It started with a bow.
As I looked up and met the eyes of the Eucharistic minister I was distracted by the haunting ensemble that was tasked with filling Mary Queen of the World with song.
“Amen” I uttered, moments before I placed an unassuming piece of bread into my mouth.
Kneeling down my hands fell on the aged wood of the pew resting before me. As I closed my eyes my sense of touch erupted, suddenly realizing how textured and worn the wood felt.
Was I the first to place my hands here? Surely not. Would I be the last? Not even close.
As my hands gently swayed left to right, with each motion finding new and unintended details in the cracks I thought to myself, “This might be how a blind man sees.”
There was very little taste in the communion wafer, but as I prayed to the Lord, desperate to feel some kind of emotional reaction during my time in prayer I heard Him say, “That’s not really what you need.”
Suddenly realizing that the limited sensation experienced during communion would be the absolute closest representation to a full sensation of Christ, my heart found peace.
And so I chuckled briefly under my breath and thought, “My God, you’ve made a blind man see.”