12/05/2025
Let us reflect....
THE FIRST TIME I WEPT IN CHURCH.
There’s a particular seat I always take in church because it helps me focus on the sanctuary without distractions.
For months, the same woman sat beside me at Mass. Same seat, same posture—quiet, alone, almost invisible.
At first, I didn’t pay much attention. People come and go. But she was different. She was always there—staring at the altar, sometimes with tears in her eyes.
One Sunday during the homily, I noticed something—she was shaking. Her hands trembled, and she looked weak, almost unwell. She sat still, staring at the altar, yet her body seemed restless. That day, something felt off.
Many times, I wanted to speak to her but hesitated—until that Sunday, when I finally decided: after Mass, I would talk to her.
When the final blessing was given, I got distracted. I rushed to greet the priest, a little chat with friends here and there… and by the time I turned around, she was gone.
The next Sunday, I told myself, Today, I’ll say something.
But she wasn’t there.
For the first time, her seat was empty. I kept looking at the entrance, hoping she'd come in late. She never did.
The following Sunday? Still not there.
Weeks passed. Then, one Sunday, they announced her passing.
She had died the previous week. No family, no one to bury her. The parish had to arrange everything.
I felt something heavy drop in my chest. I shed tears—same way she did at almost every Mass.
All those Sundays, I sat beside a woman who was suffering. And I did nothing. I shook hands with her during the sign of peace, yet never gave her real peace.
I was so busy being ‘present’ in church that I failed to be present for someone right next to me. So focused on the altar, yet blind to the soul beside me.
And now, she was gone.
At her burial, I took flowers. But did it really matter at that time? Probably, I did that just to ease my guilt.
Someway, many of us will never visit a sick friend or check on someone struggling. But when that person dies, we’ll travel miles just to attend the funeral.
Today’s Gospel reminds me of this. The rich man never harmed Lazarus. He didn’t shout at him or chase him away. He simply ignored him.
Like the rich man, I wasn’t wicked to her. I just never paid attention. And sometimes, that’s the greatest sin—not what we do (commission), but what we fail to do (omission).
How many ‘Lazaruses’ sit beside us every Sunday? How many people come to church, not just for God, but hoping someone will notice their pain?
I’ve learned my lesson the hard way. Now, when I sit in church, I don’t just look at the altar—I look beside me.
NOW, PRAY WITH ME:
"Lord, open my eyes—not just to see You, but to see those who need me."
Written by: James Terna
