I look at Him, He looks at me

I recall a time when, long ago, as a Protestant, I had a powerful encounter with Christ in the Blessed Sacrament, reserved in the tabernacle. Back then, a heavy anchor weighed heavily on my soul. I clung to it, foolishly, yet I sought for some way to let it go. I walked into the church building where the tabernacle was located, merely desiring to sit and take my rest. More than not understanding the Real Presence (who does?), I didn't even believe in it at the time. Yet, something happened to me in that moment.

For a long time, I didn't know how to comprehend the experience. As I later reflected on it, I realized how contemplative the moment was, almost in spite of myself. I was blind - puffed up, full of myself. I had a desire to repent, not knowing how to take the first step. Christ stripped me down of that anchor and restored my sight. The moment was simple; no words were uttered. I had been a fool, but Christ had always been there, loving me throughout my entire life. In ways even surpassing the love of a mother for her child, He had loved me. The experience strengthened my resolve to run towards Christ, following Him to the Catholic Church.

Nowadays, I aim to spend some time each week before Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. I've gotten into the routine of visiting our parish's perpetual adoration chapel every Sunday before mass. Sorry fool that I am, much of the time is spent contending with the various distractions of the outside world. But then I remind myself, back to my encounter with Him so long ago and through to today, I don't leave my life on the doorstep when I enter the chapel. I take it with me, and there, in that place, I give it to Him. No words are necessary. I look at Him, and He looks at me. I like the way the Catechism describes some of these simple moments of contemplation (paragraphs 2711, 2715):

Entering into contemplative prayer is like entering into the Eucharistic liturgy: we "gather up:" the heart, recollect our whole being under the prompting of the Holy Spirit, abide in the dwelling place of the Lord which we are, awaken our faith in order to enter into the presence of him who awaits us. We let our masks fall and turn our hearts back to the Lord who loves us, so as to hand ourselves over to him as an offering to be purified and transformed.

Contemplation is a gaze of faith, fixed on Jesus. "I look at him and he looks at me": This is what a certain peasant of Ars in the time of his holy cure' used to say while praying before the tabernacle. This focus on Jesus is a renunciation of self. His gaze purifies our heart; the light of the countenance of Jesus illumines the eyes of our heart and teaches us to see everything in the light of his truth and his compassion for all men. Contemplation also turns its gaze on the mysteries of the life of Christ. Thus it learns the "interior knowledge of our Lord," the more to love him and follow him.

Laudetur Iesus Christus!