Our perpetual Eucharistic adoration (24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year), began on May 26, 2026, at midnight. For me personally, and for many of us here at the John Paul II Center, this is the fulfillment of a deep longing and a heartfelt desire we have carried with us for many years.
Why?
Because the Lord is worthy of it. Because we want to remind ourselves—and, at the same time, strive to live more authentically—what comes first: what comes first in the Kingdom of God, what comes first in the life of the Church, what must come before everything else. Prayer. Remaining with him. Drawing our strength from him. Learning to see the world through him. Living from that center, and allowing ourselves to be sent from there to our brothers and sisters.
Even from the street, one can look through the café and see the monstrance upon the altar. The Blessed Sacrament, exposed in the most central and prominent place of our Center, reminds us—and gently calls us back to what matters most: the center of our Center must be the Lord. But not out of a spirit of achievement. By God’s grace, we have now maintained continuous adoration for almost two months, even though at times „only“ about 150 of the 168 weekly hours are covered. My heartfelt thanks go to the roughly 180 volunteers who are not yet able to commit to a fixed weekly hour, but who generously step in whenever needed and fill the remaining gaps. So we are not quite there yet. Most likely, we will not make it through this first summer without some uncovered hours. And that is alright. The point is not to accomplish something at any cost. We do not want to prove anything, or one day proudly say, „We did it. We now have 24/7/365.“ Perpetual adoration should never become a sign of pride. Rather, my hope is that it will teach us the opposite, again and again: that we are deeply aware of our need, and that we know we need him—the Lord.
Background
The dream of perpetual adoration had been quietly growing in us for a long time. For me personally, it is probably connected, at least in part, with my early fascination with St. Thérèse of Lisieux and St. Francis Xavier. In the Catholic Church, they are the two patron saints of the missions. God’s passion for the world drove St. Francis Xavier to an almost superhuman missionary life that carried him across half the globe. That same passion drew St. Thérèse ever more deeply into the hidden life. She never left her convent, and yet she is the patroness of all missionaries. How are we to understand this?
The disciples „were making headway painfully, for the wind was against them“ (Mk. 6:48). In the middle of the lake, in the middle of the night, a storm arose (cf. Mt. 14:24). All their efforts came to nothing. But he was praying for them. He had already spent the whole night praying for them, alone on the mountain (cf. Jn. 6:15). Then, suddenly, he passed by them. Suddenly they found themselves at the shore toward which they had been heading (cf. Jn. 6:21), without knowing how they had arrived there.
There is a mysterious fruitfulness in the Kingdom of God that comes from joining in Christ’s own intercession for the world and allowing ourselves to be drawn into it: „In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears… and he was heard…“ (Heb. 5:7) „I pray for them… for they are yours.“ (Jn. 17:9) „Holy Father, keep them in your name.“ (Jn. 17:11) „But I have prayed for you, that your faith may not fail.“ (Lk. 22:32) „If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this my Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit.“ (Jn. 15:7–8)
He is the Savior of the world. One might think he had more important things to do. And yet there he is. Through the whole night. In prayer. Only during the fourth watch of the night, just before dawn, does he come to them, walking on the water (cf. Mt. 14:25). It seems that he considered his prayer on the mountain more important for them than intervening immediately. The night before choosing the Twelve as his apostles, he once again spends the whole night in prayer (cf. Lk. 6:12). It does not seem to have been an isolated event. On the night before his death, he again withdraws to the Mount of Olives to spend time in prayer with the Father, „as was his custom“ (Lk. 22:39). If we want to be his disciples, we would do well to make this withdrawal into prayer our own habit as well—to spend time, precious time, before the Father in prayer.
I believe this is one of the lessons that is easiest to forget in the Kingdom of God, especially when we truly care about the Kingdom. We see the need. We see the challenges facing the faith. „Let’s do something.“ „It can’t stay this way.“ „Let’s pick up our shovels.“ „Let’s get to work. Let’s build.“ But unless we are rooted in prayer, we run the risk of building another Tower of Babel instead of the Kingdom of God. We begin to use the means of this world to establish the Kingdom of Heaven. That cannot succeed. It is destined to fail.
