who shows up.