When I visited a lifelong friend at the time of his wife’s sudden death two years ago, he took me to their bedroom and showed me a spot with two comfortable chairs, a table and lamp between them. “That’s where we used to sit in the evenings, Pete. We really didn’t say much or carry on long conversations. We would read or she would do some sewing. After 31 years of marriage, it was just wonderful to be in one another’s presence.”
They had many conversations about kids and grandkids, about laying new floors and how to spend retirement, about their own parents’ health and their future together. But they also had precious times when nothing was said, because simple presence said it all.
St. John Vianney noticed an elderly man visiting church every morning before work and again every evening after work. One day out of curiosity he asked, “Mr. Chaffangeon, what do you say to our Lord during your visits?” The old man responded, “I say nothing to him, Father. I look at him and he looks at me.”
It is logical and correct for us to think of prayer as conversation with God. We pour out our hearts in words of praise and intercession, words of confusion and hope. He responds with his Word, his consolation, his peace-filled silence. But another, vitally important way of praying is simply to be in God’s presence. Not that there’s nothing on our minds or nothing we feel like saying to him. There are times when simple presence says it all. We look at him, and he looks at us.
As with most things in life, we assume that prayer must accomplish something, that it must end in a thought or a resolution or a feeling. Certainly sometimes that happens, but quiet presence before God — nothing accomplished, nothing in particular said — solidifies and deepens our relationship with him, spilling over to every aspect of our lives.
There is no doubt that my friend’s quiet hours in his wife’s presence were both the result of many conversations and the reason why some things did not need to be said. It was enough every evening just to be together.
I think of prayer, and especially prayer before the Tabernacle, in that way. The Lord Jesus is present in the reserved Blessed Sacrament, because he emptied himself so completely on the cross (and therefore at Mass, during which his one sacrifice is made present to us) that his presence remains in the consecrated bread after Mass as real, true and personal. We reserve the Blessed Sacrament in order to take Communion to the sick and so that we might prolong our being present to the Lord in loving adoration, as he is lovingly present to us.
As for myself, I have many conversations with him before the Tabernacle. I talk too much, but he listens patiently, touching my heart with a word or a thought, a decision or a reminder of some kind. But I also try to spend time simply looking at him as he looks at me. Nothing accomplished, nothing said. His Eucharistic presence is ample evidence that he wants to be with me, ample evidence that he desires my presence, too.
During the Year of the Eucharist, each deanery of our diocese is spending time in Eucharistic adoration as a way of deepening our mutual presence with our Lord. I hope that the Holy Hours being conducted around the state will enliven our desire to be in his presence. I hope most especially that they will enliven our participation at Mass by awakening in us a desire to offer ourselves completely along with the bread and wine. We are changed when we participate in the Eucharist, because the gifts we make of ourselves are taken by the Lord and offered with his gift — himself — to the Father. Fed with his Body and Blood, we are sent to live as he lived, to empty ourselves for others. When we pray in his Eucharistic presence, he takes us beyond words, and our relationship with him — our desire to give ourselves to him — is deepened. Every aspect of that dynamic is important.
It is for that reason that Eucharistic adoration flows from the Mass and leads us back to Mass. Jesus’ abiding presence in the Blessed Sacrament is his way of drawing us continually into his presence. “Father, they are your gift to me. I wish that where I am they also may be with me, that they may see my glory that you gave me, because you loved me before the foundation of the world.” (John 17:24-25) He longs for us to be with him eternally in heaven, and he gives us a true taste of his heavenly presence when we pray, especially before the Blessed Sacrament.
Many years ago my friend started attending daily Mass and making a weekly hour of adoration. I think his time of prayer spilled over to his marriage, and his marriage spilled over to his prayer. His closeness to the Eucharist gave him strength, particularly when his grief was overwhelming.
He and his wife had given themselves completely to one another and, together, to God. God took their gift and made it holy. My friend still regularly just looks at God, and God looks back. Nothing accomplished, nothing said. Their profound love is expressed just by being together.
Do you have an intention for Bishop Sartain’s prayer? If so, send it to him at Bishop Sartain’s Prayer List, Diocese of Little Rock, 2500 North Tyler St., P.O. Box 7239, Little Rock, AR 72217.