I wanted to make at least one holy hour this Lent, an hour spent before the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. I got the chance today after work at a small 18th century chapel near our house. The floor was uneven, the pews creaky. It was so peaceful, the sun filtering through the stained glass windows, hearing birds chirping outside on the coat tails of spring. Aside from a couple other old ladies, I was alone.
Kneeling down to the be with the Lord gives such rest. You don't have to do anything or be anything your not, just yourself. It is completely disarming, like sitting on a bench with someone you love who has known you your whole life. He is truly present--body, blood, soul, and divinity--in the Eucharist. You need eyes of faith to see Him there, sitting quietly at the feet of the Lord of the Universe in a sleepy chapel.
But it can be hard to make an hour. I feel like I should be doing something. I watch the clock. I literally have to just glue my butt to the pew and turn the time over to the Lord. I doze, which is ok when I thought about St Therese of Lisieux doing the same during prayer and reasoning that children fall asleep in their parents' arms all the time.
Every saint knows that there is power in the Eucharist, and that Holy Hours are time well spent. Ven. Fulton Sheen made a commitment to spend a Holy Hour every day of his life after hearing the following story:
"When the Communists took over China, they imprisoned a priest in his own rectory near the Church. After they locked him up in his own house, the priest was horrified to look out of his window and see the Communists proceed into the Church, where they went into the sanctuary and broke into the tabernacle. In an act of hateful desecration, they took the ciborium and threw it on the floor with all of the Sacred Hosts spilling out. The priest knew exactly how many Hosts were in the ciborium: thirty-two.
When the Communists left, they either did not notice, or didn't pay any attention to a small girl praying in the back of the Church who saw everything that had happened. That night the little girl came back. Slipping past the guard at the priest's house, she went inside the Church. There she made a holy hour of prayer, an act of love to make up for the act of hatred.
After her holy hour she went into the sanctuary, knelt down, bent over and with her tongue received Jesus in Holy Communion, (since it was not permissible for laymen to touch the Sacred Host with their hands.)
The little girl continued to come back each night to make her holy hour and receive Jesus in Holy Communion on her tongue. On the thirty-second night, after she had consumed the last and thirty-second host, she accidentally made a noise and woke the guard who was sleeping. He ran after her, caught her, and beat her to death with the butt of his rifle. This act of heroic martyrdom was witnessed by the priest as he watched grief-stricken from his bedroom window.
When Bishop Sheen heard the story he was so inspired that he promised God he would make a holy hour of prayer before Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament everyday of his life. If this frail, little child could give testimony and witness to the world concerning the real and wonderful Presence of her Savior in the Blessed Sacrament, then the Bishop was absolutely bound by all that was right and true, to do the same. His sole desire from then on was to bring the world to the burning Heart of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament."
We spend time with those we love. The saints know this. In our harried day-to-day, Jesus tells us to take his yoke for it is easy, and his burden light (Mt 11:30). If you haven't yet this Lent, think about making a Holy Hour, at least once. As Saint Mother Teresa of Calcutta once said, "Perpetual adoration is the most beautiful thing you could ever think of doing."
"This is my body."
(Mt 26:26)
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