There is a beautiful church in my city that I love to go to every Saturday afternoon. The time I go there is just after noontime and although all the heavy wooden carved doors are shut, there is always one that opens for those who want to visit.
I’ve spent many a Saturday afternoon there, just taking in the peace and quiet and the hopeful ambiance of the place. Once in a while someone is upstairs on the balcony rehearsing a beautiful piece on the piano. When that happens, all hell breaks loose because the sound can disrupt any serious concentration on even the most sincere of prayers. The acoustics of the structure amplifies every piano key.
I love it when one of the church volunteers gets busy stocking candle holders with vanilla candles, or when someone is at the altar prepping everything for the Holy Mass. But lately, most afternoons had been spent with just me and myself. It’s been a nice experience, sitting there with the signs of life banished behind the church doors.
In the stillness, the only sounds would come from the little steps walking to the altar to pay respects to the Blessed Sacrament: mine. I always marvel at the beauty of the marble floors, always sparkling clean despite the thousands of pairs of feet that have walked all over them.
There are two prayer niches I never fail to visit in that church. The one where a huge statue of the Crucified Jesus is present and another of the Suffering Jesus being consoled by His Mother Mary. When I’m in those areas, I never fail to touch Jesus’ nailed Feet and His bloody Hand. The gesture always gives me comfort.
Sometimes on those quiet Saturdays, other visitors would come to visit. More often than not, they’re tourists from another place, apparent from their open curiosity of the beautifully designed church ceiling and magnificent marble pillars. Sometimes they are accompanied by kids. When that happens, there would be some noise in church because children aren’t comfortable with too much silence.
One time, there was a lady who was crying her heart out while she sat on one of the pews. I could hear her sobbing five pews away. I didn’t know her, but I asked Jesus to grant whatever she was asking for because she looked extremely anguished. Her painful demeanor touched my soul. Whatever she was praying for must have been causing her so much hurt and discomfort.
There had been joyous occasions during my quiet time in that church. Like recently, the staff holiday party in the basement was obviously a merry gathering of people. The sound of their Christmas carols came up to the church and brought a happy mood in my heart. There was lots of laughing and animated conversations. I felt happy that there are folks who can be joyous despite these trying financial times.
When I leave the church, I always feel peaceful and joyful after taking time out of my weekend schedule to commune with the Lord. Maybe it’s my Roman Catholic upbringing that inspires this wonderful emotion. As far as I can remember, I have always mentally chatted with Jesus like a child would to her Beloved Father.
My childhood friend across the Pacific once wrote to encourage me to take the time for Eucharistic Adoration. She said that the exercise will recharge me physically, emotionally and spiritually. The truth is I totally enjoy the time I spend just kneeling or sitting in church and carrying silent conversations with Jesus. The exercise has helped me clear my head and get rid of any stress in my life. It has actually saved me an expensive visit to the shrink's office. I don’t know why people would rather pay a fortune going to the therapist when the best doctor in the world is always available for FREE!
I remain very grateful to my parents for raising me in a faith that has become my rock. It has kept me from being blown away during life’s unpredictable windy battles. The nuns and priests at the schools I attended reinforced the value of that religious conviction. It is through their teachings that I got to know Jesus even better. During moments of temporary insanity, I could have snapped and lost it completely. Thanks to Jesus, I have learned to stay cool. I may have been hurt often, but I remain unbroken. My heart may have been stabbed a few times, but it has promptly mended and remains intact. The nights may have ended in disaster, but the dawn always brought new light. These things could have only been possible through the Goodness of my Invisible Friend, Brother and Father. I love Him and I know that even if friends and family should abandon me, He will always be in my life.
Happy Birthday, Dearest Jesus!
