When I was a young boy, our town had only a small Catholic church. We Catholics were a tiny minority in a sea of Methodists and a few other Protestant communities.

At that stage of development, a young boy’s mind is so open to being deeply impressed, and what impressed me most forcibly was the red sanctuary lamp burning next to the tabernacle.

That steadily burning candle, symbolic of the real presence of the Lord in the Eucharist, was always a kind of comfort in a very deep place within. Of course, there were no words at the age of three or four to articulate this feeling. But the message transmitted was constant, assuring: "I am with you always, until the end of time" (Mt 28:20).

That divine presence was most clearly and indelibly communicated through the Blessed Sacrament.

Fast forward twenty years, and I am living in Madonna House, Combermere. I observe how people pray during the Liturgy, that they not only kneel, but as the chapel is largely empty of pews, most people actually bow to the floor at the time of the Consecration.

Our foundress, Catherine Doherty (aged 75 or so), lies prostrate from the time of the Sanctus till after the Consecration. It is so clear that at the Eucharist, we are in the presence of the Holy One, who gives himself to us to adore and to consume.

When my Methodist grandparents pay a visit one August and spend a week with us, they are profoundly moved precisely by this acknowledgment and manifestation of the divine presence at Mass.

My grandfather exclaims one Sunday, "Son, I want to receive too!" And my grandmother, somewhat less given to pious exclamation, adds, "You can pretty near touch God in that place!"

The consolation and the awesomeness of his presence: these are the two gifts that the Eucharist has "spoken" to me since I was a boy. That fire burning constantly in a Catholic church is both a word of assurance and a purifying flame.

Who, knowing the real presence for what it is, is not strengthened in his or her journey by the wonder of God’s constant fidelity? Who, having bowed down in worship at the manifestation of the Holy One, is not charged with both a holy fear and an awesome responsibility to be faithful to the Gospel?

Fast forward another thirty years or so, and we are in the present. That "child" in me still counts on the assurance that a sanctuary lamp brings. The humility of God! The astonishing mercy that the One we love is ever faithful and obedient, in a sense, to our discernment as to where he is housed and how he is received.

I have to call on that Flame, who is my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, to burn away the webs of fear or my reticence to become a living offering as he is. It is his merciful presence that enables me to persevere in my commitments and obligations. It is that flame ever burning that renews my courage.

This I cannot maintain without time of adoration. I have noticed over and over (almost daily) that after a time of worshipping his Eucharistic presence, there is a calmness that comes into me. My energy returns. I want to cry out with the saints, I can do all things by the power of him who strengthens me! (see Philippians 4:13).

But that Flame also convicts me. Interiorly, first of all. I know in my conscience that I am not that pure reflection of gospel love that the Eucharist requires by its very nature. To come to this sacrament on any basis—daily, weekly—is to place oneself within a relentless purification, which the Lord himself directs through his Holy Spirit.

At one time, lack of forgiveness towards neighbor is made clear. At another, failures in generosity. Or secret resentments. Or coldness of heart towards the needy and the poor, whoever these might be at a given time in my life.

That same Eucharist also pushes me to "bear witness" to the Gospel’s truth: in fidelity to Church teaching about the Gospel of life, or about chastity and its ramifications.

Today it is becoming more risky in a country like Canada to speak openly about the Church’s teachings on issues where what we believe is no longer regarded as "politically correct." Not that one looks for conflict. But when the moment of truth comes, will I speak the word of truth that the Gospel requires?

From within the "rest" which is the consolation of the Holy Eucharist comes the restlessness of a movement that whispers with constant insistence: Come higher, friend! What I say to you in the darkness, speak in the light; what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops (Matthew 10:27).

There is no end to the heights and depths of the Gospel and its applications both personally and socially.

Yet in the end, what predominates is joy in the Divine Presence. What a wonder that his Flame burns in our midst as it does! As long as the memory that "God is with us" is sustained with faithfulness and love, there is no obstacle that cannot be overcome, even the most tenacious ones in my own heart: No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us (Romans 8:37).