I sat up in bed, bright and early. Swinging my legs to the ground, I got down on my knees. I made the Sign of the Cross and bowed my head to make my morning offering.
After brushing my teeth and getting dressed, I descended the stairs. Walking past the chapel, I stepped in to genuflect before the Tabernacle and offer a brief prayer. Moments later, our German Shepherd Rosie was nudging me along to let her outside. As I stepped out the door I was delighted to see the morning dew collected on the blades of grass. I squatted down to feel the cool droplets of water as Rosie patrolled the perimeter of the yard.
Back inside, I opened the drawer to access the coffee and brewed my first cup of the day. Holding the warm mug in my hands for just a moment, I closed my eyes and sensed gratitude well up in my heart.
Most likely, you are not a religious sister living in a convent like me. But I bet that at least a few of my morning moments are similar to yours. Perhaps you rise to the cries of a baby who needs your TLC or the unexpected jolt as an older child jumps on top of your bed to wake you up. Maybe your day starts by turning on the faucet to enjoy a quick shower. Sometimes, you may run out the door, nearly forgetting to pick up your backpack and coffee mug.
As we make our way through the hours of the day, we are constantly moving. As a matter of fact, the human body has 600 muscles that are always at work, not only helping us walk or pick up a book, but also powering essential bodily functions like breathing, digestion, and circulation. Don’t forget, the human heart is a muscle, and it beats approximately 100,000 times in a day!
I love to think about how Jesus has a human heart. As a matter of fact, in his first encyclical, Pope Saint John Paul II wrote these words of Christ: “with a human heart he loved” (Redemptor Hominis, no. 8). Every act, every movement that Jesus the Son of God engaged in was motivated by love, and because he chose to assume our human nature, we can share in that love.
When we take the risk to love like Jesus in concrete ways, our everyday actions are transformed. Attractions and affections are no longer self-centered but other-centered. The way we spend our time is no longer selfish, but selfless. Our goals are no longer self-serving, but oriented toward serving others, to build up the Body of Christ, the Church.
At Mass, all of our actions—the way we move through life—can be transformed in the most powerful way. We use the gift of our bodies, which God gave us, to glorify and adore him. He in turn transforms us—little by little—into saints!
Our movements—what we do with our bodies—matter. As we prepare for Mass and then participate in the Mass, the rituals of the liturgy form us. How we move in the Mass is ordered toward what we are ultimately created for: glorifying God and being in communion with him.
Walking over the threshold of the Church, we dip our fingers into the holy water and make the Sign of the Cross, a gesture that reminds us of the sacrament of Baptism. Every time we come to Mass, in a sense, we return to the Father’s house, where our identity as his beloved children is deepened and strengthened. We must move to the Mass and be sent out from the Mass every Sunday—more often if we can—because the Eucharist is “the source and summit of the Christian Life” (Lumen Gentium, no. 11).
Walking down the aisle, before entering the pew, we genuflect toward the tabernacle by bending the right knee to the ground (or reverently bowing if we are unable to genuflect). Genuflection signifies adoration and is reserved for the Most Blessed Sacrament. If the tabernacle is not visibly present or in a side chapel, a simple bow to the altar is appropriate.
Historically in the West, genuflecting has been a sign of reverence and respect. In the Middle Ages it was common for knights to genuflect on their left knee in the presence of the king or other nobles. The right knee, however, was always reserved for the adoration of God. Genuflecting became a standard gesture in the Catholic liturgy by the 16th century.
We stand during the Entrance and Penitential Rites, signifying reverence and attention as we enter into the Sacred Mysteries. We sit during the Liturgy of the Word to note that we are ready to listen attentively to what God has to say. When the Gospel is proclaimed, we stand again, for it is a great honor to hear the Gospel proclaimed aloud, for these are the words and deeds of Christ.
Once again, we sit attentively as the altar is prepared for the Eucharistic Sacrifice, noticing how the corporal is placed upon the altar, with the purificator, the chalice, and the Missal. The faithful may bring forward offerings of bread and wine for the celebration of the Eucharist. We watch as the priest, standing at the altar, takes the paten with the bread and holds it slightly raised above the altar. Wine and a little water are poured into the chalice, and then the priest holds it slightly raised above the altar. The priest offers these gifts to God, asking him to bless them and make them a worthy offering. We unite ourselves to these prayers in spirit, so that, in the offering of bread and wine, we may offer ourselves—all that we have and all that we are—to the Lord, so as to be transformed by the one sacrifice of Christ that is about to be offered. Each of us can use our imaginations to lay our offerings at the foot of the altar.
The Eucharistic Prayer is the most sacred part of the Mass. Here, we kneel. In 1969 the Bishops of the dioceses of the United States petitioned the Holy See to retain kneeling during this part of the Mass, as well as during the Agnus Dei prior to the Communion Procession. Kneeling is among our most profound acts of reverence. The collective kneeling during this part of the Mass is also a sign of unity in our worship and adoration of Christ, who laid down his life so that we may live.
Approaching the altar to receive Holy Communion, we join in procession with our brothers and sisters in Christ. Prior to receiving the Eucharist, we make an act of reverence—most often a simple bow—before presenting our hands or opening our mouths reverently to receive Holy Communion. Now we each have become a vessel of the King of kings! As the Communion hymn is sung, the unity of our voices echoes the unity the Eucharist brings.
When we return to our pews, we kneel or sit and pray in thanksgiving, speaking from the heart to Jesus.
In the Concluding Rites of the Mass, we stand to receive the final blessing, and then we are sent out to be a living Gospel, a “mobile tabernacle,” as it were, to share the merciful love of God with the whole world.
The ebb and flow of the Mass is so attuned to our human reality. We do not participate in Mass as statues, but as living, breathing, heart-beating humans. Our movements matter, because our bodies matter.
I often think how lovely it is that God understands us so well and delights in the fact that we can only sit still for so long.
The next time you are tempted to feel frustrated with your need to move around (or the needs of another human proximate to you), remember that through the Paschal Mystery, Jesus redeemed and elevated everything, including our ability to move! Now we can direct our every action—even our tapping toes—to the greater Glory of God!
Download Looking for Jesus, a Companion Children's Guide (available in English and Spanish), and coloring page (English | Spanish) created by Katie Bogner.
Sr. Alicia Torres is a member of the Franciscans of the Eucharist of Chicago. In addition to participating in the apostolic works of her religious community, she has been serving the National Eucharistic Revival since 2021.
Katherine Bogner is a Catholic school teacher from Central Illinois who is passionate about equipping parents, catechists, and teachers to share the beauty and truth of Christ and his Church with children.
