Every priest at times feels like he is being attacked by the devil; some more than others. I have felt, a number of different times in my thirteen years as a priest, the hand of the devil coming down on me. Last night, I felt it like never before. What follows is the sequence of events as best as I can remember them (my lack of clarity will be explained below). The past few weeks I have had a number of frustrations; mostly little things, but they can build up and create stress. Late Wednesday afternoon I was moving something heavy and sprained my right wrist. By the evening it was hurting so bad I could not type with that hand, and I was unable to pick up almost anything heavier than a post-it. Brushing my teeth that night was a new experience in discomfort. I was wearing a brace on my wrist to help immobilize it, put some arnica gel on it for the pain, and took a pain reliever pill as well. I slept poorly because I kept waking up hurting, and then would worry whether I would be able to say Mass the next day. Thursday arrives, and my wrist is only slightly better. A number of other frustrating things happened during the day, but not much more troubling than normal. I headed out for a few appointments and then went to church for confessions and Mass. On my way to church my stress got the best of me and I started developing a hefty migraine; I took my usual medication for it, but was not sure it would take effect in time. I did my best to hide the pain in both my head and my wrist, hoping that I would not do something awful like drop the chalice in the middle of the consecration. There were a couple of options for Mass, and I chose St. Cajetan (a priest) because I wanted him to intercede for me. The Collect of the day asks that through St. Cajetan's example and intercession we can put our trust in God alone and seek only heavenly things (the significance of this will be evident below). Then right before the consecration the devil came after me (you will understand why I know it was him in a moment). I began to feel lightheaded (nothing like the normal disorientation that comes with a migraine), and then got dizzy. After one genuflection I almost passed out, and begged St. George and all the Saints to intercede for me that no one present would notice and that I could finish Mass without mishap. At which point, things got worse. My eyes barely focused on the page a few times, my hands were shaking (not just from the pain in my wrist), and I had to take a number of deep breaths just to make sure I could pay attention to what I was supposed to be doing. As I held the Chalice for the faithful to see after the consecration I could feel the weakness in my hand, and the sweat began to drip down the middle of my back (and it was not overly hot in the church). I kept inhaling deeply at each breath to get as much oxygen as I could without overdoing it. A couple times I had to glance at the Missal to make sure I was not skipping anything. Finally, with me getting somewhat used to the pain in my wrist and head, I turned with the Chalice and Host to the people: Behold the Lamb of God, behold Him that taketh away the sins of the world. Blessed are those who are called to the supper of the Lamb. I could barely look up to the chalice without starting to sway so I glanced down at the ground a couple times to get my bearings and made it through all three, Lord I am not worthy petitions. I turned back to the altar, and had a wave of fear come over me. What if I took communion and then got sick and threw up all over the altar? What if I was OK with the Body, but the aroma and taste of wine that remains in the precious Blood was too strong and I could not handle it? Images ran through my mind; yuck. Should I just stop and tell everyone that Mass is cancelled because I cannot go on? Should I sit down and just quit? Should I pretend to be brave and hope for the best? But the rest of the petition was still there in my mind, speak the word only, and my soul shall be healed. I had to receive the Sacrament or my people who were with me could not receive it. The Sacrifice would not be complete unless the priest receives his communion. I begged Jesus, O my Dear Blessed Lord God, please let me finish. The sweat was beginning to drip down my forehead, but I genuflected as required; worried that I would not be able to stand back up without passing out. As I stood, I wobbled a bit and had to grab the edge of the altar to steady myself. I said the words that I am supposed to recite to myself at this point, The Body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for me, preserve my body and soul unto everlasting life. Amen. I lifted the Host to my mouth and the grace of God poured into my soul like I have only felt a few times in my life. The sweat was gone. The nausea was gone. The dizziness and disorientation were gone. I was breathing clearly with no lightheadedness. The pain in my wrist was almost completely gone. The migraine was suddenly gone (which is not normal for a migraine). I then received the precious Blood with no discomfort at all. At the same time I felt a weight lift from my shoulders and imagined (?) the devil saying a few cuss words because he lost that fight. As far as I can tell, none of the others present knew anything of what was going on. Praise to the Lord God, the Almighty. I drove home after Mass clear headed, and without any discomfort, physical or spiritual. Later, I asked the Seven Sisters to pray for me as I knew that I did not want to get self-confident about things. Whenever we find success or victory, we are the most vulnerable for attack, and that made me realize I needed that great apostolate to do its work for me at that time (and they all replied and prayed -- thank you ladies; you are a great blessing to me!). That was not a high Mass in a major Cathedral with a thousand of the faithful present. I am not an important priest that the devil is desperate to destroy. St. George is not a massive parish impacting the whole world. Or maybe not. The devil hates every Mass; he hates every priest and layman; and wants to corrupt every parish and have it collapse. Sometimes he does so in small ways, sometimes he comes out swinging. He lost this battle and will eventually lose the war. I tell this story to say that the evil one is real, and we need to pray for each other every day. Never give in to the attacks of the devil. We are the people of God, and He will protect us if we endure to the end for His glory and His glory alone.