the real presence
Ireland's greatest living poet is sitting in the Adoration Chapel at Newbridge Church.
The chapel is an intimate little room seating about a dozen people.
On an elevated plinth, the blessed sacrament is exposed.
The blessed sacrament is a phrase Catholics use to describe the real presence of Jesus in communion bread.
For twenty centuries the tradition that the bread really becomes Jesus has been espoused by the ancient church.
The language is intolerable.
It is too much for many.
Some who are drawn to the ancient faith, leave again on hearing this truth pronounced.
But for twenty centuries, those who believe have made it a sticking point.
The flesh is really flesh.
The blood is really blood.
I am sitting here quietly opening my heart to the possibility.
People around me are praying or meditating.
I have a magazine on my lap which I occasionally glance at.
As I turn a page, I hear a hissing sound.
What on earth.
I glance around.
Nothing.
Presently I turn another page.
Again the hissing sound.
Sharper.
Is someone shushing me?
Surely not here.
I look around again.
No one seems to be shushing.
I must be imagining it.
Or maybe it's the heating system.
I turn another page.
"Shuuuussssshhh!"
Unmistakeable this time.
I look up.
A red faced man in the corner is glaring at me.
"Shusssh," he hisses again. "I'm trying to pray here."
He bows his head soulfully and returns to his prayers.
That interesting little vein on my forehead which some of you have come to know and love, gives a gentle throb.
I look at the man.
I am thinking of standing up, walking to him, and telling him in the frankest language what I think of him and his prayers and his prayerfulness.
On the altar sits the bread I believe is Jesus.
I hesitate.
Do I seriously intend by my rage to betray the belief at the core of everything Catholics have ever celebrated, ever proclaimed, ever died for?
Can I betray in his presence the very king of the universe?
Can I abandon at a whim of emotion the belief that the Messiah is right here, right now?
Can I foreswear the belief that the Lord of life, the Lord of light, the Lord of love, is among us?
Can I surrender this most glorious, most powerful, most impossible truth of the ancient faith?
Can I now abandon the royal king who died for me... just because my dignity is a bit ruffled?
Too right I can.
I stand up slowly.
I look at Jesus on the altar.
"Sorry Lord," I say.
At this moment I am saying sorry because I really do want to walk over to the red faced guy and have a shouting match and whatever else with him.
In front of everybody, I want to do it.
But I am going to leave.
I am ashamed that I still want to tussle with the red faced guy.
So I am apologising to my Lord.
But I still want to shout at my shusher.
Even here I really want to do it.
But I am saying sorry and I am leaving.
As I say sorry, the red faced man looks up again.
He thinks I have been apologising to him.
"That's alright," he says with infinite forbearance.
I leave quickly.
The chapel is an intimate little room seating about a dozen people.
On an elevated plinth, the blessed sacrament is exposed.
The blessed sacrament is a phrase Catholics use to describe the real presence of Jesus in communion bread.
For twenty centuries the tradition that the bread really becomes Jesus has been espoused by the ancient church.
The language is intolerable.
It is too much for many.
Some who are drawn to the ancient faith, leave again on hearing this truth pronounced.
But for twenty centuries, those who believe have made it a sticking point.
The flesh is really flesh.
The blood is really blood.
I am sitting here quietly opening my heart to the possibility.
People around me are praying or meditating.
I have a magazine on my lap which I occasionally glance at.
As I turn a page, I hear a hissing sound.
What on earth.
I glance around.
Nothing.
Presently I turn another page.
Again the hissing sound.
Sharper.
Is someone shushing me?
Surely not here.
I look around again.
No one seems to be shushing.
I must be imagining it.
Or maybe it's the heating system.
I turn another page.
"Shuuuussssshhh!"
Unmistakeable this time.
I look up.
A red faced man in the corner is glaring at me.
"Shusssh," he hisses again. "I'm trying to pray here."
He bows his head soulfully and returns to his prayers.
That interesting little vein on my forehead which some of you have come to know and love, gives a gentle throb.
I look at the man.
I am thinking of standing up, walking to him, and telling him in the frankest language what I think of him and his prayers and his prayerfulness.
On the altar sits the bread I believe is Jesus.
I hesitate.
Do I seriously intend by my rage to betray the belief at the core of everything Catholics have ever celebrated, ever proclaimed, ever died for?
Can I betray in his presence the very king of the universe?
Can I abandon at a whim of emotion the belief that the Messiah is right here, right now?
Can I foreswear the belief that the Lord of life, the Lord of light, the Lord of love, is among us?
Can I surrender this most glorious, most powerful, most impossible truth of the ancient faith?
Can I now abandon the royal king who died for me... just because my dignity is a bit ruffled?
Too right I can.
I stand up slowly.
I look at Jesus on the altar.
"Sorry Lord," I say.
At this moment I am saying sorry because I really do want to walk over to the red faced guy and have a shouting match and whatever else with him.
In front of everybody, I want to do it.
But I am going to leave.
I am ashamed that I still want to tussle with the red faced guy.
So I am apologising to my Lord.
But I still want to shout at my shusher.
Even here I really want to do it.
But I am saying sorry and I am leaving.
As I say sorry, the red faced man looks up again.
He thinks I have been apologising to him.
"That's alright," he says with infinite forbearance.
I leave quickly.
posted by heelers | 4:38 PM
1 Comments:
James, I'm glad you did this. I knew a very unpleasant woman who was a prolific church-goer. I once watched her verbally tear at a fine, loving Catholic friend. (You may have read my post about the experience.)
It wasn't until much later that I learned this unpleasant woman suffered constant pain, as well as the early stages of dementia. So it's quite possible that the red-faced man was there before the Lord because he recognized he was in a state where he desperately needs Him. It may have been one of those occasions that you will not fully comprehend until Our Lord tells you about it in person.
Post a Comment
<< Home