By Mary Grace Mangano

One thing I really enjoy is attending Mass in different places. In particular, I love daily weekday Masses because they are more intimate. When I was studying abroad in Italy, it was a joy to see the faithful gathering each morning — and then chatting for longer than the Mass itself to check up on their neighbors. When I had the chance to take a trip to London for a research grant, I visited the Brompton Oratory, founded during the time of St. John Henry Newman’s conversion, and was deeply moved by the large number of people who worshipped there. When I have gone on vacation to little beach towns, it is the regular parishioners — the year-rounders — and the parish priest who strike me.

During Lent of last year, I had the opportunity to visit a family member living in the Netherlands. At a Mass with a large international congregation, and despite many ways I’d been aware of being foreign earlier in the day, I felt connected to those in attendance with me who desired to see Jesus and follow him as I do. This past summer, I attended daily Mass for a week at a church near my hometown and I sometimes would sit in the pews after Mass and thank God for the witness of the “regulars.” A number of people were there every day, as I had noticed in my short time being there. They watered plants, blew out the altar candles, placed flowers before the statue of the Virgin Mary and sang the Salve Regina.

“We would like to see Jesus,” the Greeks say to Philip and Andrew in this week’s Gospel. When this is conveyed to Jesus, Jesus offers them a way not only to see him, but to be with him. He understands their deeper request and answers it, as he does with each of us. Seeing Jesus is temporary, especially since at this moment in history, he is preparing for death. Jesus knows he will not be with them much longer, and they won’t be able to see him. So, he teaches them how to be with him.

We, too, would like to see Jesus. Until he comes again, we aren’t able to see him as his apostles did in the first century. But we can be with him, and he can be with us, in all places and at all times. Sometimes, I think we overcomplicate this. I know I do. But I have come to see that meeting Jesus, seeing Jesus, can happen in the most ordinary, quiet ways. It doesn’t require grand gestures or that we stick to a specific prayer routine. Maybe during Lent, our sacrifices haven’t been perfect, but then we resolve to begin again, to redirect our gaze to the cross.

In Jesus’ response to the Greeks who desire to see him, Jesus says, “unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit.” Like the grain of wheat that must die, we also must imitate Jesus and give ourselves away so that our lives can produce much fruit. What really astonishes me and what I have learned from watching people at these Masses around the world is the sincerity and beauty of their ordinary faith. They show up to worship, to serve, to present themselves before God. They come to see Jesus. And I’m convinced that these small acts of faith produce much fruit.

In the final days of this Lenten journey, perhaps the only sacrifice we offer is a contrite heart and spirit. And that’s really all Jesus asks. In all the ordinary, hidden-from-the-crowd places, Christ is there. If we bring our hearts to him, if we try to follow him, we will surely see him.