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My grandfather was blind. Whenever the family got together for Sunday dinner, I was given the responsibility of walking him from his chair in the living room to the dining room table. The distance was only a matter of feet, but I could have been a mile as far as I was concerned. I was a small boy then and my grandfather was very tall, well over 6 feet. He would take my hand and the long journey to the table would begin. I became very aware of the small but potentially dangerous obstacles along the way, the edges of carpet, a newspaper left on the floor by a recliner. Once I got him to the table and in his chair, he would pull me close and pat me on the head as his way of saying thank you. I just breathed a sigh of relief that I got him there safely.

In 1888, a man picked up a newspaper and was shocked to see his own obituary in the headlines. It was an error, of course. His brother was the one who died, but the newspaper mistakenly ran the story about him. However, he was even more shocked when he read in his obit that he had made his fortune by finding new ways to kill people. It was true; he was a wealthy munitions manufacturer, the inventor of dynamite in fact.

A few years ago, a Franciscan Sister of the Renewal attended a baptism I celebrated with another sister from her community. Both sisters were in their early 30’s and missioned in the South Bronx to work with the poor.

When you look at the monstrance, what do you see? You see the Sacred Host, the Real Presence of Jesus, Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, in the Eucharist. But on the altar, the Lord seems inactive and immovable. I assure you He is neither. In this sacrament, He continually pours Himself out in love for you and for the world He came to save.