I have to start this story with a different story, one that happened to me years ago. I was shopping at the grocery store late one evening, as one does, when a ton of individual agendas (see eight kids) means time after work gets filled until about 9:30.
I'm in the middle-ish of the store and I hear a whoop. Not an Aggie Whoop, mind you, but a spontaneous, joy-filled, gush of unexpected emotion. It was followed by another cry, accompanied by tears. I could make out that two dear friends had lost touch and not seen each other for years, only to re-unite by chance in the produce section. I pushed the cart over, and, noting that one of the people there was wearing the grocery store's uniform, played a bit of a mean trick, "Did you know that I could hear you way over in the middle of aisle seven?" I let it hang for two heartbeats before following with "It was beautiful! I could hear such pure joy in your voices! Thank you!"
So yeah, I'm not so proud of that little joke. I inserted myself and made it about me. Mea culpa.
OK, fast forward to last week. The Middle School ministries at our parish are going to adoration that night in the chapel. And I volunteer with both the 5th & 6th graders and also the 7th & 8th graders, back to back programs, so I get to go twice. As I knelt down with the 5th & 6th graders, and heard them sing along with this guy, Dave Moore, I felt that same sense of reunion. I get to see Jesus in the Eucharist every Sunday at Mass, and I don't think I'm insensitive to His presence there. Not always, because Consolations aren't Candy, but most Sundays. I know He's there and I can feel Him there. But during adoration, it just felt, I dunno, more. Not only was He there, but it seemed He was there for me. He was gazing back at me somehow. A focal point for my worship of Him and a fountain of grace pouring out for all of us. And I recalled that reunion I had heard years before, of two old friends so thankful that they could see each other's faces. They were so surprised and so amazed at the joy that had accompanied their reunion. As was I. And the tears came as Jesus and I caught up.
We talked about my wife and her health. We talked about my college-aged kids who have strayed from the Church. We cried and we bonded.
And then I walked the kids back to the Hall for the rest of the session. Our small group discussed what we felt, what adoration was like. Those are good kids. I've seen compassion among those 5th and 6th graders that would make their parents proud. Or possibly even make them jealous that they don't have that level of compassion shown to them in their own lives.
An hour or so later, I'm walking back to the chapel with the 7th and 8th graders. I'm in the lead group and get to kneel down on the front row. And suddenly, it's another reunion. There are more tears. It's not just His Presence but somehow, His Face is shining upon us. And it was, honestly, a surprise. The catching up goes over the same topics and digs deeper in significance. Again with health issues. Again with our kids. And He still smiled and inquired more. I don't know how to describe it exactly. Maybe like putting on clothes still warm from the dryer on a cold morning.
But what was more amazing to me was not what Jesus and I had discussed, but the re-union of the re-union. The picking back up and going over the same ground, but instead of starting over and just scratching the surface, the furrows were dug deeper. Love doesn't tire of us. Love doesn't need to be entertained with novelty. Love is always fresh and new.
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