Communion

We live in crazy times. Everywhere, faithful Catholics lament the long Communion lines and short Confession lines - this is true everywhere. We are either a Church filled with Saints or a Church filled with sinners pretending to be Saints. I am one of the latter on the best of days.

Every day, every Sunday, every Holy Day - whenever we as Catholics attend Mass and have an opportunity to receive Holy Communion, we should be aware of our spiritual condition and act accordingly. Yet some people wonder if they can or should attend Mass at all if they are aware of mortal sin. They have been quite literally taught that receiving Holy Communion is the highest form of "participation" and therefore they MUST do this.

Perhaps that wasn't what was truly being taught, but that is what they heard and the impression they continue to hold. Why attend Mass if one cannot go forward for Holy Communion? Few people remain in the pew in an average Catholic Church (I hear the Latino parishes tell a different story - most DON'T receive).

Our society in general is one of entitlement; if I attend this I must receive that. 

It is OWED to me. I have a RIGHT to it. Very quickly that owing and "right" become a "requirement" or the entire event is meaningless. We are a society of "I must receive something or it's not worth my time."

The problem is this: Grace is conferred in ways that are hidden. One can receive Holy Communion in a state of grace but not benefit at all if  one is not really open to the Grace available. Grace is received according to the disposition of the recipient. Not my rules; those are God's own observations and the reality of the spiritual life. If we aren't open, we may receive Our Lord, but He will dissipate with no effect if we refuse to receive what He has to offer.

If we receive Holy Communion in a state of mortal sin, we kill ourselves, spiritually. We become dead to the effects of Grace because we have committed the sin of Sacrilege. 

Today I attended Mass, the Feast of All Saints, and admit it was a temptation to not attend even though it is a Holy Day of Obligation. I "felt" unworthy. I "wondered" deep within if I should enter the presence of the Almighty if I could not receive Him. Scandalized by my own interior wanderings, the thought barely crossed my mind and I banished it back to Hell from whence it had come. I was not able to make it to Confession and knew I should not receive Our Lord.  I also knew that it was even MORE important that I attend Mass, where I could make a Spiritual Communion while remaining in my pew, praying heartily for my own conversion to a life of holiness, to overcome my sin by leaning even more heavily upon God.

There have been several occasions in which I have had had to abstain from Holy Communion, whether because of mortal sin or simply my disposition at that moment. Always, I meditate on what it is like to be out of communion with the Church, to be separated from God. It is just as important to recognize what we may suffer eternally as it is to reflect upon and hope for eternal beatitude - both contain deep spiritual messages we need to ponder intensely.

Always, though, it seems that God reaches out to me, no matter what my state. It seems that whenever I abstain from Holy Communion, there is a friend in the pew in front or behind me, or even in my same pew. At some point, God shines through them, reminding me that although perhaps my sin has cut me off from Holy Communion, I am not abandoned. A friend passes by and where they would normally do so without a word or signal, on those days I abstain, even if they don't know that I am doing so, they reach out to squeeze my hand.

This evening was no exception. Tonight, I learned during the Sign of Peace that a few friends were seated behind me and one actually asked me quickly, "How have you been?" as we exchanged the Sign. Another couple friends, as they skirted past me to go forward, tapped me on the shoulder; a sign of encouragement.

Tonight, instead of a sense of dejection, of separation, I made my Spiritual Communion with a sense of profound joy. I have been claimed by Christ, and even though I separated myself through sin, I have truly repented of that sin and attended Mass to worship God with my Catholic family. As a Catholic, I am not exiled because I am weak. I am simply aware of my own impurity at the Wedding Feast of Our Lord.

As I've pondered before and did so again tonight, simply remaining in the pew during Holy Communion is a sign, too - of Faith. Of Hope. Of Love. 

It sends a signal to others that I truly BELIEVE that this is the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ. Even we who cannot receive due to sin, disposition, irregular canonical issues, or even being non-Catholic, reveal Truth. Today, with my body and soul I still gave Glory to God by refusing to partake, for I know that He is Truly Present and my reception would have profaned what is Most Holy.

There are times where I have stepped over others while going forward to receive and I always stop myself from wondering; are they not Catholic? Have they not been to Confession? Are they angry with me for tripping over their children while I tried to get to "my" pew?

The answers to the questions I suppress in my mind are not important. The strongest message I receive from those in the pew during Communion is this:  they remain there because Jesus Christ is Truly and Substantially Present in the Holy Eucharist. Their place reveals more than the lines going forward. I see more reverence in those who abstain than in those who receive.

I do not mean to say that my own abstinence today is something to be glorified; it's not. I am a sinner and I COULD NOT receive, and for that, I am ashamed. I am sorry, Jesus, for my sin. I am sorry that I lacked the proper disposition to receive You.

