I was never very good at dating. I found it difficult to act naturally. I would have a genuinely decent man opposite me just trying to choose an entree, and there I was giving myself till dessert to decide if this could be forever.
Once, I was chatting away about something I thought was important, only to notice the gentleman opposite me was distracted.
“Sorry,” he laughed, “I was just eavesdropping on the conversation at the next table.” Ouch.
In hindsight, I can’t blame the poor guy. I was probably being overly intense or philosophical, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t hurt. I had failed to capture his attention…and we obviously weren’t getting married.
The truth is, we have all been wounded, or have wounded another, through inattentiveness; something communicated that the other was not interesting enough, attractive enough or even worthy enough of our time.
In a world where attention has been commodified, validation of our unique personhood is traded for data in the algorithms of online platforms.
A human’s longing to be seen, known and loved is universal, imprinted by the Creator as a reminder to “Seek the Lord and live” (Amos 5:6).
However, “the Attention Economy” has taken authentic human encounters, meant to be experienced face to face and side by side, and held them for ransom.
On the one hand, we are becoming accustomed to preferring human connection at a safe distance.
On the other hand, we see a desire to experience things in the flesh. Consider the die-hard fan who will not settle for watching the game or listening to the latest album at home.
They will buy the ticket, brave the elements, and endure the queues and crowds, just to soak in the joy of it all; the experience reverberating on their skin long after the final siren or last note.
It is no shock to God that humans desire but require a tangible encounter. I think of the woman who had been haemorrhaging for twelve years, taking a chance to reach out and touch a thread from Jesus’ garment after years of shame, rejection and depletion.
Had she opted for timidity or a resolve to catch him at another time, had she not reached out to touch our Lord, this scene may never have happened, and whatever hope remained may have haemorrhaged too.
To borrow a sentiment from the Dayenu, had God walked the earth, performed miracles, endured Calvary, and risen from the dead, but decided not to remain with us, “it would have been enough.”
But God’s generosity cannot be outdone. There he waits, longing to be interrupted, longing to heal, longing to look at us with an infinite gaze of love through the Eucharist. In front of the monstrance, we can relearn attentiveness.
My first attempts at Eucharistic adoration were strained. I came with prayers, devotions, and spiritual readings, like a hyperactive guest trying to outdo the host’s hospitality… Until it’s almost audible, “Rachael, Rachael, you are worried and distracted by many things.”
St John Vianney once asked a poor farmer how he who would spend hours in front of the Blessed Sacrament. The farmer answered, “I look at him, and he looks at me.”
While I have not reached that simplicity, I have learned to melt into the silence of Adoration.
The same Jesus who healed the haemorrhaging woman meets me there, in the flesh. I rest against his chest and breathe deeply.
I complain about the ways in which I have been wronged, to which he responds with a few things I need to work on myself (FYI, he takes that whole log in your own eye/speck in your brother’s eye pretty seriously).
I go to have my cup filled and to consult with him about where and how I should pour myself out. And he looks at me, like I’m the only person in the world. He just asks me not to act like that is the case.
When you have been seen, you feel compelled to pay it forward. It becomes easier to slow down the bedtime routine and really look at my children, squeezing them tight before tucking them in.
It becomes the norm to linger in conversation with my neighbour. It seems right to smile at the person serving me at the checkout and ask about their day instead of packing groceries in silence.
If I were dating today (thanks be to God I am not), I would delight in listening to another person’s story and share a meal with them without wondering if things would work out long term.
It is necessary to show up for others. They deserve our attention. Precisely because God showed up for us first, and continues to show up for us, in the flesh.
Rachael Ndaira is a wife, mother, and teacher. She writes at rachaelndaira.substack.com
