With a recent
Pew Research survey indicating many Catholics don’t believe the church’s core
teaching of the Eucharist, I’ve got a story to tell.
Years ago, I
was diagnosed with a rare blood cancer. My medical team suggested we ‘watch and
wait’, delaying treatment until absolutely necessary.
“
We have one
bullet to shoot this with,” my oncologist said. “We don’t want to use it too
soon. If we do, when the cancer returns, as it always does, there’s nothing we
can do for you.”
Months later, my
health weakened. My bones ached. My head hurt. Fatigue reigned. My medical team
watched closely.
Back then, our
oldest daughter was graduating from eighth grade at our parish school. The registration
deadline for the Catholic high school, our school of choice, was fast
approaching. However, the fear of cancer raised doubts.
What if medical
bills consumed our finances? What if I was too sick to function? What if I was
too weak to drive her to school?
So, one
particular weekday, struggling with those uncertainties, a nagging inner voice insisted
I attend Mass. I resisted, but finally grabbed the car keys.
Why am I doing this? A strange force seemed to propel me. By the time I get there, I will have missed
my (then) favorite part, the homily.
Finally,
arriving at church, I parked my car and raced inside. The click of the heavy door closing behind me
was the only audible sound in the hushed sanctuary.
I stood in the
back, somewhat removed from the tiny congregation. Yep, I missed the sermon. The
priest was on the altar. I watched in silence as he washed his hands, whispered
prayers, and elevated the host.
Then it
happened.
A mysterious
presence surrounded me. Someone was there, beside me. I sensed it, just like,
even with your eyes closed, you can feel someone hovering close to you. It was
a definitive energy; a distinct presence.
Almost instinctively,
I placed my burdens into the hands of my unseen Visitor.
Later, I left Mass
humming and with a spring in my step. I didn’t tell anyone about the encounter
because it sounded too crazy.
Days later, at
another Mass, the last line of the Gospel made my head spin: “All who saw Him
were healed.”
What? Had
I seen Him? Was I healed?
It took a leap
of faith, but we enrolled our daughter in the Catholic high school. Inexplicably,
my health improved. I drove her to classes, attended the games she cheered,
celebrated her graduation, and sent her to college. Later, she married and
started a family. I didn’t miss one moment
of her life—or my own.
In August, 2015,
twenty years after diagnosis, the cancer roared. Chemotherapy worked, and now researchers
have developed ongoing treatments that keep the cancer at bay.
Healed? I’d say
so.
Had I seen him?
I’d say so.
That experience
during the consecration remains vivid. I’ve tried to imitate, duplicate, or re-create
it, but nothing comes close to what happened to me that day.
Is Jesus really present in the Blessed
Sacrament?
From the core
of my being, I cast my vote.
Yes.
