Do you believe in the Real Presence? As of 2019, most American Catholics apparently did not, and the infamous Pew study exposing the problem catalyzed a nationwide Eucharistic Revival. In my case, however, I’d never had any trouble believing. Having learned early on that Jesus is fully present in the Eucharist, I’d always taken it on faith, with no need for proof.
In fact, when proof made an appearance, I didn’t know how to react.
“Mama, I feel sick.” My son, then 12, would spring this sort of thing on me just as we were leaving for school—or in this case, Mass.
I took a quick inventory. Headache, sore throat, slight fever. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go to Mass, and you stay home in bed.”
Driving to church alone gave me a chance to think about how much I enjoyed taking my son to Mass. I liked sitting with him, letting him “help” me find the readings, sharing the sign of peace—and of course reminding him to pray after receiving the Eucharist.
But about that last one. For some time now, we’d been distracted from our post-Communion prayers by what I’ll call a “curious phenomenon.”
The first time it happened, I didn’t think much of it. “Mama,” my son whispered, “I got one of those broken triangle pieces from the big host that the priest holds up.”
“You must be special,” I whispered back. “I never get one of those.”
“I can feel the straight edge inside my mouth,” he added, referring to the seams the priest uses to break the large host into smaller pieces.
“Shh. It’s time to pray.”
This happened many times—not every Sunday, but enough to be unusual. Always the broken triangle with the straight edges. Never me, always my son. The odds of this occurring so often had to be tiny, and I even accused him once of making it up. But he insisted, and the pattern continued.
“Again?” I’d ask when we got back to the pew. He’d nod.
Oddly, though, we never discussed this “curious phenomenon” outside of Mass. I suppose we just forgot about it and went on with our lives. What happened at Mass stayed at Mass.
Until the day my son stayed home sick.
Before Mass, I said a quick prayer that he would feel better soon. I also asked Our Lord to reach out to him in some special way since he couldn’t be there.
When it came time for Communion, I went forward as usual. The Eucharistic minister held up the host and said, “The Body of Christ.” At this point I vaguely noticed something different but didn’t stop to think about it.
“Amen.” I placed the host in my mouth, made the Sign of the Cross, and walked toward my seat. But something was off. Why was my mouth so full? Why did I have to chew so much? Why was the host so big?
Then a thought began to form. I realized that the Eucharistic minister had held up two triangles, unseparated, from the large elevation host. The “something different” that had caught my eye was the untorn seam connecting those two sections. I noticed that I could feel the straight edges in my mouth, just like my son had described so many times. But I hadn’t received just one triangle, there were two, and they were still connected.
Slowly, I put it all together—the triangles, the seams, the torn edges, the fullness of my mouth. Our Lord had just given me the most wonderful gift. In answer to my prayer, He had allowed me to receive not only my portion of His Precious Body, but my son’s as well.
Amazed, I continued toward my seat and knelt down. “It’s really You,” I prayed, barely comprehending what had just happened, humbled by this personal encounter. How could I respond? “You’re really here, Lord. You’ve been paying attention all along.”
I never could have anticipated such a kind and intimate gesture, so attuned to the tiniest details of our lives. For Our Lord to reach out to me that day and show that He knew my son was home sick, that He’d heard not only my prayers before Mass, but all those silly little whispered conversations about hosts, seams, and broken edges as well. Months in the making, this was more than just a “curious phenomenon.” This was a miracle—quiet, glorious, and tailor-made just for us.
I hurried home after Mass to tell my son. He lay in bed regarding me intently as I tried to explain everything without sounding like a nut. “Jesus was missing you,” I concluded, “so I guess He wanted to give me some extra grace to bring home for you.” With a laugh, I rubbed his hair. “Can you feel it?”
Still feverish, he groaned. “Mama, stop it,” he complained, rolling over to cover himself with the blanket.
I couldn’t blame him. He was sick, after all, and his mom had just come home from church with some crazy story about a double-wide Communion host. Did I really expect him to believe it?
Did I believe it?
In the months that followed, as I tried at various times to describe my experience to others, even the most Spirit-filled Catholics responded as if underwhelmed. Their lukewarm smiles and quick changes of subject left me in doubt. Had I overreacted? Was I imagining something simply because I wanted it to be true? Had I turned into that weirdo parishioner who sees Jesus in her coffee cup?
But I soon figured out where all my doubts were coming from, and I vowed never again to let the evil one cast a shadow over my miracle. I now profess without apology that it was Christ Himself who staged our “curious phenomenon,” using it to send a unique and unexpected message that only my son and I could fully decode. By offering us our own personalized Eucharistic Revival, He had reached out in a special way to say, “I’m here,” and through His Real Presence had given us a priceless gift—His Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity—in a remarkably personal way.
Just like He does at every single Mass, for every single one of us, every single time.
In the face of all that, how could anyone not believe?
Photo by Diocese of Spokane on Unsplash