The thick brown carpet tickled my nose. But in this moment, I felt that the only appropriate posture was prostration on the floor with arms outstretched. I wasn’t really sure how to do this, but I was all in and was going to give it my 100%. Laying on my face, I could feel my heart beating a little faster than normal, my respirations slightly elevated. What to do first? Wasn’t there a protocol for this type of thing? I felt like maybe there should be, but I didn’t know what it was. No matter. God knew my heart.

I did know that I needed to begin by making sure my heart was clean. This was a very solemn act and should be treated as such. So there I lay, in the stillness of my bedroom, with the door closed. I silently asked the Holy Spirit to show me any space in my life where there was sin. As offenses came to my mind I offered them up to the Lord and asked Him to forgive me and to remove my iniquity from me, as far as the east was from the west. Most of them were recent, but there was one in particular that was very old from my childhood. Why did I always feel the need to keep asking forgiveness for that one specific incident? It’s like it was still out there in the cosmos, darkening my soul, even though I’d confessed it numerous times to God. Never mind. I brushed my ruffled thoughts aside and confessed it once again. When the slow trickle of transgressions stopped I waited in silence, wanting to make sure I hadn’t missed anything.

My preparation was complete to the best of my knowledge. And thus, I began.

It had all started the previous week with a powerhouse sermon. I had heard hundreds, probably thousands of sermons, but this one had struck me to the core. My mom and I had travelled to North Carolina for a huge Christian conference. There were big name speakers and worship leaders. The atmosphere was charged. I had never heard of this particular speaker, but apparently he was internationally known and had authored a number of books. I found my seat and pulled out my Bible and notebook. He opened with a prayer and then had all of us turn in our Bibles to John 6. I sighed inwardly. I had been hoping for more of a “Elijah calling down fire before the prophets of Baal” sermon or maybe a prophetic message like “Let my people go!” instead of another sermon on Jesus being the bread of life. Shoot. I should have gone to the workshop next door on worldwide evangelization. 

But after reading through the same portion of John 6 that I heard every few months when we had communion, he paused. He looked out at the crowd and said something that caught my attention. He said, “This is the secret. This is what we have been missing in our Christian lives that has the power to set the world on fire with the love of Jesus Christ.” Okay, I was listening again. 

And he began to tell us his secret. “I take communion every day.” Hmmm, this was new. “And it is not just a symbol. It is real.” This was definitely pushing the envelope. He started to pick apart John 6 in a way that I had never heard before. “It has to be real,” he continued passionately. “Jesus keeps saying it over and over so we will get it- ‘I am the living bread that came down from heaven, if anyone eats of this bread, he will live forever.’”

He skipped down and kept reading, “For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever feeds on my flesh and drinks my blood abides in me, and I in him.”

He looked up and it seemed like he was looking directly at me. “This is what you have been missing. You’ve been reading your Bible. You’ve been praying and going to church. You want to be more like Christ, but need more than that. You want to abide in Him and He in you.” Yes, I did!

He reiterated it one last time. “It is real. It will heal your soul and infuse you with grace to be more like Christ. I know this sounds crazy, but apparently most of his followers did to. In fact, most of them left him thinking He was nuts. Only the 12 apostles remained. He could have chased after them yelling, ‘No, no, you don’t understand. It’s just a symbol. I didn’t mean it literally!’ But He didn’t. He let them walk away. They left him, thinking He was both a lunatic and a heretic."  They couldn’t wrap their heads around the fact that if they wanted life in them they had to eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink His blood (v. 53). When they left, He didn’t chase them, trying to convince them that it really was just a ritual or a symbol, something we do to not forget, kind of like a Memorial Day service. He asked the 12 apostles if they were all going to leave Him as well. The Apostle Peter spoke for the group. “Lord, to whom shall we go?”

