Communion

Catherine’s godson had his first communion the other day. The event showcased for me several types of church-folk.

It was a rowdy group, mostly. Several visitors, so I guess that is to be expected, but yowza!

A majority of the attendees talked throughout the mass. A priestly prayer was a relief to them, because they didn’t have to push from the diaphragm to be heard over the music or communal recitations.

The group behind us played games the whole time. They had a Barbie doll that they tortured throughout. And they were not children.

When the priest came by sprinkling the Holy water – symbolizing the saving sacrifice of our Lord for our sins - a woman near me ducked.

And at communion, a family down our row literally pushed my young nieces (and the rest of my relatives) aside, so they could get in the communion line first. (For those who do not know how orderly Catholics are in communion, this meant that the rude family had to suffer my kinfolk climbing past them to get back to our seats; which they endured with nasty scowls.)

And me – I spent most of the mass praying that my anger and irritation at those around me would subside enough to find joy in my nephew’s celebratory rite.

A fair grab-bag look at Christians, don’t you think?

Those that are there to hear themselves.

The ones that play at church.

The faction that come inside, but duck Jesus as much as they can.

Those that are so devout, they trample those around them in a desire to be first in the kingdom.

And the grumpy old goats who allow their surroundings to determine the quality of their conversing with G-d.

Can’t say as I’m impressed by any of them.

The kid that stayed focused, though, partaking with pleasure the communion wafer while honestly acknowledging the bitterness of the cup (he wiped his mouth with his sleeve after his sip) – him I could aspire to.

Just my thoughts,

Sean