The table is an altar of holy worship. The altar is made for Christ. The object is a golden monstrance in which the Blessed Sacrament abides. The Blessed Sacrament is the only begotten Son of the living God. This mystery takes place every day at the Missionaries of Charity chapels throughout the world. These chapels stoke the fires of true faith. This faith reaches beyond the Missionaries of Charity. This faith comes from God to join each member of Christ to the incarnation, to man’s salvation.
Yet, somehow, in the name of Christ, sons of Satan point to this graceful faith with accusation. The Son of the living God came to that beautiful monstrance by the ordinary form of the Roman Rite and thus, for sons of the accuser, is condemned to be a “near occasion of sin.” Before the Missionaries of Charity venture out to quench the thirst of God, along with the countless number of Christ’s members throughout the Church, they receive holy communion through, with, and in the living God, by the ordinary form of the Roman Rite, at an altar which outrages gatekeepers of hell.
The divine fire of God’s love surprises us by doing extraordinary works through, with, and in, the ordinary. Perhaps a piece of my testimony bears witness to this mysterious puzzle…
Encounter with Faith
The nun who supervised the AIDS hospice greeted me at the airport exit. She then led me into a large white van filled with her fellow Sisters. The van driver had a long, grey beard, complementing his peaceful silence. The driver’s name was Francis. Francis was a live-in volunteer who had served alongside the Missionaries of Charity for many years. As soon as I took my seat after Francis and the nuns paused to introduce themselves and offer their welcome, they returned to praying their rosary. I did not understand this prayer but was willing to suspend my judgment.
Upon arriving at the AIDS hospice, I was given a brief tour of the home before being taken to my bed in the back room. Once my bag was placed on top of my new bed, I joined Francis and the nuns to assist with serving a meal to the hospice residents. As the food was being brought to the table, I was introduced to the residents, who welcomed me into their home. After the meal was served, traditional prayers were repeated. The prayer they concluded with was unsettling.
Listening to their prayers with evangelical Christian ears may have been enough for me to close the door on the possibility of working alongside the Missionaries of Charity. Fortunately, I knew better. I did not understand how their relationship with Mary could be compatible with my understanding of Christianity. Still, I did know that their charity was the heart of Christianity, which I was striving to grow. Being very aware that my understanding of God and Christianity was still being formed and that my relationship with God was perpetually developing, I knew enough to know that I had much to learn. Learning from the Holy Bible, I set aside my limited comprehension when I came across a passage that appeared incompatible with my understanding of God. I trusted God to reveal His truth to me. This would be my approach to the Catholic faith. My unsettling observations were resolved to be entrusted to God’s protection. I trusted God to remain faithful.
Questioning Beliefs
My vision of Christ’s sacrifice being my salvation was very real to me, and my offering of the sinner’s prayer was genuine, but the “born-again” experience was not the beginning and end of my relationship with Christ. Perhaps that may have been the traditional, repetitious prayer that marked a life-changing event, such as a wedding vow, but it was not something frozen in time that remained my perpetual reality. God’s plan for my salvation was picking up my cross, walking forth, and bearing fruit. The relationship itself, the faithful marriage that forms the lasting union between husband and wife, is what makes a marriage true. Christ was my Bridegroom. I vowed to remain faithful to His authority. My Bridegroom was a good shepherd that would lead me to green pastures. With this confidence in God’s providence, I set aside the unsettling Catholic expressions of faith. My prayer remained for God’s will to be fulfilled.
After the meal ended, more Catholic prayers were prayed, and mealtime chores were completed. As my tour of the hospice continued, I was further introduced to each resident along the way from where it left off upon my arrival. The hospice was filled with Catholic statues and images. I noticed the same framed picture of Jesus in each room. This was the exact image of an unframed picture I remembered seeing on a family’s mantle whom I had visited in Mexico. That family had a small house with garage doors for walls and a tarp roof, but their home was rich with a love that I looked up to. I learned that the framed picture throughout the hospice was an image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. By the end of the tour, I was disoriented by the unknown and, at the same time, hopeful to receive God’s guidance for my future.