Prayer or Action?
Does this mean we should do nothing? That we should refrain from acting, sit back, and simply wait? By no means. We are to pray that the Lord will send laborers into his harvest (cf. Mt. 9:38). But we are also called to labor in that harvest ourselves, for “if anyone is not willing to work, neither should he eat” (2 Thess. 3:10). Does not the Lord put his finger on the heart of the matter when he laments the lack of holy ingenuity among his own and observes, “The children of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light” (Lk. 16:8)?
Think of the energy, creativity, and sheer human ingenuity invested in selling the latest soap—or the newest AI model. And does not the Church have something infinitely greater to offer? She bears the very gift that every human heart longs for: life, and life in abundance (cf. Jn. 10:10). Yes, we are called to be innocent as doves. But when it comes to the stewardship of the talents God has entrusted to us, we are also called to be wise as serpents (cf. Mt. 10:16; Mt. 25:14–30).
Why, then, should we not do everything that is humanly possible to ensure that as many people as possible hear this Good News and are invited to embrace it? How can mediocrity, poor quality, organizational disorder, or a lack of purpose and vision ever be justified among those who labor in the Lord’s vineyard?
God’s Kingdom Is Different
Not long ago, Cardinal Schönborn came to visit us. As he came out of the sacristy, a journalist asked him about the fruits of Medjugorje. The journalist’s enthusiasm for those fruits was unmistakable. I had the impression that he was looking to the Cardinal for confirmation. Perhaps understandably so. After all, we want to see the fruits. Christ himself tells us that we recognize a tree by its fruits (cf. Mt. 7:16). And yet, here too, the words remain true: „One sows and another reaps“ (Jn. 4:37).
I do not claim that this was the journalist’s intention. But among those who labor in the Lord’s vineyard, there is often another desire that has not yet been fully surrendered: the desire to see the fruits of their own work. I believe this was the danger the Cardinal wanted to point out. At any rate, his answer gave me pause. He responded by recalling the story of the prophet Gad after King David had ordered a census in order to know how many men were fit for battle, placing greater trust in his own efforts and his own strength than in the Lord (cf. 1 Chr. 21). Through the prophet, the king was given a choice between three possible punishments for his sin. Then the Cardinal said, in substance: „We are not going to make a list of the fruits of Medjugorje. But yes, there are fruits.“
The Kingdom of God is different. It grows differently. It triumphs differently.
The Church will always remain the „little flock“ (Lk. 12:32), the leaven hidden in the dough (cf. Mt. 13:33), the few for the sake of the many.
Whoever looks for a „triumph“ of the Kingdom of God according to the standards of this world is thinking like a Gnostic, not like a Christian. He forgets that we do not live in paradise, and that it is a dangerous ideology to believe that paradise can be established on earth. We live in a broken world that will never be completely healed. Certainly, we are given moments when we catch a foretaste of heaven. But anyone who tries to bring heaven down to earth will end up disappointed and frustrated. Or—as the ideologies of the last century demonstrated so clearly—in trying to build his own kingdom of heaven on earth, he will sacrifice the human person on the altar of his ideology of making the world a better place.
The Kingdom of God completely escapes human logic. That is why we must be careful not to run the Church as though she were a business. This is not an excuse for mediocre or poor leadership in Christian communities or apostolates. I am deeply grateful for everything I have learned from sound principles of leadership in the business world. I am grateful that there are people in our church community who help us build healthy structures, act responsibly with our resources, set goals, and do so much more.
But the fruitfulness of the Kingdom of God does not arise automatically from these things. The way God’s grace works in us, works through us, and bears fruit in individual lives is not the result of a five-year plan.
At the moment, we are experiencing many blessings. We are growing. We are blessed to baptize more and more people. We are able to help and support other parishes. Yet precisely because this blessing is grace, it is never ours to control.
A blessing remains a blessing. A gift.
