A PROTESTANT'S ENCOUNTER WITH THE
ADORATION OF THE BLESSED SACRAMENT

Down the abbey stairs
and through a dark, back hallway
in silence we walk 'til we reach an opening.
Not a door, no, more
like an entrance to a cave.

Single seat benches neatly arranged,
perfect rows, beckon us to sit.
Old habits die hard
as back benches fill
with the shy, uncomfortable ones.

By the time I enter,
only front seats are left.
"Do you think they'll know I'm not Catholic?"
tumbles 'round in my empty head,
I quickly glance for a clue.

So here I sit,
before a locked golden box,
home to our Lord and Savior.
Won't someone let Him out for some air?
It's awfully small in there.

But then as we sit, quietly together,
one intention in 30 hearts,
I feel His presence,
warm eyes, gentle touch,
and I settle deeper in my seat, in my prayer.

Focusing my eyes on His heart,
more real now than my very own.
Softly, I hear His low soft voice,
"Let Me in,
let Me teach you to breath."