By Joel Padgett
Connecting Liturgy and Life
Editor’s note: For 2026, the weekly “Connecting Faith and Life” column has been renamed “Connecting Liturgy and Life.” The column consists of reflections on Part Two of the Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC), which focuses on the Liturgy and the Sacraments.
cf. CCC 1333-1347
After having lived for over a decade in Europe, I was discerning coming back home to the States. At the time I was living in Rome, and it was a not a decision that I took lightly. I had grown to love the “Eternal City.” In fact, I had become quite endeared to what I affectionately describe as the “beautiful chaos” of Rome. Nowhere else had I encountered such a unique juxtaposition of the human longing for the Transcendent and the humus of humanity. Where else could I step out of an overly crowded bus — with all its noise and smells — into the silent peace of a Renaissance church that raised both my eyes and spirit toward the heavens? And this isn’t even to mention the graces of visiting the tombs of so many saints who have forever changed the world or of attending Mass with the Pope in St. Peter’s Square.
As I eventually came to the conclusion that the Lord was directing me back to the States, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of anticipatory nostalgia. One day, while in prayer, I felt the Lord place on my heart something akin to: “I am present in the Eucharist. I am with you always. Wherever the Eucharist is, I am there. Would you place more emphasis on a saintly relic than on my presence in the Eucharist? What does it ultimately matter where you live as long as it’s where I want you to be? Will I not be nearby in the Eucharist? What more could you ask for? Is there any place on earth that you’d rather be than with me? Yes, the beauty of creation is magnificent, but it is I who created it. Culture and history may be fascinating, but am I not the Lord of both?”
Needless to say, the Lord had made his point, and it is one that I do my best to keep in mind. Ultimately, it’s the same one that St. Benedict makes in his Rule: “Let them prefer nothing whatever to Christ” (Ch. 72). Regarding one’s physical location, I’d express it as first and foremost desiring to be where God wants someone to be, but always holding in high esteem and seeking opportunities to be in Christ’s Eucharistic presence: praying before the tabernacle, going to Mass more frequently or visiting an adoration chapel.
Practically speaking, this always requires discernment. For example, if someone is called to marriage and needs to work to support their family, it would be wrong for them to spend the majority of their time in a chapel. On the other hand, if someone is on a nice vacation and doesn’t even have a single thought of spending quality time with Christ in the Eucharist, most likely something is off. Furthermore, I would tend to think that most people — in addition to Sunday Mass — could work in at least some quality time with Jesus in the Eucharist each week.
The Eucharist is such a treasure. In it, we find both nourishment and rest. More importantly, we find God himself. Christ entrusted this gift to his Church. “The Lord, having loved those who were his own, loved them to the end … In order to leave them a pledge of this love, in order never to depart from his own and to make them sharers in his Passover, he instituted the Eucharist as the memorial of his death and Resurrection, and commanded his apostles to celebrate it until his return” (CCC 1337).
Words cannot convey the gratitude that ought to fill our hearts for this gift that has come down to us through the centuries and throughout the world. In the Diocese of Evansville, we are so blessed that from practically anywhere in our diocese, we can visit Jesus in the Eucharist within a 30 minute drive. Every single day in our diocese, Christ is made present somewhere upon our altars.
It is understandable that we often yearn for the grandeur of the mountains or the allure of the beach. The beauty of nature has the ability to elevate our eyes and hearts to the Transcendent. Moreover, our desire for a natural paradise ultimately reveals our pining for an eternal one. And there is no paradise without Christ. Consequently, no longing should ever surpass our longing to be close to Christ, and his presence in the Eucharist should occupy a privileged place in our hearts. Even though it’s shrouded in the mystery of faith, the closest glimpse of Paradise that we’ll see this side of heaven is beheld in the Eucharist.