If I Had A Little Gold Box...

"The thing I love most about adoration is that I can take Jesus out and kiss Him tenderly and put Him back in again." *

I sat in RCIA, staring with disgust at the elderly woman who just described adoration to the whole group. I had never heard of, participated in, nor understood the devotion. This woman's face spoke volumes of a sincere, deep love for the Lord, but her words sounded more like a children's song I had learned long, long ago. I could hear it echoing in eerie tones while I stared at her, horrified.

If I had a little gold box to keep my Jesus in... I'd take Him out and >kiss, kiss, kiss!< and put Him back again...
Then there's a verse about the devil. I was more creeped out by that one children's song and the subsequent revelation more than anything else at that point.

Catholics really do have a little gold box that they keep Jesus in, and they do in fact take Him out and >kiss, kiss, kiss!< and put Him back again.

Coming from Protestantism, the idea of adoration seemed, well, stupid to me. Of course, now, many moons later, it doesn't seem that way at all.

Adoration, for those who don't know, is a Catholic term akin to praise and typically describes a period of time spent in private praise of the Lord. Adoration can be a series of pre-scripted prayers, or it can be one's own prayers. Lots of parishes have 24-hour adoration chapels, where individuals can go any hour of the day and fall on their knees before their Savior. Of course, this only makes sense if one believes that Christ is present in the Eucharist. The host is kept in a gold box, wherein a silk veil wraps the host inside another gold box. All of this is very ornate, garb as only fitting for a King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Occassionally, the host is placed in a gold container shaped like a blazing sun, also jeweled beyond belief, to be clearly viewed by all who come into the chapel. This container is normally on a pedestal and is called a monstrance. Adoration can take place with a tabernacle or a monstrance. The important part is the prayer and praise of the Lord.

That topic has long been one of frustration for me. It's hard relating the truth of the Eucharist to my Protestant friends and relatives, but, as a Catholic, I must. It's hard to grapple with myself sometimes. I often wonder why God would call me to the Catholic Church, and recently, I found an answer to that question.
I recently partook in a Catholic conference for young adults (specifically singles) in St. Louis. The conference featured several things, including two Masses, Confession, and adoration. The night of corporate adoration led to a wholly new and foreign experience to me. I had been in personal adoration many times before, and I'd even participated in a 40-hour adoration marathon in my city, but never corporate, a whole parish/body of Catholics in adoration together.

The priest, clothed in a white silk robe, completely covering himself, carried the monstrance from person to person, row to row, throughout the entire room, to all 200+ people there. I went straight to Confession, and then to the prayer warriors stationed around the room. After repeating the story of my life, my illness and my struggles, they anointed me and prayed over me again.

"Lord, You will provide for Sarah. We trust that You will bring healing into her life."

I headed back to my seat, but the priest was already in the row between myself and the seat. I knelt on the floor at the side of the room, secretly hoping he'd already passed that way. I watched in awe as people, drawn like a magnet, adjusted themselves to the priest's every move, desperate to remain in sight of the monstrance. Everyone was on their knees. Hands reached out and stayed out, moving slightly to compensate for the movements of the priest. A man across the aisle, once the priest had passed him, lay prostrate on the floor. Christ was here, in that room, that very night. We all knew it. We all felt it. I watched a girl, sobbing in the aisle, refuse to look up at His Body. The priest knelt down with the monstrance in front of her, and he did not move until she looked up at Jesus.

Christ was there among us.

I closed my eyes and refused to look as well. I believed the priest had already passed my way. Jesus wouldn't be coming back to me. I could ponder my state of being in relation to Him in peace and relative quiet.

Why was I Catholic? Why did God lead me here? Why was I so sick? Why did I have to be this way? Normally, I don't question these things. I simply accept them. My endocrine system malfunctions on a daily basis; my cognitive functions need re-wiring; I need to be able to go into work and not have a panic attack just stepping in the door... Crap happens. It's part of life. You deal with it. I deal with it. I move on. Why, all of a sudden, was I questioning life?

I remembered being first diagnosed. One of the professionals treating me at the time, after hearing some of my life, stopped me mid-sentence to say, "You're the woman who bled for twelve years! You've been hungry this whole time, longing for Christ's love, but you've been cut off and ostracized all these years. You'll take anything, even the corner of His cloak. Girl, I hope and pray you have an encounter with Christ that changes all of that." Thinking back on all the trips to doctors and attempts to heal my broken body, I felt like that woman who bled for twelve years, going from doctor to doctor and never getting better. I wondered if she, too, were named Sarah. It was a common Jewish name...

