I am in the last few weeks of a 22 week Bible study about the life of King David. This is my first Bible study and it’s been a satisfying experience. I approached it from an intellectual standpoint; a kind of “book club” where we would dissect the Bible much like I had discussed best sellers with girlfriends. I wasn't comfortable with the Bible, never sought it out as a source of comfort and I had begun to question why. Was my family apathetic? Nobody in my family read the Bible but we attended mass. What I discovered is that I was raised as a Catholic in an era that didn’t encourage us to read the Bible. That was left to the priests and hierarchy to interpret and dispense. I found this out from other women in this new church who had also been raised Catholic. These comparisons and discussions have given me an opportunity to challenge and even appreciate my experiences of growing up Catholic. I have relived these moments through my kids that as a child were to me were somewhat daunting and intimidating.
Dick and I were both Catholic and we seemed destined to raise our children in the Catholic faith. I don’t even recall having a serious discussion about it. I felt good about the process and enjoyed “baptizing” both kids in familiar rituals which of course now made more sense to me. Later there were the other rituals like the weekly fights with our kids about attending CCD and fighting with Dick over whose turn it was to fight with the kids about attending CCD. Apparently arguing about attending CCD is something they got from my DNA. I hated it too!
One day a packet followed young Zach home from CCD regarding his First Holy Communion. Prayers that looked hauntingly familiar glared at me. I knew these prayers because I had spent months memorizing them at this age but they had changed a bit. This alone should tell you I was not really a strong and practicing Catholic. Included were forms regarding his First Reconciliation? Had they added a new sacrament in the last 30 years? Aha! This was a new word for Confession and the fact that I didn't readily know this confirms that I was a lousy Catholic. Confession....that moment when we tell our sins to the priest behind a curtain in the confessional (I recall making things up because at age six, I simply hadn't had much time to perfect my sinning). In return we are given “penance”, which are the prayers Catholics are told to recite by the priest as a form of repentance for these sins which we have just confessed. Zach had been raised in a football playing family so you can imagine his confusion over the “Hail Mary” as a form of atonement.
Jordan’s First Holy Communion was special as we chose to do it apart from the class during a Sunday mass which was pretty much (some things never change) all about her. We sat in the front row of the church where Father Duch directed his attention and kind remarks toward her during the service. For a visual which you will soon understand, I should note that the choir was seated in the front of the church, directly facing our family.
The big moment came when Jordan, along with our family was prompted to be the first to receive Communion with everyone as her witness. A tiny cutie in her white dress and pink patent leather mary janes, she approached the priest and held out her little hands to receive the host. “The body of Christ.” She responded with an appropriate and angelic “Amen.” and danced back to our pew. I followed shortly behind. As I began to kneel in prayer, I noticed Jordan also kneeling yet still holding and staring pensively at that host in her little hands. This had not escaped Father Duch either! I gave her a gentle nudge and reminded her to put the host in her mouth. “I don’t want to!” she replied. Only a few of us were witnessing the private little drama that now began to unfold. Communion had paused, the choir was simultaneously singing and chuckling at us in amusement. Father Duch, not so much. His eyes glued to her, he gave her a cue by lifting his chin and opening his mouth indicating that she should put the host in her mouth. She shook her head regretfully from side to side. His eyes widened and with a patient smile he cued her again, shaking his head up and down. Again she shook her head “no!”
Now panic was beginning to set in and I could feel my face turning red. It had been a good two minutes or so since this began and it was clear that Communion and the service would not proceed until this host was swallowed. The entire choir was now enjoying this private performance. A few of them were even tearing up with laughter. As amusing as it is in hindsight, I was feeling the pressure. I nudged her again and this time added a frantic and harsh whisper “Please swallow the host!” The priest obviously knew what I had said because he was nodding in agreement while smiling and motioning with his hands for her to get on with it! “But I don’t want to!” returned the tiny voice out loud. Finally in total despair I said to her in an almost threatening whisper “Jordan, it’s the body of Christ! Put it in your mouth NOW!” Nothing. Finally, her father on my other side intervened. He gave her a stern look and a quick command. And with that, he host disappeared into her mouth.
Father Duch smiled and I could see him breathe a sigh of relief. Trust me, I was looking for it! Communion commenced and I felt the tension in my body release. As I rearranged myself in the pew, Jordan also sat back and looked up at me. The host clearly still in her mouth she mumbled, “Mommy, I don’t like it and I’m going to spit it out.”
