We need to be opened to the invisible ways that God is working all of the time. Our hearts get dulled and we can barely see.
I can get blinded to miracles. Yes, there is the peace one feels after receiving Communion, in that quietness that is the highlight of the Mass. And no matter how my mind wanders, the Lord seems to arrest my attention at least during the Consecration. I’m somewhere else, and then my eyes are drawn and opened to the host and the chalice lifted up with the words, “This is My body…This is My blood.” But Mass can become routine. I get caught up in internal gripes about the music or the design of the church. I miss the one thing necessary.
Sometimes it’s the ones who have no preconceptions who see the invisible most clearly. My friend and mentor, Dr. Bernie Klamecki, told me about his daughter-in-law’s experiences. They happened when she and her son Joe were first dating. She was utterly unchurched, but she wanted to go to Mass with Joe, since this was so much a part of his life.
After Mass was over, she asked Joe, “How did he do that?” “How did who do what?” “The man in the front with the robes on.” “You mean the priest.” “Yes. How did he do that?” “How did he do what?”, Joe asked in some exasperation. “Well, when he lifted up that round white wafer…” “The host.” “Yes, the host. He made all those rays of light flash out from it. How did he do that?” Joe was silent. “You didn’t see that?”, asked his girlfriend, confused. “No, I didn’t see that.”
Some time afterward, she and Joe went to a confirmation. After the Mass was over, she asked, “How did he do that?” Again, Joe responded, “How did who do what?” – although this time with a sense of, “Now what?” She said, “That man with the beanie on his head, and the robes.” “You mean the bishop.” “Yes, the bishop. How did he do that?” “How did he do what?” “Well, at the end of Mass, as he walked down the aisle, he was kind of waving with his hands.” “That was the Sign of the Cross. He was blessing the people.” “Yes. Well, when he was blessing the people, it looked like skyrockets were coming out of his head and landing on the people he was passing.” Silence. “You didn’t see that?” “No, I didn’t see that.”
A friend from another city whom I eventually sponsored into the Catholic Church was a devout evangelical Protestant. His wife was a committed Christian but openly and harshly anti-Catholic. Yet “Rob” felt increasingly drawn to the Catholic Church. He began to go to daily Mass, while honoring the precept of not receiving Communion. He didn’t dare tell his wife at first for fear of the quarrel this would generate.
At the Catholic church he’d been visiting, Rob had asked if there was a chapel or room where he could pray quietly during breaks in his day. A parishioner showed him the parish “Meditation Chapel”, actually a Eucharistic chapel. Rob had no idea what the golden box in the chapel was. He just found the chapel to be a peaceful place to pray.
Rob suffered from severe asthma, to the point where, even with medication, he could barely breathe. He told me that there were points that he thought he might die. “But when I went to that chapel, I found I could breathe. It was the only place in [that city] where I could breathe.” It was only later that he found out that it was Jesus Himself, present in the tabernacle, who was giving him life.
On my retreat earlier this month, I felt carried on a wave of intercessory consolation. I could feel the prayers of so many saints on earth and in Heaven, carrying me. It was a rare occasion in which my heart was opened to the invisible.
As C.S. Lewis notes in The Screwtape Letters, what is evident to our senses can grab our attention to the point of blinding us to what’s most important. “The things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Cor 4:18). Jesus walks with us at every moment, just as He did with the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Like them, we are “slow of heart to believe” (Lk 24:24). Like them, we get dulled to the reality of His presence and power, and we are “kept from recognizing him” (Lk 24:16). Hosts of angels surround us. The prayers of the saints carry us. God’s love and grace sustain us at every moment. Let us strive to stay opened to that invisible reality.