At the end of the day, we do not know exactly what lies ahead. We have the privilege of helping to build the Kingdom of God here and now. We can—and should—offer the very best of our human abilities. At the same time, we should never forget: the fruits are in God’s hands.
What It Takes and Will Take
Precisely because this is true—precisely because grace is free, because it cannot be appropriated or placed at our disposal—it asks two things of us.
First, a certain detachment from fruits and results. A deep interior freedom, because we know: in the end, it is his Church, not mine. I am only a steward. I will give my very best as long as I am entrusted with helping to care for this part of the Kingdom. But I must also be able to let go.
Second, a clear emphasis on the supernatural means. I may have the best organization in the world. But if grace is not at work, it will bear no fruit for the Kingdom of God. This also means giving clear priority to the interior life and to the spiritual growth of each individual.
St. Edith Stein expressed it beautifully:
„But what ultimately sustains everything is the interior life. Formation proceeds from within to without. The more deeply a soul is united with God, the more completely surrendered to grace, the greater will be its influence on the shaping of the Church. Conversely, the more deeply an age is plunged into the night of sin and estrangement from God, the more it stands in need of souls united to Him. Nor does God fail to provide them. Out of the darkest night emerge the greatest prophets and saints. Yet for the most part, the current of mystical life that shapes history remains unseen. Surely the decisive turning points in world history are determined in large measure by souls of whom no history book has anything to say. And whose souls we have to thank for the decisive turning points in our own personal lives—we shall know only on the day when all that is hidden is revealed.“
(Edith Stein, The Mystery of Christmas)
It is the saints who have a real impact on the Kingdom of God. And they do so to the extent that they are transformed into Jesus Christ (cf. 2 Cor. 3:18), make room for him to work, and let go of themselves in order to find themselves in him.
Yes, the Christian can and should become a source of living water for others. But, as Benedict XVI once said, we cannot always give. We must also receive. We must constantly return to the source. He, the Lord, is the source—the only one capable of satisfying the deepest longings of the human heart. Or, in the words of Pope Leo: „The poverty of our human nature points to a hunger that finds its fulfillment in the grace of the Eucharist.“ The water we are called to offer others is not our own. It is his.
Two weeks before his death, on March 15, 2005, St. John Paul II wrote to the young people of Rome and quoted St. John of the Cross:
„Those who are very active and think they can embrace the world by their preaching and their outward works should remember that they would be of far greater benefit to the Church and much more pleasing to God if, without even mentioning the good example they would thereby give, they were to spend at least half that time remaining with Him in prayer.“
After quoting St. John of the Cross, St. John Paul II continued with these words:
„Jesus, help us to understand that, before we can ‚do‘ in your Church—even in the urgent task of the new evangelization—we must first learn to ‚be‘: to be with you in adoration, enjoying your presence. Only from an intimate communion with you can authentic, fruitful, and truly apostolic activity arise.“
It reads almost like a final testament.
Not because St. John Paul II was encouraging us to walk around with both hands in our pockets and do nothing. Quite the opposite. „The love of Christ urges us on“ (2 Cor. 5:14), and it urged him across the whole world. It was the driving force behind his tireless service on so many fronts.
But he was able to do all this, and his work bore such extraordinary fruit, because he was firmly rooted in the Lord. Because his first priority was his relationship with HIM, time set apart for him alone. Because he knew that only the deep waters of God can quench the thirst of the world. And because he knew that all our outward activity will accomplish very little unless it is nourished by prayer.
For Me Personally
Adoration anchors me. It centers me again. Interestingly, I experience this most deeply during night adoration. A priest from Germany, whose parish has had perpetual adoration for many years, once told me that the nighttime hours are always the hardest to fill. But once someone takes them, they usually give them up only because they become ill, move away, or die. I understand that very well. For me, they are the most beautiful hours. I cannot fully explain why. But there is a silence—an interior stillness—that can only be found at night. There is a peace, a focus on him, that during the day I have to struggle much harder to attain. That is why my fixed hours here at the Center are at night, once a week, from one to four in the morning. Then I am alone with him. Apart from that, I am always happy to fill in whenever someone is unable to come. And beyond those hours, I simply love spending time in prayer before the Lord, present in the monstrance upon the altar.
