Engage

During the period of silence following Communion, I nestled in the pew along with a full house. Through Holy Infant’s signature stained glass, rays of April sunshine showered upon us. Monsignor Buchheit’s attention stirred as a distraction, a man stood in an aisle from the back quarter of the church. Dressed in blue jeans with a cowboy hat tucked beneath his arm, the man walked the aisle approaching the podium. As he climbed the altar steps, Monsignor Buchheit rose, concern written across his brow. With open palm raised, the man waved to our priest for affirmation.

The man appeared even stranger as he faced the congregation. A jigsaw of stitches mended severe cuts enclosed in dark bruises, masking the stranger.

 Firm and deep, he spoke, “I’ve travelled from my home in Montana to thank you for your prayers. I’m not much for church, but my sister requested you pray for my recovery. I thank my sister,” he acknowledged her raising his western hat. An apprehensive monsignor sat down.

“I’m a truck driver. I hit a bad patch of ice earlier this winter and demolished my truck.” Without smiling (it probably hurt), he added, “Demolished my face. Been reconstructed … but doesn’t look like it.” He attempted to humor us.

“For months I’ve worn braces and still do under my shirt and jeans, but I can walk and if I can walk, I can come here to thank you. Your prayers made a difference. Thank you.”

He simply returned to his seat beside his sister. Mass ended and we went in meaningful peace on this Sunday, one week into Easter.

From childhood to adulthood, one grows increasingly independent, autonomous. However, as one grows in maturity spiritually, one encounters their dependence on God and the grace God provides through others. For me, our catechumens, the “others,” present God’s grace to our community through their conscious act … choosing to join our Catholic family. Like Jesus, the catechumens found their way through the desert and into the garden. On the night of the Easter Vigil, they stood before a house full of people just as the truck driver did and publicly emptied themselves, of control and independence … temptations in the desert. I watched. I listened. I asked why?

As I listened to the catechumens, I recalled a period in my life in which I studied others’ faiths and questioned whether I would choose to be Catholic (confirmed in third grade in a mission parish, the decision wasn’t mine). How many reading this chose or would choose to be Catholic?

“Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again.” Men and women proclaimed it for their first time and did so publicly during the Vigil eve. Despite thousands of proclamations, had I assumed routine in the Eucharist? Through guests, the initiated entering the Church … the Mystery, our Creator, revealed grace to us, their hosts. The catechumens, the truck driver travelled the desert to accept grace and to share grace with us. The truck driver stood before me in stitches, braces, broken … catechumens stood before me, soaked in water, saturated in incense, marked with oil proclaiming, “Christ has died. Christ has risen. Christ will come again.” Both engaged the risen Christ. Under one common act, receiving the body and blood of Christ, we emerge to share many personal occasions of grace. May you engage the risen Lord and share your occasions of grace!