The bishop emeritus of the Diocese of Charlotte, the Most Rev. William George Curlin, just about 90 years old, was telling me some stories of priests he had met back in the day.
One was a Maryknoll priest (a great group way back in the day), who told him of his experience of adoration when he was locked in solitary confinement for four years in a Chinese prison. His cell wasn’t big enough for him to stand up or lie down, a typical torture in Asia.
At the beginning of his sentence, a cleaning lady made her way to his cell while she pretended to be sweeping, and nudged him through the bars, slipping a tiny vial with a tiny amount of wine in it. Occasional bread would also make its way to them. With this, he offered Mass and kept a bit of the Host in a crack in the wall. And then he proceeded to kneel daily in adoration of the Most Blessed Sacrament for the next four years. He wasn’t alone in his cell at all.
Bishop Curlin told me another story of a priest who had survived the Nazi concentration camp in Dachau. He said that when Dachau was liberated, there was still one of the guards on the compound, shaking, scared to death, knowing it was all over, knowing that the Nazis lost the war, knowing it was now the end of his life. The survivor priest said that he went over to this guard and embraced him, then telling him that he forgave him. It is then, said the survivor priest, that his interior Dachau immediately left him, meaning all the bitterness and anger one would expect to have in such a death camp.
I imagine that the priest in China in the story above had to have this forgiveness in his own heart, for otherwise, adoration would simply not be possible.