I heard footsteps. Through my eyelids, I could see a golden light. I opened my eyes and turned my head. The priest - the monstrance - CHRIST - was coming my way.

For a brief moment, He was in front of me, humble and glorious all at once. You really don't have words for these moments. You just know it. It's like a sixth sense, deep inside of you, puts together the vibrations in the air and the smells and the sights and the sounds and says, "Yes, this is it." You just know it. And to be there, on my knees, face to face with Him... I didn't see the gold gleam of the monstrance or the little wafer any more. I saw something else, a face... It was like any other face, eyes, a nose, a mouth, eyebrows, a chin and cheeks... But it was like every other vision I'd had before. I could see it and I could not see it. The face was there and not there, because it was really Christ. He was truly there, present in the Eucharist.

I reached out. It felt right. I didn't know what to do or say. Then, He moved on. I stared for a good long while. The magnetic behavior of the crowd now made perfect sense. And then I heard a voice, a soft, sad woman's voice.

"If I but touch the corner of His cloak, I will be healed."

Her words pounded in my ears. I had to touch the corner of the white silk robe, all that kept the priest from Christ Himself. It was there, just a few feet away. I could run towards it, I could crawl... My moment with Christ was over. How could I be healed now, with the priest going the other way and carrying Christ with him?

"God, please. I don't want to be sick anymore. I want to be healed."

When I opened my eyes again, the priest was standing in front of me, with his back turned, and the monstrance out before the people in the row in front of me. The corner of his robe was within arm's reach.

I reached out and touched it.

"Sarah... You will be healed. You will be well, my daughter."

And I broke down and sobbed like I hadn't done since Laetrae Sunday last year. It happened. It finally happened. The light at the end of the tunnel just passed in front of me and I touched Him. I literally touched the corner of Christ's cloak. Literally.

I could feel the hope of days without anxiety and depression. I could feel the warmth of dreams of children. I could feel my stomach beginning to settle. And I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. I didn't stop for a good long time.

I literally touched the corner of Christ's robe.

I will be healed.

I find it interesting that the conference was patronized by St. Raphael, the patron of travels, romance, healing, and happy meetings. I actually used to hate St. Raphael because of a painful association. I was so bitter with Raphael because his intercession led to others having love and romance and happy relationships when I knew they didn't deserve it and I felt I did. I assumed St. Raphael played favorites. I eventually got over that because I'd realized that all that time, I really needed St. Michael's intercession for protection, not St. Raphael's intercession for romance. I was okay with never having to deal with St. Raphael again. And in my mind he was still tainted with association, so I was very okay with it.

Then this weekend. I traveled there safely and did not get lost once. I drove to the airport without directions and did not get lost, not even on my way back home. I had many happy, blessed meetings and made so many new friends. I made friends with people I didn't know existed, friends I connected with and will stay connected with for the rest of my life. Everyone I met was such a beautiful blessing to this tired lonely soul. Between the new faces at the conference and the old ones I'm now writing, I know I'll never want for companions. And healing. I received healing. So much healing.

I had even had the best date of my life with Jesus Christ.

So, I'm okay with how things turned out. A boyfriend would be nice. Dating people - decent people - would be lovely. But God had bigger and better plans for me and St. Raphael. I suppose now it's time to stop holding a grudge against an archangel. That can't be good for a soul, at any rate. Yeah, I did just leave the singles' conference without truly meeting anyone. But it doesn't bother me so much anymore. I'm still lonely at times, and I still feel sad remembering that I am single and my prospects aren't changing anytime in the near future. But there's something different. The past hurts don't ache and throb like they used to. I'm not quite as bitter and angry as I once was.

Maybe this was the healing that God meant for me all along. Maybe this was the healing that He intended for me. Maybe I'm healed of scars too numerous to count. Maybe I'll meet someone. Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll be happy and content as I am. Maybe I'll cry myself to sleep tonight.

But this I know, and this I will always believe, I will always, always have Christ in my life. I will always need and crave His presence, the very real presence I have found in the Eucharist. The road of life goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began, to far away where I cannot see, but I will always go back to adoration and to Christ.

It doesn't seem silly at all to me now. I hope it doesn't for you, either. May His peace and presence go with you always.

*Editor's note - Catholics never remove Jesus, present in the consecrated host, from the Monstrance to kiss it and put it back in the Monstrance.