We imagine that moment when the veil is lifted and we finally see the One who made us, the One who loved us into existence, the One who carried us through every hardship.
That desire is written into us because God Himself placed it there. When we feel the tug of heaven, it is the tug of home. We know that heaven is where we belong because heaven is where He is.
Although this encounter in its fullness is reserved for eternity, there are moments even now when we draw astonishingly close to Him, closer than we allow ourselves to grasp. These moments are not only spiritual but profoundly physical, because the God who took flesh in Bethlehem still gives Himself in flesh and blood.
We sometimes forget that the Lord who once walked the dusty roads of Galilee is the same Lord who stands on the altar at every Mass, hidden yet fully present, silent yet speaking, still yet alive.
The Eucharist: Our Lord’s Real, Physical Presence
When Our Lord said, “This is my body” and “This is my blood” (Matthew 26:26–28, RSV-CE),
He was not speaking symbolically. He meant what He said. He entrusted His Apostles with a gift beyond human imagination. The Church has held from the earliest centuries that Christ becomes truly, substantially, and physically present at every Mass.
What appears to be bread and wine remains only in appearance. What it is becomes Christ Himself, whole and entire.
Transubstantiation can sound like an abstract word, although it describes the most concrete reality we will ever encounter outside of heaven. The substance becomes Christ. His body becomes present under the appearance of bread. His blood becomes present under the appearance of wine. His soul and His divinity are present in every particle, every drop, every consecrated Host resting in the tabernacle. We are not dealing with a reminder of Christ. We are dealing with Christ Himself.
Saint Cyril of Jerusalem once told the newly baptised, “Do not judge the matter from taste, but from faith be fully assured without misgiving, that you have been privileged to receive Christ’s Body and Blood.” His words strike across the centuries and steady our hearts. They remind us that faith opens the door to a reality already there.
To receive Holy Communion is to come as close as possible to Our Lord in this life.
We carry Him physically within us. His heart touches our heart, His life touches our life, His holiness enters our weakness and begins the quiet work of transforming us from within. Many people speak about yearning to see Him one day in heaven. The truth is that heaven Himself lowers Himself to us at every Mass. Heaven comes to earth before we ever rise to heaven.
The Physical Nearness of Grace
There is a mystery in this nearness that humbles even the greatest saints. Saint Elizabeth of the Trinity described Holy Communion as “a meeting of two loves”, the love of God descending and the love of the soul rising to meet Him. The Lord does not hold Himself at a distance. He draws close enough to be touched. He lowers Himself enough to be received. This is not because we deserve such intimacy but because He desires to give it.
We often think our spiritual efforts are primarily about our search for God. In truth, they are responses to the God who searches for us. Christ is always the seeker. Christ is always the one who comes first. Christ is always the one who calls out gently, patiently, lovingly. He wants us to know Him not as a distant God but as a God who steps into our world, enters our flesh, and touches our hearts with His real presence.
The Confessional: A Second Meeting Place With Christ
The Eucharist is not the only moment when Christ waits for us in a physical, tangible way. The confessional is another place where we encounter Him directly. It is another place where we meet Him almost face to face, though under the veil of the Sacrament.
Many people avoid Confession because they imagine it is a place of judgement. In truth, it is the place where judgement is lifted, healed, forgiven, and replaced with mercy. Christ uses the priest’s voice to speak His words of absolution. Christ uses the priest’s raised hand to communicate His peace. Christ touches the soul as clearly and personally as He touched the leper who begged for cleansing. He said, “I will; be clean” (Mark 1:41, RSV-CE). He says the same in the confessional every time a heart humbly returns to Him.
We sometimes forget how physical this Sacrament is. The priest sits there as a visible sign of Christ’s presence. The penitent speaks aloud, using real words to surrender real sins. The priest responds with the formula of absolution. Something invisible happens, yet it breaks into the world in a way we can sense and hear. Grace becomes almost audible.
Why Do So Many Ignore This Invitation?
We would never treat our friends the way we sometimes treat Our Lord.
If a friend invited us to meet for a coffee, a walk, or a simple chat, most of us would accept without hesitation. We enjoy their company. We value the relationship. We make time because we know friendship grows through real encounters. We show up because we care.
Yet many people turn down this invitation from Christ.
His invitation is far more profound than the invitation of any friend. Christ waits in the confessional with the gentleness of a shepherd and the eagerness of a Father longing for His child to come home. His invitation is open, constant, quiet, patient. He never withdraws it. He never grows tired of offering it. He never gets offended when we delay.
So why do we hesitate?
For some, it is fear. The fear of naming sins aloud. The fear of being known. The fear of exposing weakness. Yet Christ already knows every detail, so nothing is revealed that surprises Him.
For others, it is shame. Shame convinces a person that they must fix themselves before they return. Yet Christ invites the broken precisely because only He can mend the heart.
For others still, it is indifference. The confessional does not feel urgent. Life distracts. Weeks slide into months, months into years. The soul drifts quietly without noticing the distance growing between itself and God. Christ waits with patience beyond human understanding, although the soul misses graces it could have received.
There are also people who tell themselves they are unworthy. They forget that the confessional exists for the unworthy. Christ came for sinners, not the righteous. His embrace is most tender where wounds run deepest.
We willingly respond to human invitations. We meet friends for meals, family for gatherings, colleagues for coffees. We accept invitations from those who cannot save us, heal us, or renew us. Yet the invitation from Christ, the One who can lift the soul to holiness, gets gently ignored.
Why Do We Turn Down the Chance To Be Forgiven?
Every time we enter the confessional, we rise from it spiritually lighter than when we entered. Christ removes burdens we cannot carry. He heals sorrows we cannot soothe. He forgives sins we cannot undo. He gives peace the world cannot provide.
Why turn that down?
Perhaps some feel they cannot change. They believe their patterns of sin are too familiar to break. Christ sees it differently. He meets the effort before the success. He crowns the desire before the victory. He rewards the returning heart before the perfected heart.
Perhaps others believe Christ will be disappointed in them. The truth is that Christ rejoices more over a single sinner who returns than over ninety-nine who never left. His joy is greater when we come back than His sadness when we wander.
Perhaps the problem is that we underestimate the Sacrament. We forget the power poured out in a single absolution. We forget how heaven moves when a soul repents. We forget how the angels rejoice. We forget that the confessional is a doorway into Christ’s heart.
The Open Invitation
Christ does not make this complicated. His words, spoken through the priest, echo across eternity: “I absolve you.” Those three words undo the works of darkness. They tear down every barrier between the soul and grace. They prepare us to receive Him more deeply in the Eucharist. They clean the place where He desires to dwell.
The invitation stands open. Christ does not close it because we delay. He waits. He watches. He longs. He hopes for our return. If we accept His invitation, we will rediscover a joy that runs deeper than emotion. We will rediscover peace strong enough to carry us through trials. We will rediscover a closeness to Christ that prepares us for the day we finally meet Him face to face.
A prayer for all who read this blog post and all who never will
Lord Jesus Christ, draw our hearts nearer to You this week. Strengthen our desire for heaven and kindle in us a longing for Your presence in the Eucharist. Grant us the courage to approach the confessional with trust, knowing that Your mercy never fails. Help all who struggle with fear, shame, or doubt to receive the grace You offer so freely. Bless us, guide us, and lead us in Your peace. Amen.
Closing Reflection
We crave to see Our Lord face to face, although He already gives us glimpses of that encounter in the Sacraments. He comes physically to us in the Eucharist and waits for us tenderly in the confessional.
If we accept His invitation to meet Him here and now, our hearts will be ready for the day when the veil is lifted and we see Him as He truly is.
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