I don’t usually attend a Catholic church, but I did on Sunday. It’s been several years since I’ve last fellowshipped with my Sisters and Brothers from the Catholic church but I had a wonderful invite from a family member and was excited to go to church during my travels.

This Sunday, as we arrived early to experience the familiar solitude. It was surprisingly refreshing as a holy hush descended over the church. I found myself admiring a reverence expressed through appearance, posture, actions, the aroma of incense, and familiar, even rehearsed responses. People bowed at the altar as they approached in respect or as an act of obedience. Several women even wore head coverings. One woman with her body as an act of worship knelt before the priest to receive the sacraments. I found these actions prophetic movements and worshipful.

As each member who was eligible to receive the Eucharist approached the alter, the priest spoke with clarity and authority: “Body. Blood.” One by one, congregants and attendees knelt and opened their mouths to receive the sacrament (the wafer representing the body of Christ Jesus, dipped in wine representing His blood). There was a presence in the house.

Everyone was welcomed. The priest spoke with conviction during the homily to all who had gathered, yet participation in the Eucharist was reserved for those who had received the required sacraments. Others were invited to come forward for a blessing, with their hands folded across their chest, a posture I understood as a symbolic yielding and expression of respect for tradition.

The music was beautiful almost heavenly. There was an order to everything. People seemed to know exactly when to stand, bow, kneel, respond, and receive. There was something striking about the reverence and intentionality. Very humbling in a way.

And yet, as I watched, my heart kept yearning and returning to sneak away with Jesus.

“This is My body, broken for you.”

“By His wounds, we are healed.”

Jesus gave Himself not merely as a ritual to observe, but as an invitation into relationship with Him to reflect, remember, repent and freely receive.

“Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.”

I thought about the Canaanite woman the priest spoke about in his homily the woman who came to Jesus with a child who was dying in desperate need of a miracle. His earthly ministry was first directed toward the children of Israel, yet she recognized something others could miss: His mercy was more than enough even if it were only crumbs like a dog would sniff for under the table.

She didn’t come with the right credentials.

No, she came with faith. A great faith in Jesus’s eyes.

She knew who He was. She knew He was good. And she believed that even the smallest portion of His mercy would be enough. Oh her faith is humbling.

Lord, may we never become so familiar with religious forms that we forget the One they point to.

Teach us reverence without allowing ritual to become empty.

Teach us not to judge those who cling to traditions that draw them to their first Love, Christ Jesus.
Teach us obedience without performance.
Teach us to recognize Your body, Your sacrifice, and Your mercy.

I’m grateful for the small moments when we have paused in our conversations to talk about my first love, Jesus Christ. I’ve spoken about my heart’s desire to follow Him while also acknowledging the weaknesses that I—and everyone—face.

The Lord looks at the heart and its motives. We should desire the same, to please and yield ourselves to the our first love whom we love.

Perhaps that is one of the beautiful things about marriage: continually seeking those moments together, finding ways to demonstrate commitment and love. Over time, we learn the language of sacrificial love and long-suffering. We compromise, stretch, yield and strengthen one another.

Marriage can be a beautiful picture a foreshadowing of our intimacy with our Lord and Savior. His mercy leads us to Him. His love binds us to Him. And our love for Him keeps us following, seeking, knocking, and asking.

He is the Door—the Gate through which we enter and come and go.

And at the heart of it all, I keep coming back to this:

Your mercy is still more than enough.

Jesus, I love You, Lord.