The Silence to Hear
Written by Abigail - New York, USA
Adoration is the silence that makes me feel heard. In Christianity, Eucharistic Adoration takes place after Holy Communion, while others receive the Eucharist after you. It involves a silent period of 10 to 15 minutes, during which you simply sit in the presence of the Lord.
I hated church. I hated waking up early, listening to off-key singers, and most importantly, sitting silently after Communion. What was there to like? I tried every trick in the book to skip the awkward silent break for adoration. I would spend a long time in the bathroom, attempt to fall asleep or talk to anyone near me to fill the quiet void. No matter what wisdom my parents tried to impart, I found it pointless to talk to someone who wouldn't talk back to me. My parents noticed this disconnect, and after mass, I experienced my first real adoration.
Unlike adoration during mass, evening adoration is significantly longer, and, therefore, significantly more boring. So there I was, surrounded by a bunch of uninterested kids and a way-too-adamant priest. As minutes dragged and rounded the half-hour mark with not a single child praying, the priest, Father Maurer, said something that changed my life: “Imagine your favorite place. Whether it's a beach or a park, whatever it may be, imagine Jesus is there with you. Have a conversation with Him.” At nine years old, my favorite place was my Harry Potter-themed bunk bed. I closed my eyes and pictured Jesus sitting with me in my bunk bed. Suddenly, my thoughts and feelings spilled out, and I found myself talking to Him.
When I opened my eyes after adoration, the first thing I noticed was that I was one of the only people left in the church. Even more surprising was that I could still sit down and pray even longer. From that point on, Mass felt shorter and shorter, and the adoration that I had originally dreaded, became my favorite part of the service.
When I came out in 2021, Jesus didn’t leave my bunk bed. My biggest fear during my first Mass after coming out was that I knelt to pray, He would be gone. But when I nervously took the Eucharist and returned to my pew, shutting my eyes, I realized that being a lesbian didn’t change anything about my faith. I still felt heard in silence, and I could still hear. Today, I look forward to seeing Jesus in my bunk bed, as silly as it may seem because it reminds me that I am still loved, no matter who I love, and that I can be heard if I can find the silence to hear.
