My Eucharistic Miracle

Monday, March 8, 2021

The second day of a two-day “Sisters of Life” event at church. Three of the young Sisters are visiting from New York City where their order is located. This contagious joy they’re radiating, you can tell they’re madly in love with Jesus. I’m jealous. I want what they have, but I’m not sure how to get it.

Father J. made a big secret about the agenda for this two-day event, which of course boosted my expectations to a sky-high level. So I was somewhat disappointed to see yesterday that it was just Adoration of the Eucharist, Confession, with the Sisters contributing a few brief stories and soft chanting.

I still don’t know what all that “Adoration” stuff is about. I do theoretically, of course, but I just don’t get why people are kneeling in front of a wafer made of flour and water, adoring it. I mean, come on. I’m definitely not someone who will easily dismiss the supernatural, after all the first-hand encounters I’ve had in my life, but it just seems silly to worship… food.

Honestly, I’m not really sure why I’m back today, but the Holy Spirit pushed me to go. By now, I know what those nudges feel like, and I know better than to ignore them.

Due to COVID, every other pew is still cordoned off with blue masking tape so we can social distance at church. Father announces that he will walk around with the monstrance—the display case for the Eucharist—to give each of us an opportunity to spend one-on-one time with Jesus. He instructs us to take off one end of the masking tape so he can walk in the empty pews and move directly in front of us.

As he starts walking, something changes. I don’t know why, but the tension in the room rises, like the electricity before a thunderstorm. I’m starting to tear up for no apparent reason. Father keeps moving closer, and it feels like I’m going to explode. He reaches my pew, and then he’s right in front of me, my face only inches away from the small round window of the monstrance—

—and suddenly, I know. He’s carrying Jesus Christ. I just know it’s really Jesus in the Eucharist, our living, breathing Lord. When we receive Holy Communion, we truly receive his Body and Blood. When we go to Adoration, we visit him. He literally lives in that tabernacle. And now I can feel him looking at me, through the glass, with sorrow and with pity.

I cry out, “Jesus, have mercy on me!“ Tears are streaming down my face. I’m sobbing loudly and don’t care who sees it.

The woman at the other end of my pew glances over worriedly. “Are you okay?”

I nod and wave her off. When I’ve finally composed myself, Father has moved on, and the blue masking tape that dangles from the pew in front of me is waving in the breeze.

Wait a minute… what breeze?

I don’t feel any wind. Father is already way in back, nobody else is moving, and while the ceiling fan is on, all of the pieces of masking tape at the other pews are hanging down motionlessly.

The piece right in front of me, on the other hand, swings heartily back and forth, back and forth like a pendulum. I watch it, fascinated. I know it’s a sign from the Holy Spirit, telling me that my experience was real, not some figment of my imagination.

And then it stops. It doesn’t gradually lose momentum. No, the piece of tape goes from swinging back and forth at a fast rate to a full stop… in one instant. Just like that. As if someone put their hand out and stopped it.

I cry some more. Thank you, Jesus, for giving me this amazing grace. I don’t deserve it, but I’ll never forget.