I am alone in the chapel during Holy Hour. My deep meditation is only slightly disturbed as the sound of car doors slamming outside signal the end of 7:00AM mass—which means the chimes will sound in about ten minutes and my hour of prayer will come to an end. Like clockwork, the same old lady will come through the front chapel door for the changing of the adorers.
The chapel door slowly opens and the first thing to appear is the capped end of the aluminum cane that she uses. The worn shoe follows and then a thin leg wrapped with thick wrinkled support hose. Her tall lean frame enters next, head bent in reverence. Slowly she makes her way to the back of the room to sign in and then she begins to take her place, five pews from the front on the left, exactly where she sat last week, and all the weeks before that for the last eighteen months for as long as we both have been adorers.
You have seen this lady and all her gray-haired friends. They attend 8:00 o'clock mass every day in all the churches throughout the world, never missing an opportunity to get into the confessional, and seeking companionship with the other church-going widows. They always sit up front in church; have worn prayer books, and large plain rosaries. Yes, this adorer's hair is gray-blue and large framed glasses sit uncomfortably on her nose. Her clothes hang on an aging body, and there is no doubt from her firm expression she knows her Catechism and the disciplines of the church.
Now in the chapel, ever so slowly, she genuflects on two knees before entering her pew. Silently, piously, she takes residence two pews behind me. She is ready to take the reins of Holy Hour when I leave. Once again, the quiet settles in. The cars have all left the lot outside and the welcomed peace returns; almost a vacuum of sound as the energy of prayer takes over. We are both facing forward, concentrating on the monstrance on the altar; me in the second pew and the older lady three pews behind me; the two of us alone in the chapel, in the silence, in the solitude. In all these months, we have never exchanged words, nor even passed a smile between us; reflective of the seriousness of the changing of the guards.
And then it happened so quickly and seemingly without effort.
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