Amid my disorientation, I accepted the invitation to join the nuns later that day for their prayers at their convent chapel next to the hospice. This invitation was a welcomed opportunity to understand better what fueled the Missionaries of Charity. I immediately witnessed the pureness of God’s love, which flowed through them to myself and all those they encountered. Yet, the external expressions of their faith did not fit into my evangelical Christian framework. It was clear that either their understanding of Christianity or my understanding of Christianity was closer to the way, and the truth, and the life that God wills for us. Which one was truer than the other? Joining the nuns for their community prayers would offer greater insight into the heart of their Catholic faith.
Transformation
As I remained vigilant for the call of my good shepherd, I offered my service wherever it was needed and did my best to be an instrument of God’s love for each person I interacted with. I got to know the residents more before the time came for me to join the nuns for their afternoon prayers. I was brought to the convent chapel where Francis and the occasional residents or volunteers added to their number. The chapel was filled with peaceful silence and the aroma of liturgical incense. The community prayer was a holy hour of adoration. This hour began with the exposition of the Blessed Sacrament for an hour of adoration. When the Holy Eucharist was brought out from the chapel’s tabernacle and placed on the altar, everyone but me bowed to kiss the ground. The Divine Mercy chaplet and the Divine Office followed this. The Divine Mercy chaplet was a moving prayer for the mercy of God. The Divine Office was a complex prayer filled with mostly Psalms, several passages of scripture, and mature prayers from the Church. The many voices were one focused prayer to God. After the Divine Office was completed, after everyone had faithfully spoken to God, there were thirty minutes of silent adoration before the Holy Eucharist, prominently resting on the altar, inside a beautiful, golden monstrance. It was apparent to me that the first half of the hour was a reverent address to God, and the second half was the part of Martha’s little sister. I later learned about all these elements of the holy hour when I asked Francis to explain everything that took place.
Francis was able to answer my many questions with empathy for my confusion. He, too, was a convert. For a significant portion of his life, he was a devout Hindu. The witness of the Missionaries of Charity drew Francis to the Catholic faith. Their faith in action was undeniable. It made the love of God visible to Francis. It allowed Francis to surrender to the fullness of truth.
Though I understood his admiration for the charity of the nuns, after witnessing my first holy hour, the biggest question I had for Francis was: What exactly was in that golden treasure? Francis answered that Catholics believe that Jesus meant what he said. That the Holy Eucharist, the consecrated bread within the apostolic Church which Christ established, is transubstantiated to truly be the body of Christ. The Church, through apostolic succession, obeys the command of Jesus to consecrate the bread and wine into Christ’s actual body and blood, soul and divinity, for our food from heaven. Francis clarified to me that the Catholic faith recognizes that the Holy Eucharist is no longer bread. The Holy Eucharist is not an object. It is the divine person of the Holy Trinity who became incarnate for our salvation. Jesus, our Lord, and Savior, our life everlasting, was in that golden monstrance.
It was a mystery to me how Jesus could truly be in the form of bread, as Francis explained. It completely appears to be bread, yet it is completely not bread. The eyes of the Catholic faith see that the Holy Eucharist is completely Jesus the Christ. The King of kings and Lord of lords empties Himself, taking the form of bread to be our true food from heaven. Throughout my childhood, when I was obligated to attend Lutheran services, I was aware that Christians expressed sentiments of faith when they consumed the “Lord’s supper.” Perhaps many of those Christians believed Christ was somehow present within the bread, just as he was somehow present within the words of the Holy Bible. Still, I could not recall ever encountering a Christian who believed that the bread they were eating was the real flesh of Jesus. How could he become bread from heaven, that is truly, truly His divine flesh and blood, to be consumed and adored by his followers?
It was surprising to realize that Catholics were not disturbed or embarrassed by the idea of God being made in the meek form of ordinary bread. My rejection of this idea was the original basis for rejecting this idea when Jesus originally said it:
The Jews therefore strove among themselves, saying: How can this man give us his flesh to eat? Then Jesus said to them: Amen, amen, I say unto you: except you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink his blood, you shall not have life in you. He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath everlasting life: and I will raise him up in the last day. For my flesh is meat indeed: and my blood is drink indeed. He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood abideth in me: and I in him. As the living Father hath sent me and I live by the Father: so he that eateth me, the same also shall live by me. This is the bread that came down from heaven. Not as your fathers did eat manna and are dead. He that eateth this bread shall live for ever.
