![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/5bb8ef_fec80d5a1b4a4a98b1d0f2857e11ae44~mv2.jpg/v1/fill/w_147,h_98,al_c,q_80,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/5bb8ef_fec80d5a1b4a4a98b1d0f2857e11ae44~mv2.jpg)
My latest at Word on Fire:
The chapel is tucked away in the silent corner of the high school, where the sound of footsteps disappears right beyond the entranceway through the wooden doors. On a Friday afternoon after several class periods of teaching, with my bag slung over my shoulder, I make my way inside, the noise of the world fading away as I gently walk—almost tiptoe—toward the holy water font and make the sign of the cross. As I move forward toward the center aisle and double genuflect, I look up toward the altar, where I gaze upon the Beloved before my very eyes. In the golden monstrance, which looks like a radiant sun, there, adorned in glory, Christ is hidden in the Sacred Host.
You can read the entire article here.
![](https://static.wixstatic.com/media/5bb8ef_3d58060d497e481082cac28eb6fd86a9~mv2.png/v1/fill/w_49,h_37,al_c,q_85,usm_0.66_1.00_0.01,blur_2,enc_auto/5bb8ef_3d58060d497e481082cac28eb6fd86a9~mv2.png)