I could feel excitement rising in my chest. This was it. I had felt like something was missing, and I felt even worse admitting it. I wasn’t ashamed of the Gospel, no that wasn’t it. I had experienced Christ in my life in a tangible way and I knew He was real. I didn’t doubt His existence, I just wanted more of Him. I felt like if He was God there should be so much more- everywhere and in everything all throughout history. And for some reason I wanted something physical, corporeal- something that I could see and hold in my hand or better yet, eat. This guy was saying I could eat to become more like Christ. Sign me up. As soon as I got home I would begin, and I would do it every single day for the rest of my life. Because I wanted to be like Christ, but definitely couldn’t do it on my own.

Today was Day 1 of the rest of my life. I sat Indian style on the floor. I felt as if there should be some ancient words spoken in order for my single Wheat Thin (the thinnest cracker we had so perhaps the closest resemblance to being unleavened) to become the true Bread of Life and my Dixie cup of grape juice to become the true blood.  But I had a lot of faith. I didn’t expect it to change in color or texture of anything that dramatic. That wasn’t necessary, and it would be a little freaky. But I still believed it.

In the absence of profound words, I resorted to I Corinthians 12. I began to slowly read out loud, “And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, ‘This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’” I held the Wheat Thin solemnly in the air in front of my face and I broke it down the center. Small crumbs fell on the carpet. And then closing my eyes, I slowly ate it. 

“In the same way also he took the cup, after supper saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.” I took my little cup of grape juice, held it in the air for a few moments and ceremonially drank it. I spent a few moments in prayer. I was ready for my day, ready for new life to take root, sprout, and grow in my heart. Bring it on. 

And thus continued my daily ritual for the next few months in the solitary quiet of my room. 

I don’t really remember how or when my ritual ended. It was probably like one of those things that I began with gusto, like a New Year’s Resolution, that was slowly forgotten and quietly faded into the background without a lot of pomp and circumstance. It hadn’t worked. Oh well. I had tried. It was too good to be true anyway. Eating something to become more like Christ, more grace filled- bah! Let’s be realistic.

Over 20 years passed. Life happened. Many churches came and went. Hundreds of sermons and thousands of worship songs... Why did I go to church? I still longed for the same thing- His presence. But I was becoming more and more frustrated with finding it.

That particular Sunday we decided to try a new church. I guess you could say it was a last resort, but that doesn’t feel fair. Maybe it was.

I’d been in the local Catholic church a few times in the past for a variety of different events and vocal concerts, but today was different. We tried to sneak furtively in the back but a family of 7 always seems to make a bit of noise. It was so quiet. A few hushed conversations here and there but overall the atmosphere was solemn. I liked this. 

I saw other people coming in. Before they slid into the pew they knelt and crossed themselves. Oops, we already messed up. Then they put down the kneeler thing, and knelt for a few moments of prayer. Shoot. Missed it again. This was certainly different than any other church I had been to, but I loved it. It seemed proper, reverential.

The service began. I liked the priest, Father Mark. He wore special colored robes that I could imagine an Old Testament priest wearing. We started with a prayer to confess sins- interesting. Everyone else seemed to know it and even thumped their chest 3 times together in unison halfway through. I listened intently, amidst the wiggling little ones, trying not to miss anything important. 

Then there was the Scripture reading. I have to admit, I was surprised. I didn’t know Catholics read the Bible. This was the most Bible reading I had ever heard read at one time in a service.  Usually it was just a select verse or three followed by a lengthy sermon. Fr. Mark read the Gospel reading and then began to share. It was good, but nothing earth shattering and before I knew it, it was done. I was confused. That was it? At all the other churches, the sermon was the pinnacle of the service. It was all leading up to that final element and maybe a final worship song. But we had only been there 30 minutes. Then we all stood and said a long creed about all the things we believed. Who came up with that? Very well done. I had tried to write a creed once- theirs was lightyears better.

I heard rustling and noticed that everyone around us was kneeling. We just tried to keep up, doing what everyone else was doing. What were we kneeling for? Fr. Mark stood behind the table at the front and began reading a series of prayers. They were prayers that had the air of being very old, sacred and profound. Everything came flooding back. The longing. The hoping. Catholics believed in transubstantiation- where there was an actual change of substance. I had read about this somewhere. I needed to read more!