I am deeply grateful for this time as a priest, when I can place not only myself but also our entire church community before him—with all its needs, burdens, anxieties, sufferings, griefs, joys, and intentions. In the midst of a difficult pastoral conversation, I can trust that the person who is at that very moment before the Lord in adoration may obtain more fruit for that conversation than anything I myself could say. But the Eucharist enlarges the heart even further. Before long, one begins to pray on a wider horizon. It is no longer only for myself, nor only for this parish. As a parish community, we begin to intercede for the world. We become a voice for the whole of creation. We offer the Lord thanksgiving, praise, and adoration, but also reparation. We place ourselves before him. We make ourselves available to him. And, little by little, we learn what it truly to place ourselves at his disposition.
The Science of the Cross
Earlier I said that adoration is meant to remind us that, in helping to build the Kingdom of God, we should first of all make use of the supernatural means. In this context, I often think of the mysterious words of St. Paul:
„Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his Body, which is the Church.“ (Col. 1:24)
Eucharistic adoration is a school of precisely this. It is the Lord, exposed in the Host. „Hostia“ in Latin means precisely this: „victim“ or „sacrifice.“ Yes, the Eucharist is the risen Lord, truly present. The One who has triumphed over death. But he is victorious because he became the sacrifice. He is victorious because he was the grain of wheat that bore abundant fruit by being willing to die—indeed, by being ground into flour so that he might become the Bread of Life for the world. There is no Easter Sunday without Good Friday.
Lasting fruit in the Kingdom of God comes no other way. And that also means that what people call failure is often precisely what bears the greatest fruit. I do not know where we in Vienna would be today had it not been for those first ten years that seemed, in many ways, like failure. Yes, it was a hard lesson. But today I can say that it was crucial. I would not want to be without that experience.
We do not know where, how, or when the seed will take root. Nor do we know whether the fruit of what we do will ever become visible before our eyes. Perhaps my fidelity to the Lord here, before him in prayer, will bear fruit for the Kingdom of God in a country I have never seen, among people I will meet only in heaven. „For who has understood the mind of the Lord?“ (1 Cor. 2:16) We do not know what our acts of faithfulness mean within his plan. That is what true surrender is. To let go of what we would like to control—that is the heart of surrender. As a priest friend reminded me not long ago: how all the footprints in the sand will ultimately run is not our responsibility. He has the plan. Indeed, he is the plan. To accept that, and to embrace it with trust—that is where freedom is found. And from there springs the joy of the children of God.
What I Hope For
One comment I received these past days read: „How beautiful it is to be part of this community of prayer.“ Yes, it truly is. At one level, 24/7/365 is about each person’s relationship with Christ. But it is also about learning, and gradually growing into, what it really means to be the Church: the Body of Christ. We are all members of his Body. Another comment brought this home to me once again: „How beautiful it is that whenever I come to the Center, I always find someone there praying before the Lord.“ One is there for the many. One person prays on behalf of all. In doing so, he opens a space into which others can simply step. The Lord desires to pour out his gifts. And from now on, there will always be someone there to ask for those gifts, and to receive them, on behalf of the many.
Prayer is not a cry cast into the void. Before anything else, it is opening oneself to the gift that he gives—the gift that he himself is. It is allowing oneself to be bathed in the light of this Sun. It is allowing oneself to be transformed by him. But it is also the source of all true fruitfulness for the world. It is allowing oneself to be drawn into God’s own passion for humanity. That is why 24/7/365 will not distract our church community from its mission to those around us. Quite the opposite will happen. Our response to his love will become bolder, more daring, more resolute, more focused—and, I hope, more humble. Because it is sustained by him. Because it is permeated by his Spirit. Because it is a response to his love, not an attempt to earn that love through our own efforts. Perpetual adoration is a rejection of every form of activism, of the illusion that we can somehow save the world ourselves. The Savior of the world is he.
Fr. George LC