During
a Holy Communion service the extraordinary Eucharistic minister set
aside a segment of worship for ten minutes of silent adoration before
Jesus on the altar. It must be admitted that I was excited about this
opportunity, though also harbored secret reservations that the
majority of our little community would not be a left to sit quietly.
Yes, my struggles with being critical of others continue - especially
of those whose veneration is not sufficiently reverent!
Anticipation for the service to reach that point where the Liturgy of the Word would be suspended while we collectively adored our Lord was distracting: We could not arrive at that zenith in a sufficiently prompt enough fashion. Flutter and impatience seldom compliment one another! My focus on the holy scripture had waffled as I kept thinking about all focus being on Christ. Hopefully, our Lord was not offended by my inattentiveness to the words being spoken, his very words....
Collectively perched on our seats, we looked upon Jesus with awe. There he was, right before our very eyes. Twenty-five souls so unspeakably quiet and still that the pages from a missal being mindlessly massaged reverberated through the ethereal.
The wisp of those pages, the gentleness of which may resemble the softness of angel wings, were not all which I heard. No. Indeed, there was a voice. A prominent nudging. The Holy Spirit was tenderly prodding me to approach the altar and prostrate myself before Jesus!
I was saturated with anxiety. See, I have always wanted (since entering the Church) to lay at our Lord's feet. But, such has been a private desire. Sadly, I am too weak in my faith for peers to witness me adoring our Lord in such a way. Why? Because I am susceptible to the tomfoolery of caring how I am perceived by others. The fears consisted of onlookers thinking: "Look at Karl, he thinks he's holier than thou!" Mind you, a phobia of derision from my brothers, not non-Christians.
As the Holy Spirit continued to poke and encourage, I attempted to barter with kneeling in the isle beside my seat. But, honestly, I was too ashamed of my love to suffer ridicule. So, I didn't. I simply sat there bantering with the Holy Spirit, never actually committing to either.
Knowing my disposition for our holy Mother, the Holy Spirit caressed me with the proposition and honor of approaching the altar to prostrate with Mary at my side. Just like at the foot of the cross during those last breaths.... Whew, what an enticement. What an honor. But, I was yet too weak. A coward. I resented this lack of character.
Another hesitation concerned the possibility that any visible actions on my part may cause the the faithful who were present to recoil and fill with disdain. Thus, I grappled with whether it had been Satan pushing me to make this public show of affection or, conversely, whether it was God drawing me (us) closer to his embrace. In the end, I remained invisible and without conviction. My faith was silent. Negligent.
There is a certain irony? The energy spent prejudging our community convicted me of the very same. Embarrassing. I should have assessed myself. Humbling.
It is hoped that next time, if graced with such an opportunity, I will muster the courage to lay at our Lord's feet and weep. May our holy Mother be kind enough to grace me with her presence. Please, I need your prayers.
Marana tha....
Anticipation for the service to reach that point where the Liturgy of the Word would be suspended while we collectively adored our Lord was distracting: We could not arrive at that zenith in a sufficiently prompt enough fashion. Flutter and impatience seldom compliment one another! My focus on the holy scripture had waffled as I kept thinking about all focus being on Christ. Hopefully, our Lord was not offended by my inattentiveness to the words being spoken, his very words....
Collectively perched on our seats, we looked upon Jesus with awe. There he was, right before our very eyes. Twenty-five souls so unspeakably quiet and still that the pages from a missal being mindlessly massaged reverberated through the ethereal.
The wisp of those pages, the gentleness of which may resemble the softness of angel wings, were not all which I heard. No. Indeed, there was a voice. A prominent nudging. The Holy Spirit was tenderly prodding me to approach the altar and prostrate myself before Jesus!
I was saturated with anxiety. See, I have always wanted (since entering the Church) to lay at our Lord's feet. But, such has been a private desire. Sadly, I am too weak in my faith for peers to witness me adoring our Lord in such a way. Why? Because I am susceptible to the tomfoolery of caring how I am perceived by others. The fears consisted of onlookers thinking: "Look at Karl, he thinks he's holier than thou!" Mind you, a phobia of derision from my brothers, not non-Christians.
As the Holy Spirit continued to poke and encourage, I attempted to barter with kneeling in the isle beside my seat. But, honestly, I was too ashamed of my love to suffer ridicule. So, I didn't. I simply sat there bantering with the Holy Spirit, never actually committing to either.
Knowing my disposition for our holy Mother, the Holy Spirit caressed me with the proposition and honor of approaching the altar to prostrate with Mary at my side. Just like at the foot of the cross during those last breaths.... Whew, what an enticement. What an honor. But, I was yet too weak. A coward. I resented this lack of character.
Another hesitation concerned the possibility that any visible actions on my part may cause the the faithful who were present to recoil and fill with disdain. Thus, I grappled with whether it had been Satan pushing me to make this public show of affection or, conversely, whether it was God drawing me (us) closer to his embrace. In the end, I remained invisible and without conviction. My faith was silent. Negligent.
There is a certain irony? The energy spent prejudging our community convicted me of the very same. Embarrassing. I should have assessed myself. Humbling.
It is hoped that next time, if graced with such an opportunity, I will muster the courage to lay at our Lord's feet and weep. May our holy Mother be kind enough to grace me with her presence. Please, I need your prayers.
Marana tha....
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