Most days after school, I, along with my fellow peers, are itching to return home. This feeling is intensified on Friday afternoons, and even more so when it is the first Friday following a break. 

On the first week back from Christmas break, and I was extremely glad when Friday at last came. But rather than returning home right after school, I decided to stay for Holy Hour. 

This year, I have been focused on growing my faith and my role in Spiritual Life. Along with going to Encounter on Wednesday mornings and  attending before-school-mass on Thursdays and Fridays, Holy Hour has become a new favorite routine of mine.

For those who don’t know, Holy Hour is an hour spent in the Queen of All Saints Chapel after school. It is a time of silent prayer, adoration, guided reflection, confession, singing, and inspirational words from a chosen speaker. 

It occurs a few times throughout the school year, and last Friday was my second time attending.

Many may wonder: what could be so compelling about Holy Hour that students would voluntarily spend their Friday afternoon at school instead of returning home and beginning their weekend festivities?

Well, that is a good question, and up until this year, I would have wondered the same exact thing. But after attending Holy Hour, I can truthfully admit that it is one of the most transformative experiences Spiritual Life has to offer.

My First Holy Hour

The first Holy Hour I attended was in the early fall of 2025. I recall being a little intimidated because I knew that the small chapel would be filled with my classmates who were far more integrated into their faith than I was. I didn’t really know what the hour would entail, but I had decided to go anyway. 

This Holy Hour was different, though. Instead of it starting right after school, it began a few hours after dismissal. Students and families alike had returned to Cardinal Gibbons for this event, including me. 

When I walked into the chapel, my closest friends were already seated. One of my friends was playing the violin and was seated in the Music Ministry section, meaning I could not sit next to her. Some of my other friends had already filled up an entire row, and others were there with their families. 

There was just one person left who I knew with an open seat next to them, so there I took my place. 

As the hour progressed, I began to feel more comfortable and more at ease. Since it was an autumn evening, the sky beyond the chapel window was growing increasingly darker. It eventually got to the point where the room was illuminated solely by candlelight. It was surreal in the most wonderful way; it felt like we collectively parted the darkness in the world around us by being beacons of our faith.

This first Holy Hour helped fuel growth in my faith, and I could tell that many of those around me experienced this as well. In that first Holy Hour, I had not only gained a friend in the person I sat next to but had also strengthened my friendship with God. 

When the hour was complete, I enjoyed seeing friends and family embrace one another. I felt joy in knowing that they, too, were overcome with a unique sense of jubilation acquired only from being in the presence of God.

That first Holy Hour was special to me, which is precisely why all last week, I was looking forward to Friday at 3:15 p.m. when I hoped to experience those same feelings for a second time.

My Second Holy Hour

When I went to Holy Hour last Friday, I was not intimidated by it as I had been in the fall. Instead, I was excited. This time, I sat in the second row of the chapel, whereas the last time, I had taken my seat towards the back. 

Before the hour began, I engaged in friendly conversation with those around me. We conversed about irrelevant things: sports and Stranger Things conspiracy theories. Our thoughts strayed from the sacred hour that was about to begin, but such conversations quickly fell silent when the hour commenced. 

We all collectively shifted from the typical state of teenagers on a Friday afternoon to focused followers of God. Within seconds, we had shifted our concentration to our faith and to Jesus. 

Slowly, the many burdens I carried and the stresses I felt, were somewhat lifted. Not completely, but noticeable all the same. On my knees with hands clasped together, I silently spoke and felt the presence of the Eucharist. 

San Damiano Cross & The Eyes of Jesus

Directly hanging above the altar is a large depiction of Jesus upon the cross. It is known as the San Damiano Cross, and it is outlined in a golden coloring and is composed of many colorful and intricate details. During the hour, when my eyes were open, I often found them wandering to the eyes of Jesus in this structure. 

I’m not sure why I was so drawn to these eyes, but I was. I was drawn to their dull, far-off stare. They appeared as though they were looking at nothing and no one thing in particular, but rather the entirety of the chapel. And there was a beautiful comfort I found in this; it was a symbol of the ever-watchful eyes of Jesus.

 With the Eucharist filling the room around us, the beautiful monstrance practically glowing golden upon the altar, and those eyes of a carved Jesus watching over the room, I felt more at peace than I have in a long time.

Surrounded by my friends and peers, all basking in this beautiful hour of holiness and worship, I was content. 

A Changed Perspective

I am not a good singer, but that day, as the worship songs were sung, I sang rather than just whispering the words as I normally do. My voice joined the chorus of people who sang purposefully with the shared intent of growing closer to God, and it is my belief that we collectively succeeded in this goal. I hate to cry in front of others, but tears slowly streamed down my face as I silently shared my burdens. And while I normally would have been embarrassed by this, that day, that hour, I was not. 

I often worry that I am alone in my faith. There are so many I know whose faith is much stronger than mine. So many who seem as though they do not struggle with their faith as I sometimes do. But at that Holy Hour, even though I knew none of us were feeling exactly the same, I also knew that not one of us was alone, and I realized then that maybe we never truly are.  Holy Hour changed my perspective about the power of prayer and taught me that when growing in faith, even the imperfections are beautiful.

Although just an hour, Holy Hour was the climax of a week well spent, and when I eventually stood from my kneeled position and left the chapel that day, I felt at ease. My time spent in prayer and amidst my own thoughts had overwhelmed me with feelings and given me much to think about, but I enjoyed these thoughts. And I, too, enjoyed the company of my friends and the privilege of being in the presence of the Eucharist.

I do not come from a very religious background. I do not know all of the Catholic traditions. But despite this, I still feel that Holy Hour, along with many other Spiritual Life events, is an extremely moving and beautiful experience.