At Saint Anne’s in Lodi, he's there every night for the 5:30p.m. Mass. He’s the guy you go out of your way to cross the street to avoid; unshaven, always the same wrinkled clothes, and cheap sandals on his feet. But he slips into the chapel every night at about 5:29 to listen to the Word of God and share in the Eucharist. He never kneels, never sits. He only stands with his hands folded and his eyes on the crucifix. He is always the last in line to receive Our Lord; both the Host and the Precious Blood. When Mass is over, he feels obligated to open the door for everyone to leave and to give them a smile.
At Saint Helen’s church in Fresno, she's the elderly Filipino lady who knows the words to every hymn, but obviously not the notes. She wears a head covering and the rosary beads in her hands keep count as she says her Hail Marys under her breath throughout the Mass and her face glows when she receives the Eucharist. She is always last in line to receive both the Host and the Precious Blood.
In Bakersfield, he's there at Saint Joseph’s—no matter what Mass I attend, or whatever hour I decide to attend Adoration—the old Mexican man with his harmonica, his arthritis-gnarled hands, and his hunched back. His quirks are a little different from a lot of other people, but they are servitude in nature. He will grab a bunch of bulletins, or missalettes, or whatever else is in the church to read then tap everyone on the shoulder and offer it to whoever wants it. During Mass, he's the unofficial "music minister". He knows about 5 tunes on his harmonica; "Holy God, We Praise Your Name", "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", "Taps" and "The Halls of Montezuma". Unfortunately, they all sound eerily similar. He yawns loudly, though involuntarily, throughout the Mass except during the prayer of Consecration and when he receives the Eucharist; always the last in line to receive the Host and the Precious Blood.
At the Cathedral in Stockton, he is the guy who sits in the very last pew during daily Mass when there are only about 20 people total in attendance. But you hear him respond when he's supposed to, in that booming, unmistakable voice. Again, he's the last to receive, and under both Species.
In my own family it was my mother, who, after becoming so infirm she couldn’t leave the house to attend Mass, made arrangements to have the Eucharist brought to her as often as possible; and also prayed persistently not for her needs, but for the needs of others.
They all remind me of the parable of the persistent woman of prayer in Luke 18. At the conclusion of the parable, Jesus asks His disciples, “But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" (Luke 18:8)
I have confidence that He will. I strive to be like the "one in every parish" one day in a simple, fervent, and humble faith.
In a movie I saw once about Saint Mother Teresa, she noticed a man lying in the middle of the street crying out for help and no one seemed to notice him. Mother Teresa knelt down beside him and the man simply said, "I thirst." She immediately recognized Christ in "the poorest of the poor".
He's the same Christ I see in those faithful men and women whether I'm in the church in Lodi, Fresno, Bakersfield, or Stockton. He’s the same Christ I remember in my mother. He's the same Christ I look for in anyone who is suffering, yet trusting in the mercy of God. Have YOU seen Him, too?
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