Those who caught my May reminiscence will recall that I often write in season, shall we say.
So, lest this Christmas title for a June column convince you that my sanity tank has run dry, be assured this Hatter is not as Mad as you might think (wink emoji here).
June marks the glorious Feast of Corpus Christi, and of all things grace-obtaining in my life, Eucharistic Adoration is second only to the reception of the sacraments themselves.
My mom had a weekly Adoration hour at 6 p.m. on Tuesdays for as long as I can remember.
In my bones, I knew she started it after I could drive, as I recall sometimes getting stuck with the job of covering it. Yes, “stuck” is how I saw it at 17; I think I would not be alone in that sentiment among the teenage set.
Still, I stifled any rebuttal (and its accompanying death wish) and took Mom’s hour when necessary.
While I wasn’t an instant fan, I guess it sowed a seed somewhere in my soul, though it took a good while for it to germinate.
In fact, it took about 34 years. I’d made occasional hours throughout my life but never tried a committed one on for size until 2012.
Whether it was channeling Mom, supporting my parish’s new perpetual Adoration chapel, or something else, I signed up for 5 p.m. on Fridays. Would I stick with it?
My intentions were certainly good, but we all know the road that’s paved with those.
As it turned out, it was 11 years later that I found myself walking out of that chapel as a “regular” for the last time — and hopping into my very loaded car to make the drive to my new life in Madison.
I’m certain it began as an effort for which I was sure God would finally answer my prayers.
It isn’t a precept of the Church, or even one of the Big 10, except for how it’s incorporated into number one; it’s extra credit.
At one point, I even took on a second hour at 1 a.m. on Sunday mornings.
This move is not to be construed as extreme holiness, but rather to be filed under the “desperate people do desperate things” category. (I will say that everyone should try it just once if you can, as the closeness to our Savior in those overnight hours is hard to describe).
In the face of such dedication, could He possibly refuse my cry?
I was also certain that nothing bad would come my way in this endeavor.
This was before I learned that holy efforts and places frequently bring on spiritual attacks.
The scariest one was the tire that fully shredded at highway speed at 12:45 in the morning.
If you think a violently shaking vehicle at 65 m.p.h. in the dark of night can’t bring you to rattle off the Act of Contrition in an endless loop at light speed, think again.
He did send an angel to my rescue, but I learned there was a reason that our pastor had relics, holy oils, and statues buried in the chapel’s foundation walls.
I wish I could tell you that I found the meaning of life or divine answers during some magic moment in Adoration, or that I saw the face of Jesus manifested to me. Alas, nothing that extraordinary ever happened.
I wish I could say that every prayer and need I ever had on my heart has been answered with “yes” due to this practice. I’m afraid I cannot.
While I’ve much for which to be grateful, I’ve also had great trial for many years.
I frequently spent that hour in anguish . . . frustration . . . despair . . . my heart and soul ground into a parched powder.
It wasn’t unusual for me to kneel at the Communion rail right in front of the monstrance, and just ask “Why?” as the tears rolled without end.
What I can tell you is that Adoration is truly transforming in an almost stealth manner . . . like the marriage that isn’t skyrockets, but rather the slow and steady fire.
It doesn’t bowl you over, but its staying power nourishes you just the same.
I’ve seen myself go from seeing Jesus as the Vending Machine (if I just put in enough dollars), the Rigorist who saw me in need of punishment, the Indifferent One who cared nothing for my pain, to who He truly is: The loving Christ the King whose way is never without purpose (even when it’s still difficult to accept at times).
Yes, without a doubt, I would say the single biggest fruit of regular Adoration is a profoundly deepened spirit of humility.
Without diminishing one as a person in any fashion, Adoration is a constant reminder to you of where He sits on the depth chart . . . and where you don’t.
Making that hour or that visit or that Spiritual Communion (whatever your duties in life allow you to do) is not about us or for us.
It’s all about Him.
I asked Him yesterday at Mass why I should encourage others to Adoration.
I feel in my heart He reminded me of truths we all already know:
“Because I am lonely . . . I wait here for them, but they have so little time for me.
They just don’t seem to realize that I am not some ethereal idea . . . I am REAL . . . and I am HERE . . . all of the time.
I wish to love them . . . be there for them . . . comfort them and guide them. I wish to be so close to them.
I will continue to wait for them . . . in whatever manner they can come to me.
I will never stop calling them.
They are my beloved.”
Maria Burns is a lifelong Catholic and writer who lives in Madison.