They prostrated themselves and did him homage. Then they opened their treasures and offered him gifts. Matthew 12:11

My favorite definition of grace is a gift unearned.  So perhaps it was grace more than coincidence that a homily on the Feast of the Epiphany, which celebrates the giving of gifts, included a call for volunteers just as I was about to begin a semester-long academic sabbatical in 2012. A sense of obligation to be more devoted plus an attitude of “why not?” prompted me to make a three-month commitment to spend an hour per week in a small chapel at my Catholic church. That those three months extended to 13 years has been not only a gift to me, but one I’ve opened and offered to others in diverse ways.

Receiving unexpected gifts can prompt one of two responses: feeling special, somehow chosen, or feeling inspired to share, “re-gifting” in today’s parlance. Some say that the true meaning of a gift is not realized until it is passed along, offered to anyone with generosity and without conditions. In Alcoholic Anonymous, for example, the gift of sobriety, a “spiritual awakening” obtained via the first 11 steps, is lost if not carried to other addicts and alcoholics through service: Step 12.

I’ve always believed I am not in full possession of my values, beliefs, and faith until I share them with others, even to the point of sacrifice.

Every Wednesday, I now navigate rush hour traffic, park without a minute to spare, and enter a Eucharistic Adoration chapel, a quiet place of reverence, beauty, and belief that Christ is present in a large, white host encased in gold on a small altar. My breathing slows as I open glass doors, the faint aroma of beeswax from votive candles signaling entry into a holy space. In silence I approach the altar, kneel for a moment on the tile floor, then settle into a chair.

Some days silencing my racing thoughts takes a full 20 minutes of voiced prayer and reading, but eventually I am calmed by the ocean of quiet. I then converse with what some call the collective unconscious, but I call God, or more specifically the universal Christ who I believe to be right there through the miracle of transubstantiation: the body, blood, soul and divinity of my Lord. At first, I did most of the talking, pleading for guidance due to hurt, fear, and confusion. Asking for answers more than once yielded a response, miraculously as literal as a text or phone message by the time I returned to my car . But eventually I learned that greater gifts—for me and others—were available if I stopped the dialogue all together. Just as close acquaintances feel no need to fill space between them with words, I simply rested in Christ’s presence. I adored.

Perhaps only at Christmas time are the self-reliant and individualistic willing to use that word, as in “O Come let us adore him.” We struggle with the idea of passively paying homage, uncomfortable with the humility required to bow down before any other human or God. But that sacrifice, as well as the decision to aside to-dos on my calendar once per week as an offering of time, heart and mind, yields gifts beyond those offered by private devotion or experienced in secular practices such as yoga, meditation or physical exercise. When I, like the wise men of Scripture, open the treasure of myself in worship, I experience much more than peace of mind, easing of anxiety, self-knowledge and self-acceptance . Only I experience “epiphany,” which translates as “manifestation” of God’s love.

I’ve always believed I am not in full possession of my values, beliefs, and faith until I share them with others, even to the point of sacrifice. So when I discovered a book in my chapel about fellow “Eucharistic adorers” inspired to share the Eucharistic presence in tangible ways, I found the courage to do the same. I was inspired to return to an earlier journalism career, but with a key difference: I began to write exclusively about my faith, first in published essays, then on social media, then in a book and now all of the above. Because of gifts found in Adoration, I often read and reflect on in-progress writing in front of the monstrance, accepting any and all guidance from a divine editor.

“I am convinced that in neglecting the need to serve and to pay back, many Christians lose whatever they might have gained in their private devotions,” says Fr. Richard Rohr. “In fact they live inside a false peace, and sometime even a well-disguised narcissism.”

Even when my soul simply rests in the Adoration chapel, I receive and share the gift of community. My presence is amplified and extended by others in the room joining me in praise, a kind of joy available even amidst suffering. My first prayers are always offered on behalf of strangers who leave handwritten notes asking for intercession. Committing to prayer and bodily presence in front of that host every week, plus daily practice of the Christian meditation of Centering Prayer, not only softens my heart, but also allows me to share that love and acceptance with recipients of Meals on Wheels delivered as a volunteer alongside my husband several times a month, fellow parishioners as a lay minister, and anyone I encounter needing judgment-free space for airing anger, worry, or pain. Honoring Adoration’s gift with reciprocity is its own form of praise. As codified in a rule of life I maintain as a Benedictine oblate, those invited to dwell in “God’s tent,” must offer reverence, and “do not become elated over their own good deeds; they judge it is God’s strength, not their own, that brings about the good in them. They praise the Holy One working in them.”

There is a story told of the great holy woman St. Teresa of Calcutta, who began every day with a “holy hour” in front of the Eucharist, even when her work serving the poorest of the poor required worldwide travel. When counseled by close advisors to reduce that time, making way for more public appearances and meetings with world leaders, she not only resisted, she doubled down. By the end of her life, Mother Teresa routinely devoted three hours per day to rest in the presence of Christ, which both grounded and replenished her show she could fulfill her ambitious mission.

“Adoration is the most beautiful thing you could ever think of doing,” she once said. “Imagine for a moment that we are living in Jesus’s time, and he has invited us to visit with him and spend some quiet time getting to know him better. … He can perform miracles, heal us, teach us and love us. We can talk to him, and he can speak to us.”

My favorite characteristic of Eucharistic Adoration, however, is the authentic hospitality it inspires from the Catholic Church. Just as the Feast of the Epiphany gift-givers were foreigners, non-Jews, and non-believers who were welcomed by the Holy Family, all who respect the silence and reverence of adoration chapels are welcome. Some churches offer “perpetual adoration” every hour of every day, while others host fewer, but regular hours, sometimes in the primary sanctuary. Most parishes post that information on their websites and leave doors unlocked during the day.  

While I pray that someday Catholic Mass liturgies will manifest true “communion,” in the meantime I invite all worshipers to a nearby Adoration chapel. Participating by presence in the divine mystery of Christ’s love changes us, as it did the magi who returned to their country “by another way,” manifesting and sharing the gifts received in adoration.

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