It was Easter Sunday, two months after Mom had died. I hadn’t been a practicing Catholic for almost twenty years, but it seemed right to go to Mass that day with one of my sisters and a friend of hers visiting from out of town. Not, of course, that any of the Rigney girls had a clue about what to do at Mass, other than not go to Communion. The rest of the time, we just did what Peggy did. It felt like a non-event, much less moving than I had hoped.
I made dinner—ham, scalloped potatoes, green bean casserole, a bunny-shaped cake, the whole deal—that day for around a dozen people. As we passed the food around and filled and refilled our wine glasses, I mentioned going to Mass. Another sister’s boyfriend, who had abandoned a Methodist seminary to become a social worker, made a joke about Catholics believing in transubstantiation—that Jesus is truly present in the Eucharist, that the bread and wine become his Body and Blood.
“But doesn’t everyone believe that?” I asked. Around the table, everyone shook their heads—except Peggy. I honestly had not known—extremely poor catechesis, I guess, or extreme tuning out during my years in CCD. I thought about it for a while, then got caught up again in the busy whirl of work, family, and fun.
Fifteen years later, I was empty. I had moved to a new city, taken a new job, and was facing personal bankruptcy. Someone I trusted told me I really needed therapy, and I didn’t disagree. So I found a therapist near my apartment who seemed to buy my spiel that everything was fine—just fine. She asked me if I had a church. I gave her the spiritual-but-not-religious line and said I’d briefly tried the Methodists, but they didn’t work for me since I believed in the True Presence.
The therapist suggested her parish, which was on my walk home. It was a hot August early evening. I tried the church door, and it was open. I sat in the cool air conditioning and read the bulletin. A program for people interested in returning to Catholicism was starting up in a couple of weeks. I contacted the organizer the next day. Following eight Catholicism 101 sessions, a stormy pastoral counseling session, and confession, on Christmas Day 2005, I received the Eucharist for the first time in thirty-three years. I threw myself into every parish activity I could—parish council, the web team, small faith-sharing groups, you name it.
Six months later, on my fiftieth birthday, I was at a weeklong Christian writers’ conference in western Pennsylvania, where I had been teaching for the past couple of years. Few of my friends there were Catholic, but they rejoiced at my return to faith.
Then, late that afternoon, a Catholic sister who was in attendance said she had a special surprise for me. I figured we were going to say a rosary together, but instead she took me to her car.
We drove around fifteen miles, and then she parked in front of a cozy little parish.
“What are we going to do here?” I asked.
“Visit Jesus,” she said.
Now, I had never even heard of Eucharistic Adoration, but I liked this sister a lot. She explained we would stay about an hour, and I could pray or listen to the Lord. I figured I’d read the hymnal after saying an Our Father, and I got on my knees.
Then I felt her tapping my shoulder. “We’ve been here an hour,” she whispered. “It’s time to go back to the conference.” I’m still not sure what happened in that hour, but it changed me. When I got back home, I found the nearest Adoration chapel and found the same peace.
Since then, I’ve written many devotions and books, gone on many retreats, spent many hours in Adoration, and facilitated many women’s Bible studies and other faith groups. But that “Amen” I say when receiving the Eucharist makes me shiver a little each time. It reminds me of when I was lost and didn’t even understand what I was missing. Now that I do, I’ll never go without it again.
Melanie Rigney is the author of a number of Bible studies as well as books on Catholic saints. Her most recent is 12 Unforgettable Men of the Gospels: Reflections and Portraits of the Apostles (2025). Learn more about Melanie at www.rejoicebeglad.com.
Image: Photo by Christian Harb on Unsplash.
