I prayed Evening Prayer and went to Mass at the Newman Center. And then, because it was a Friday in Lent, there was half an hour of Adoration, followed by the Stations of the Cross. Who but a Catholic spends Friday night hoping to be conformed to God from their miseries, or doing reparation to the heart of Jesus?
There was a soup supper after Stations, and one of the Daughters of St. Paul was giving a talk on the Theology of the Body. Who but a Catholic can simultaneously mortify the flesh and drink in a teaching about how sanctifying and beautiful the body is?
I didn't stay long at the soup supper, because I and several of the other girls there had a previous commitment: a meeting of a small group of women seriously discerning consecrated life. There, we spent the next three and a half hours about the love of Christ and how he had worked in each of us carefully, gently, and lovingly. Who but a Catholic can understand this roomful of young women, ardently in love with a man largely considered insipid or mythological?
As we exchanged stories of how Christ had called us to be His own, I was amazed at how beautiful and unique each soul and each story is. "Unique love," mused one girl. "Everyone is made to love Jesus in a way no one has before; if we don't, He'll sort of lack that love." Who but a Catholic can humbly and truthfully that creatures so lowly are so valued by the Omnipotent?
I had hosted the meeting and I closed the door after the last guest left, exhausted and happy. It was almost midnight, and I prayed Night Prayer. And looking back at the day, I thank God for the Church. I never would have realized all these truths by myself; thanks to God, I received them. How gratuitous! Truth Himself imprints the Church with His image, and hands it freely to us, a garment of salvation.
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