(John 6:53-59)
If Jesus was physically present in the Holy Eucharist, if Francis and the nuns knelt at the foot of the altar where Jesus was truly present, if they were kneeling at the feet of Jesus, then they had offered the just adoration that belongs to the Lord. This was now a crucial question that could not be forgotten. Why do Catholics think Jesus meant what he said?
Francis pointed out a television and VCR in the storage room and a handful of Catholic VHS tapes, which I was welcome to view at my convenience. After assisting with volunteer work and spending more time getting to know the residents, I found my way back to the storage room that evening to watch a documentary on Mother Teresa. At the time, it was the first and only documentary on Mother Teresa. I was unaware it had ever been made until Francis pointed it out when he showed me the stack of Catholic videos. Still stunned by the Catholic belief in the Holy Eucharist, I decided to let what I had just learned to sink in before introducing more Catholicism for my consideration. This documentary seemed to be neutral territory for anyone who admired the work of Mother Teresa.
Previously, I had not seen much video footage of Mother Teresa, and never anything as intimate as this film presented. The love of Mother Teresa and her Sisters was awe-inspiring. There was a moment in that documentary that made God’s love visible. It was a humbling moment of fear and trembling. A Missionaries of Charity nun was tending to a dying man in Calcutta. She tenderly gave him water one drop at a time, for that was all he could manage to swallow. When he swallowed, his facial expressions displayed the agony of his condition. Agony turned into relief. The man and the nun looked into one another’s eyes, sharing the pure love of God. This process was slow and silent. It evoked a humanity that is rarely seen. A humanity that is elevated by selfless Love. The words next to the crucifix on the Missionaries of Charity chapel wall reverberated in the silence of that transcendent moment that was captured on film and alive in my heart: I THIRST
For the remainder of my brief Come and See visit, rather than wrestle with the handful of theological questions that arose from my observations of the Catholic faith, I set my sights on diving deep into the Missionaries of Charity mission to quench the thirst of Jesus in the poorest of the poor. It was obvious to me that the Missionaries of Charity would be the guides I needed to dive deeper into the mysterious Love of God. There were occasional daydreams of being a Christian missionary for the rest of my life, but there was no plan for my future. I trusted that God would allow for me to serve Him alongside the Missionaries of Charity for however long God provided. At the end of my Come and See visit, I was invited to become a full-time, live-in volunteer at that AIDS hospice. Trusting that God was leading me, I joyfully accepted the invitation.
Spiritual Revelation
Shortly after accepting the invitation, I began serving with the Missionaries of Charity. God welcomed me to this service by stoking His abiding fire. The fire of divine Love purges the dross from my soul. At the start of my service, I received this gift of Love.
A terminal resident who arrived soon after my return to the hospice was a man who was diagnosed with AIDS and was also approaching the final stages of cancer. I was given the responsibility of tending to his bandage care. He had come to the hospice as his last resort. This is the everyday reality for those who end up at a Missionaries of Charity home for the dying.
Having a partial sense of smell can be a weakness in particular circumstances, but it was a helpful strength for my experiences related to missionary work. The man who was dying from cancer and AIDS had come to us with a large amount of flesh surgically removed from the side of his face. This condition was related to his cancer. This resulted in his need for wound care and a bandage replacement at least twice a day. The smell of his open wound was nauseating for others, but it remained bearable to me. Unfortunately, the resident did not like having a bandage taped to his face and would open the bottom corner to allow for more air to touch his wound. This habit eventually led to the hatching of fly eggs on his face. The Missionaries of Charity nun called the local hospitals to see what treatments were available. The treatment he needed would not be available till the following day.
Seeing him squirm in his bed, it was clear that a long night awaited. The nun who supervised the hospice was an experienced nurse who was tremendously compassionate for anyone who was experiencing suffering. She calmly explained the situation to me, but the pain in her eyes was palpable. When she concluded that not much else could be done, an idea sprang to my mind.
This idea came from the ashes of my growing pains…
For many years, the threat of blemishes haunted me with an obsession that consumed my will. Crazed efforts to remove imperfections from my face amounted to a daily ritual of self-mutilation. My internal screams to end this madness failed to halt the inevitable self-destruction. My face was what made my interior most visible. There was a battle taking place between my rational mind and my wounded heart. Despite a clear sense of reason that protested the devastation to come, self-hatred would spiral into a violent attack against any sign of imperfection. Internal cries for self-restraint were swallowed by a self-centered implosion to hell. At the end of the ritual, my observant mind would note how stupid and pathetic it was to be incapable of preventing self-harm. Attacks against superficial blemishes resulted in grotesque displays of the hatred for myself that I strained to keep hidden. Morning, day and night, this torment persisted. Eventually, tearful prayers to an unknown source of my existence collapsed into sleep. Each new day was a terrible disappointment.
