Night adoration

Here’s a little corner of my room. At night, the construction next door quiets. So does my mind. It’s easy to spend that time before sleep on the introspection and worry that accompany the silence – or on distracting myself from that prospect – but I’d had enough of that. Why not turn my mind outwards towards the King of Love? So I knelt before this little shrine, leaving no light on but the electric candles lighting the Holy Face of Manoppello along with faces from my current roster of heavenly friends and the Pope. And keeping that mysterious gaze from the Holy Face in mind, I transported myself to the chapel where I first encountered Jesus at great length: a humble “chapel of reservation” with glass for walls, a twenty-four hour access code, a back facing the murmuring midnight traffic of a sprawling town, a smattering of chairs, one kneeler, and the only thing that mattered, the One Thing Necessary, Christ hidden in the tabernacle. I prostrated myself before Him as if I were there in person. It was like coming home.

Or, in a sense, it was like getting to work. Leaving myself open for Christ to work in me. Joining Christ as He commenced His great work, the Passion, in the dark garden, and perhaps offering Him some little consolation. Joining others, like Fr. Macrae, when they offer Mass or awaken in the night to flee to Christ’s arms. Working, somehow, for those who left Christ in their despair or who never found Him in the first place, who now lie awake without peace. For these Christ held vigil and died. But for Christ’s mercy I would be there myself, again.

And when my life didn’t turn out how I thought it would, I felt here the impulse to dredge up my list of failures lessen. For in the invisible radiance of His Face I found Him upon Whom my life turns.

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It is Thy Eucharistic Face, O Lord, that I seek

It is Thy Face, O Lord, that I seek;
hide not Thy Face from me.

Thus says the Psalmist. Now the Face of Christ has appeared among us: the icon of the invisible God, the figure of His substance, and the brightness of His glory. His human Face, hypostatically united to His Godhead, remains with us after His Ascension in a sacramental and hidden way – namely in the Blessed Sacrament. Thus in the chaplet of the Eucharistic Face of Christ we say:

It is Thy Eucharistic Face, O Lord, that I seek;
hide not Thy Face from me.

But what are we asking for as we repeat this prayer on our rosary beads? Not for an apparition, though the truth of the Eucharistic Face has appeared in a special way for adorers at times, such as in St. Andre de la Reunion in 1904 –

– but rather, one might say, we are asking for the theological virtues. First of all we are asking for faith. The Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar is the Sacrament of faith. God hides Himself within the veil. The reality is that we do see Him whenever we look on the Host, but without this virtue we would be blind to what is in front of us. Faith pierces through to Heaven – the Heaven of the Blessed Sacrament. In faith we have a foretaste of it.

Hide not Thy Face from me. Help my unbelief for without Your gift of faith I cannot see You.

Next we are asking for hope. We hope for the Beatific Vision, in which we will find all our joy in the Vision of the Face of God unveiled. On that day the promise of faith will be fulfilled.

Hide not Thy Face from me. Save my soul from the clutches of hell that I may live to see Your Face when I die.

Finally we are asking for charity. The human face shows forth the human heart. In the Sacred Humanity of Christ, His Holy Face shows forth His Sacred Heart. Beholding Jesus we desire that our faces be transfigured into His likeness – and thus that our hearts become His, full of the radiant fire of love. In the Beatific Vision, there will be no need of faith and hope. All that will be left is pure charity, the pure Love of the Holy Trinity.

Hide not Thy Face from me. Help me to love Your countenance wherever I find it: in the Eucharist, in my neighbour, in Your starry sky. Make me Yours.

Disfiguration

Recently I have thought a little on how sin has disfigured my nature.  I know it in my mind – that we are wounded by original sin and by our personal sins – but its reality has hit hard recently as I have experienced abhorrence and frustration at the same old sinful habits wrenching my life apart and grieving the Heart of Jesus.  It feels like even the patterns of my mind have been corrupted, disoriented, self-serving.  If you could see the face of my soul, you might ask me where the two black eyes, broken and bloody nose, cut lips, and bruised cheeks came from, and I would tell you that no, I didn’t get in a fight, I merely fell – and that’s actually true, and it happens a lot.

From an ancient homily for Holy Saturday, a few days hence, comes this line: “See the blows on my cheeks, which I accepted in order to refashion your distorted form to my own image.”

Dare I hope that Jesus can heal me?  Yes.  The proof is in his Face, which bears the marks that I have given it through my sins, lovingly accepted and offered by him to the Father.  Through the disfiguration of the Passion he refigures us – indeed, transfigures us – into his own image.  I consider the gaze of the Holy Face of Manoppello (above) – is that not a look of Love?  It is captivating to my soul.  I trust in that gaze and in those bruises.  I have nowhere else to go, nowhere else to look.

May I learn to walk with Jesus the way of suffering and love.