Come Closer to Jesus
In the glow of the Blessed Sacrament, fears quiet down, wounds begin to heal, and the soul finds rest.
Photo by Theoloscience
Have you ever been in a room full of noise and still felt empty?
Have you ever scrolled for hours — liking, watching, swiping — only to realize that nothing actually fed your soul?
You’re not alone.
This is the digital paradox we all feel: we’re more connected than ever, but still feel distant from everything that matters. We search endlessly for something real, something pure, something that won’t vanish in 24 hours. But what if that something — or rather Someone — has been quietly waiting for you all along?
Now imagine this:
You walk into a quiet chapel. No crowds. No pressure. No distractions.
Just you… and Him.
The air is still. The lights are soft. There’s a gentle spotlight on the altar — not dramatic, not staged, but enough to draw your eyes forward. It’s not a stage. It’s not a set. It’s a sanctuary. The lights are focused, yes, but they’re not for show. They’re there to help us focus too — to find our way back to what really matters.
At the center of it all is the Blessed Sacrament, exposed in the monstrance.
And in front of it, a young woman kneels.
She’s not there to impress anyone. She’s not reciting memorized lines or checking off religious boxes.
She’s simply there.
Her heart open. Her soul listening.
And here’s something striking: there are three kneelers.
Only one is taken.
The other two are empty.
It’s not an accident. It’s an invitation.
Those empty kneelers are for anyone bold enough to stop running, stop scrolling, and simply be present.
Maybe even you.
This is not performance. This is encounter.
In that chapel, something begins to shift — not outside, but inside.
The world doesn’t change. But you start to.
You might notice the tension in your chest easing. The inner noise quieting. The sadness or confusion softening its grip.
Your soul starts to breathe again.
In this sacred silence, Jesus is not distant or symbolic.
He is really there. Alive. Present. Waiting.
And the whisper that rises in your heart is not imagined.
It’s Him: “I see you. I know you. I’ve been waiting.”
The Eucharist is not a symbol.
It’s not just a ritual. It’s not just tradition. It’s not something to “understand” fully before you come.
It is Jesus.
Not a memory of Him. Not a representation of Him.
Him. Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity — loving you in real time.
Think of it: the same Jesus who walked the dusty roads of Galilee, who lifted up the broken and forgave sinners, who wept with the grieving and calmed the storm — that same Jesus is here. Now. For you.
And He doesn’t demand perfection.
He only asks for presence.
If you’re feeling tired, anxious, or just… numb — try this.
Don’t overthink it.
Just find a Holy Hour near you.
Look it up. Walk in.
You don’t need fancy prayers or a perfect mindset. You don’t need to be “ready.” Just go.
Sit or kneel. Be still. Let the quiet do what noise never can.
And if you’re afraid of silence — don’t worry. He knows.
He’s not asking you to figure everything out.
He’s just asking you to be near.
You might not leave with all the answers.
But you will leave with peace.
And sometimes, that’s the one thing we were really searching for all along.
The image is a quiet testimony: one kneeler filled, two waiting.
So the question isn’t just about who’s there.
It’s about who’s missing.
Maybe next time, it’s your turn.
