Behold, I Am With You

Just as Our Lord stood quietly among His Apostles in the amazing beauty of His resurrection and said, “Touch Me and see”, so does Christ abide with us in the Blessed Sacrament, that we may get to know Him, to feel at liberty to bring to Him our cares and sorrows.

Everything about Our Lord has such endurance. “Behold, I am with you all days.” We are never alone. Christ is with us in our joys, showing us how to make use of them by pouring them into the hearts of others.

He is with us when we are sorrowful, infusing strength (not always comfort, but strength), strength to go on bravely, strength to smile, strength to be tender, strength to sympathize.

Oh, the beauty of that smile when the heart is sad! Oh, the power of that tenderness, and the comfort to others of that sympathy, given by the soul in anguish! It must be a supreme joy to the heart of Christ to see the silent, patient cross-bearer going her rounds of ministering charity. This is the lesson learned before the Tabernacle. This is where we learn the tremendous secrets of the saints. This is where we are taught the value of things. This is where much is made impossible, as well as possible to us:

Impossible to judge hastily.

Impossible to judge harshly.

Impossible to find fault with thousands of things.

Impossible to lord it over others.

Impossible to speak unkindly.

Impossible to show resentment.

Impossible to prefer our rights to Christ’s.

It is there our soul grows silent over many things.

It is there some mysteries disappear and much is made clear to us. It is there we learn to wait: to wait for God’s will to be made known; to wait for God’s grace to work in other hearts; to wait for God’s sweet influence to subdue our restlessness.

It is there we talk over matters only He can understand.

It is there we place our heart’s most secret cares and sorrows and rise calmed and strengthened and love replenished.

It is there we are fashioned into saints.


J. S. E., RABBONI: Spiritual Pastels, New York: The Devin-Adair Company, 1918. Nihil Obstat, pp.65-67