Though my relationship with God was undeveloped, pleas to cease my existence were submitted to the God who was otherwise turned away from. Those tearful prayers were intensely intimate. It was God’s enduring faithfulness that kept me alive, that kept me from stepping off the ledge of despair, that pulled me out of drug-induced hallucinations, that kept my heart from shattering beyond repair. Every hell-bound sin that crossed my path was seized with evil cravenness, partially for the relief of their fleeting pleasures but also for the death that they possessed. Thankfully, God prevented me from being devoured by this dark abyss. God pulled me away from the valley of death and carried his lost lamb back to His saving grace.
…From the distant past of my depraved wasteland, God brought His goodness. The idea that sprang to my mind grew from a flash of memory. God took the evil of my forgotten mutilations and made them into His good work.
Retrieving two basins, a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a large syringe, and a bag full of cotton swabs, I made my way to the bedside. The smaller basin was filled with hydrogen peroxide. The larger basin was filled with water. The syringe was filled with hydrogen peroxide and carefully distributed to the maggot-infested flesh. Maggots rose to the surface where I could move one or two, with a cotton swab, from his face to the basin full of water. It was a slow process, but it was effective. He continued to squirm with discomfort but was appreciative of my efforts. His movement eventually became calmer. Finally, he settled still with a peaceful sigh of relief as he became comfortable in his bed after I removed the last maggot. At that moment, the room was filled with God’s presence. It was overwhelming to sense His intimate embrace. I could see the beauty of the sunlight and the breeze dancing with the curtains. Even greater beauty could be seen in the breath of life with which the relieved resident peacefully slept. As the arms of God wrapped around me, Sacred Scripture clearly spoke to my heart:
Amen I say to you, as long as you did it to one of these my least brethren, you did it to me.
(Matthew 25:40)
Time took pause as the words of God the Son, the invisible God made visible, the face of God, revealed the Love of God, whose mercy will follow me all the days of my life. When time resumed its normal pace, I quietly placed a bandage over the wound and cleaned the room. Once everything was put away, I found a place of privacy and read the words of Sacred Scripture which had spoken to my heart. I read the verse and then the full passage:
And the unprofitable servant, cast ye out into the exterior darkness. There shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth. And when the Son of man shall come in his majesty, and all the angels with him, then shall he sit upon the seat of his majesty. And all nations shall be gathered together before him: and he shall separate them one from another, as the shepherd separateth the sheep from the goats: And he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on his left. Then shall the king say to them that shall be on his right hand: Come, ye blessed of my Father, possess you the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry, and you gave me to eat: I was thirsty, and you gave me to drink: I was a stranger, and you took me in: Naked, and you covered me: sick, and you visited me: I was in prison, and you came to me. Then shall the just answer him, saying: Lord, when did we see thee hungry and fed thee: thirsty and gave thee drink? Or when did we see thee a stranger and took thee in? Or naked and covered thee? Or when did we see thee sick or in prison and came to thee? And the king answering shall say to them: Amen I say to you, as long as you did it to one of these my least brethren, you did it to me. Then he shall say to them also that shall be on his left hand: Depart from me, you cursed, into everlasting fire, which was prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me not to eat: I was thirsty and you gave me not to drink. I was a stranger and you took me not in: naked and you covered me not: sick and in prison and you did not visit me. Then they also shall answer him, saying: Lord, when did we see thee hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison and did not minister to thee? Then he shall answer them, saying: Amen: I say to you, as long as you did it not to one of these least, neither did you do it to me. And these shall go into everlasting punishment: but the just, into life everlasting.
(Matthew 25:30-46)
Amen, I say to you, as long as you did it to one of these my least brethren, you did it to me… The Word that was made flesh by the almighty Love of God was, and is, encountered in the flesh. God gave me His Love to give to the least of His brethren. To give to my brother whom I seeth. Whom I seeth in the flesh, the Love of God is not abstract. The Love of God is meant to live in the love that we share with each other. We were created to receive God’s Love and share that Love with one another. We were created for everlasting communion. Everlasting communion is the everlasting life of God. This is the ever-living Love of God, the Holy Trinity.
