“This mass that changed my life”

“This mass that changed my life”

It was about ten years ago, the afternoon of Maundy Thursday. I’m at home and just finished my activities. “By the way, isn’t there a service today?” » I look at the sheet of mass times hanging on the refrigerator: there is indeed a service, at 3:30 p.m.

Check the clock: no time to do anything else, just put on a raincoat and go on foot! On this day, the chairs in the church are arranged in a circle around the central aisle where the Eucharist table is placed. The assembly is made up mainly of elderly people. I feel a prayerful and collected atmosphere. I settle in and, as is often the case, I doubt. “The Lord wants us to love him. I have to love him, but how can you love someone you’ve never seen?”

“Fill me with your presence as you would fill an empty pitcher. For that is what I am: a pitcher.”

The mass begins. The priest suggests that we open our hands and pray to the Lord, to fill ourselves with his presence. For my part, I am going through a period of depression. I feel empty. Empty of myself, empty of all inner wealth. I feel really poor. “Lord, fill me with your presence as you would fill an empty pitcher. For that is what I am: a pitcher. And empty, too!”

“Since then, I know that I love God”

And suddenly something happens. I hear the words of the mass with great acuity, as if I were pronouncing them myself, with great concentration. No hesitation, no inattention: each word of the priest penetrates my heart. In front of me, there is a very large painting representing Christ.

“I’m starting to love him, I can’t help but love him.”

I look at him and the image of the crucified is imprinted on me. I begin to love him, I can’t help but love him. At the end of mass, I run away so as not to have to chat. I come home and, in the living room, it’s stronger than me, I find myself on my knees and I cry. Since then, I have known that I love God. Every time I pass by an ordeal on the side of the road, and look at the cross fixed in front of our bed, the words come to my lips: “Jesus, I love you.”

When I return to the same church and I look at this same painting, it no longer speaks to me, it no longer moves me. It’s not the painting that is in me, it’s Christ. But I am left with one question: “Why me? Why at this time? What should I do with this gift I received? »

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