I apologize for this blog becoming Catholicism Central. I’m not a crazy church lady, I swear. It’s just between the thesis and Holy Week…well, check back after Pentecost if you want a post about how Johnny Depp would be the perfect father of my children or something shallow like that.
I’m not a spiritual person. I don’t really have any major devotions, I don’t believe in most apparitions, I couldn’t meditate if you paid me.
However, I’m very religious. That doesn’t mean that I obsessively compulsively go through ritual without believing anything about or caring why I do it. I’m too pragmatic to be spiritual, but it is precisely through ritual (and study, which explains…oh…my entire college career) that I feel closest to God.
Except when it comes to Eucharistic adoration. Something happens.
It’s Holy Thursday, and my parish has adoration all night. I drove down after everyone went to bed, planning on staying for a few minutes because 11:00? Are you kidding me? I’ve been asleep for like hours by now.
But then I got there, and…it’s so peaceful. When Grandpa died I would go all the time, because it was the only thing that could calm me down. I decided to stay an hour- because again, the study thing? I know my gospels.
And can I just say that if you’ve never spent an hour just being alone with the Eucharist in the middle of the night, you’re seriously missing out.
And that’s coming from someone who is definitely not spiritual.
Oh, hey, it’s Good Friday now. Try not to start any pogroms, people.