The church door closed with a soft click. Empty pews stretched toward the altar. A single candle flickered near the monstrance, its flame steady. Sunlight filtered through stained glass, casting colored patterns that moved slowly across the floor. The air felt still.
An elderly woman sat in the third pew on the left, rosary beads sliding between weathered fingers. She didn’t look up.
The wooden kneeler creaked. Silence filled the space, not empty but full. The gold of the monstrance caught the light once, then didn’t again. A car passed outside, then nothing.
The clock on the wall ticked. The Host remained unchanged, white against gold. Minutes stretched. The elderly woman shifted slightly, then returned to stillness.
Somewhere, a heating system hummed briefly, then quieted. The colored light on the floor had moved an inch. The candle flame didn’t waver.
God Waits
Saint Alphonsus Liguori proclaimed, “Of all devotions, that of adoring Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament is the greatest after the sacraments, the one dearest to God and the one most helpful to us.”
Yet God doesn’t need our love—He wants it.
The Blessed Sacrament doesn’t demand attention with bright lights or loud sounds. It waits. The miracle sits in plain sight, ordinary and extraordinary at once. Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity behind the appearance of bread.
A Different Kind of Time
In Eucharistic Adoration, time changes. Not faster or slower—different.
St. Mother Teresa understood this: “When you look at the crucifix, you understand how much Jesus loved you then. When you look at the Sacred Host, you understand how much Jesus loves you now.”
Now. Present tense.
The elderly woman with the rosary knew this. Her weekly visit wasn’t obligation—it was appointment. Her same pew each Wednesday, surrounded by familiar silence, enveloped in His unchanging Presence.
What Happens in Adoration?
St. Clare of Assisi said simply: “Gaze upon him, consider him, contemplate him, as you desire to imitate him.”
Some call it spiritual tanning—basking in the light of the Son. You can’t help but be changed by it. Too much exposure and your sins become visible, uncomfortable. The longer you remain, the more grace accumulates.
The wooden pew feels hard after twenty minutes. The mind wanders. The silence grows deeper. And then, sometimes, a moment arrives that wasn’t there before.
The Invitation
The Church doesn’t merely suggest Adoration—it recognizes our need for it. As the Catechism states, “The Church and the world have great need of Eucharistic adoration. Jesus waits for us in this sacrament of love.”
He waits.
The church remains mostly empty on weekday afternoons. The Host doesn’t mind. The monstrance holds the miracle whether witnessed by hundreds or just an elderly woman with arthritic hands.
The invitation remains open.
Find fifteen minutes this week. Ask your parish office when Adoration hours are scheduled. Walk in. Sit down. Nothing spectacular may happen.
But the candle will flicker near the monstrance. Sunlight might cast colored patterns across the floor. The silence will be waiting.
And so will He.