In meeting the needs of my brother’s body, the firstborn of creation, the Word made flesh, set me in a place of pasture. He hath converted my soul. He hath led me on the paths of justice, for His own name’s sake. He drew me more deeply into His truth, His way, and His life. He adopted me into His Love, into His name. God is Love.
This brought me to my knees. Through the grace of God’s humility, I could see clearly that the good works from God, which are meant for us to give to the least of His brethren, are the everlasting life of His body… The Word, from Whom all things were made, is the light of God’s Love. His light shines in the darkness, in the least of His brethren. Hidden in the flesh of His incarnation, in the thirst for Love. We are invited to share His thirst, to share His Love, to drink His living water. We are invited to His communion of Love.
God’s silent Love embraced my embodied soul.
This silent Love of God often spoke to me when I sat with the M.C. Sisters during a holy hour. There was no animosity preventing me from accepting that Catholic Christians could be followers of Christ. The M.C. Christians demonstrated more commitment to their walk with Christ than I had. I was striving towards embracing poverty and following Christ; they had been joyfully doing that for years. By the grace of God, it was the life they were grateful to live. I could not pretend to share their Catholic faith, but I did believe that we shared the same Lord. When we sat together in silent adoration, they adored the Holy Eucharist on the altar, and I adored God, the Holy Trinity, who held me in existence. The crucifix behind the altar helped me to address God the Son, Christ our King, and ask Him if He was physically present on the altar:
Who being in the form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: But emptied himself, taking the form of a servant, being made in the likeness of men, and in habit found as a man. He humbled himself, becoming obedient unto death, even to the death of the cross.
(Philippians 2:6-8)
After pondering the God who was willing to humble Himself and become incarnate as a baby in Bethlehem, dependent on His mother’s milk, and considering His thirst from the cross, I believe such realities require the grace of faith. The breath of God was my bridge from the natural to the supernatural. Much like my first prayer for faith, I admitted to God that I did not believe Christ was physically present in the Holy Eucharist, but if I was wrong about that, I wanted to submit to the truth. If my Lord and my God was incarnate in the Holy Eucharist, then I did not want to deprive myself of being closer to Him through my devotion to this mysterious gift of God’s Love. No greater intimacy could be conceived than this central mystery of the Catholic faith which I had yet to receive. The thought of it made me tremble.
The truth of this mystery was hard to hear, but I listened for it in the silence of God’s Love. Indeed, God was omnipresent. God’s presence filled the air of the chapel just as it was made known to me in His least brethren. His thirst became my thirst. Thirsting for one another’s abiding Love. Yet, God allowed me to wrestle with the uniqueness of ancient Christianity’s belief in the Holy Eucharist. Being physically present, flesh and blood, soul and divinity, meant that God had humbled Himself to become food for whoever was privileged to eat Him. The Holy Eucharist on the altar would eventually enter someone’s mouth and stomach. That person’s embodied soul would consume the embodied soul of Christ. The two would become one:
He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath everlasting life: and I will raise him up in the last day. For my flesh is meat indeed: and my blood is drink indeed. He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood abideth in me: and I in him. As the living Father hath sent me and I live by the Father: so he that eateth me, the same also shall live by me.
(John 6:55-58)
This mystery humbled me. My humility was nurtured amid daily Mass and Holy Hour. Mass was familiar to me, as was the Lutheran services I attended as a child. It was fitting worship for the God of the Bible. What was unfamiliar to me was the transcendent reverence at the sacrifice of the Mass and throughout the entire Holy Hour—Holy Hour had become mysteriously communal. Adoration was an intimate exchange with God. Knowing the omnipresence of God, I asked for His revelation, whether He was or was not physically present in the Holy Eucharist. The answer to this prayer of mine concerned the heart of my salvation.
It was good for me to place my trust in God’s faithfulness. God was my light. His rod and staff comforted me. The truth would continue to be found from my dedicated seeking. I did not know if Christ was physically present in the Holy Eucharist, but I did know that my prayer would be answered. Christ would make Himself known to me. I awaited His answer beside the still waters of the Holy Eucharist:
Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life. And we have believed and have known that thou art the Christ, the Son of God.
(John 6:69-70)