As Fr. Mark held the bread in the air, the entire atmosphere changed. I felt as if something was lifted- I could breathe more freely. My physical body was still kneeling, but inside I felt completely connected and expanded. It was if the heavens were open and somehow connected to earth. I glanced upwards to confirm the church still had a ceiling.  I would recognize this feeling anywhere- it could not be replicated, hyped up or faked. It was the presence of Christ Himself. He was there.

I knew that I could not receive Communion since we weren’t Catholic. I didn’t really know why, but I was not going to break the rules in such a holy place. I might be struck down by the Presence. We watched as everyone quietly and orderly lined up to receive the bread and wine. Many of them had their hands folded. The little ones crossed their arms over their chest. Some received the little wafer into reverently open hands while others received it on the tongue. I could almost taste it. I craved it- more than any earthly thing. 

The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. The reason it hadn’t “worked” for me the first time so many years ago, or in any other church, was because only Christ can take bread and wine and change them into His very own body, blood, soul, and divinity. And the priest, when blessing the bread and wine, was in persona Christi, having been given the power to act, in the person of Christ. My mind was blown. God had not forgotten. He had not forgotten my faith or my desire. And it had been just a few blocks away the entire time.

The next few months were a whirlwind.  Turns out the Eucharist didn’t just give grace, but it actually contained the Author and Source of all grace. It was divine medicine for the soul, for the maladies present day medicine could not fix. And it was pre-figured all throughout the Old Testament in the sacrifice of Melchizedek, the Paschal Lamb, and the manna in the desert. When we read the phrase, “Do this in commemoration (remembrance) of Me”- it didn’t mean it was just a symbol. Christ was giving His apostles and their successors, both the power and authority to do as He Himself had done, the power to change bread and wine into His Body and Blood. 

When Christ ascended, not only did He send the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, He wanted to be with each of us and in us always, nourishing our souls (Mt. 28:20). The desire that I had to be close to Christ in this way was put there by Him. And this teaching was not new, in fact it was ancient. I was surprised to find out that all of the early Church Christians believed in this real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. No wonder they went to church every day! I read their writings with fascination- from St. Ignatius of Antioch (A.D. 110) to St. Justin, Martyr (c. 151) and St. Augustine (A.D. 405), even writings from the disciples of St. John the Beloved (St. Polycarp), meaning St. John himself must have taught it. It wasn’t until nearly a thousand years after Christ that people dared claim that it wasn’t real, that it was just a symbol.

But how can you really be sure? I mean really. Then I learned about Eucharistic Miracles. Time and time again God allowed ordinary people, some of them doubting, to experience Him in extraordinary ways. For example, in Poland, in 2013 on Christmas Day, a consecrated (after the priest has blessed) host (bread) fell on the floor. The host was put into a container with water so that it would dissolve. Instead, it formed red stains. In Feb. 2014, the host was examined by various research institutes, including the Department of Forensic Medicine in Poland and based on their investigation stated: “In the histopathological image, the fragments were found containing the heart fragmented parts of the cross-striated muscle. It is most similar to the heart muscle.” It was actually His flesh- the flesh from His suffering heart! This is one example of many. There are entire books and websites devoted to these verified miracles. 

Every single hour of every single day there are people witnessing and experiencing the miracle of the Eucharist (from the Greek word Eucharistia meaning thanksgiving) around the world, participating in the Mass and being filled with Christ Himself, our daily bread. 

At the Easter Vigil in 2018 my husband Jim and I, and two of our five children (now 8) received Christ in the Eucharist. A few weeks prior I had received my first confession where the sins I just couldn’t seem to move on from were washed away. I can honestly say that, even though I had been a Christ follower my entire life, I have been completely changed. And it certainly was not through my own effort, but by the grace of God. He is there, waiting for me in every Mass, waiting to give Himself to me and all those that come, hungering and thirsting. When I step through those doors, whether here in Waukon or any other Catholic Church around the world, I’m not there for a sermon or the music, although they are nice- I am there for Him. 

Better is one day in Your courts Lord, than thousands elsewhere. Thanks be to God.