That said, it is only that a lesson came home to me today; about the volumes spoken in silence and mystery, about the witness of Faith given by the weakest members of the Church on any given day, who testify not by going forward, but by taking the last place.

It is they who give me the courage and instill in me the virtue to honor Christ more perfectly, especially when I have sinned.

May the entire Communion of Saints pray for us all so that we may always honor Christ and grow to be more like Him every day of our lives. 

Cana

This evening I assisted in preparations for tonight's Cana Dinner, enjoying decorating for the annual feast, and thrilled that I'd be able to attend First Friday Mass as usual, even though I was working. Part of what I was there for tonight was to assist the musicians, which meant that I had to sit near them in a side wing pew.

I am quite familar with this particular Gospel message; my regular readers will remember a post I wrote on the Wedding at Cana, based upon a talk I had heard, and then one I gave. But tonight, the message came home to me in a different, very special way.

All afternoon as we decorated, I had a sense of "Cana" that I couldn't shake, but I didn't get a chance to go to the Chapel to consider it for awhile. At Mass, even though I was happy to be there, I felt like the odd one out when I surveyed the church full of married couples. I was the only single woman there, save for a family that was attending the Mass, yet they at least were connected to each other. I had no one. It's not that I felt my presence was not legitimate; it was more a matter of feeling as though I stood out, and couldn't maybe relate properly to the couples who were present for the evening.

Then, during his homily, Father spoke about Theology of the Body, and the way he described it brought it home to me in a way that clarified what God had been trying to convey to me all day.

I was brought face-to-face with my singlehood, while reflecting on the wonderful joy of marriage. Yet I also realized the absence of what Father was describing in my own family, due to my parents having been divorced when I was eight. I realized that I'd never SEEN that beautiful reflection of God through the marriage of my parents, and further, how many other people out there have been deprived of the same thing. I realized the importance of the marital relatioship, and what it tells us about God Himself and His complete love for us.

This reflection saddened me nearly to tears. In fact, several times I had to blink them back, but throughout Mass, my eyes were almost literally shrink-wrapped in tears. I considered the teen musicians and prayed they were paying attention and making the connection with the witness of so many married couples. I realized there was likely a good number of them who ALSO desperately needed to see and understand this wonderful image of God, the foundation of society that has come so under attack.

Yet singlehood continued to be a running theme as I reflected on my presence there that evening. I was there for a reason, and I had indeed contributed to the celebration, in a way that would be unsung, and that gave me joy. I was proud (in a good way!) about what we as a group accomplished to prepare, and that it was truly a spirit of service and hospitality that worked through us all in order to bring a message of the love of Christ to those who would attend.

But I was also struck by the focus on marriage for this event, with the juxtaposition of my presence as an old maid single woman. It was that moment that I recognized my poverty before God, and even as that particular sword went through my heart, there was joy, for God never reveals difficult truths without also revealing His love. And in fact, the two concepts are one and the same.

As a single woman, I have no one else. I have no real "status". I have no one else to lean on; I have only God. If something seperates me from God, I am to blame, for I have no spouse to accuse. Every day, every moment, I can only belong to Christ, and it is my very poverty as a single woman in special need of His grace that brings me to him. And through the recognition of this reality, I also realized my desperation to receive Him in Holy Communion.

Last semester in our Spirituality class, our professor spoke of the desperation we should all have, akin to the desperation of the woman with a hemorrhage who touched Jesus' tassel and was healed. We should all have that desperation, and that faith.

I've also been planning a talk for next Tuesday on the subject of Lent, which partially consists of the topic of spiritual poverty. For it is spiritual poverty that allows us to see God and to know Him. We cannot approach the throne of grace unless we are aware of our poverty.

Tonight, I saw my poverty in a new way, and the recognition brought me to the desperation of knowing I can do nothing at all without Christ. I am completely lost without Him. I am completely alone without Him....because I have no one else.

After Mass, the DRE told me that I had a spot at the table with her, Father, and the speaker, and with the scent of the wonderful dinner awaiting, I thanked her. (And tried not to drool too much!) My stomach was rumbling, and really, I wanted nothing more than to sit down and share the feast with all the fine people present.

But there WAS something I wanted more, and had already received; Jesus. I wanted to be with Him, in silence and prayer, pondering the incredible love he revealed to me tonight. And somehow, the idea of staying for the dinner seemed somehow wrong; I didn't belong there. I was the only single woman in the room. No, no one knew that, but I did, and it didn't feel right to me to be sitting there with such fine company.

I can't really explain that sense of not belonging, but when I went inside and sat down for a moment to tell the DRE and Father that I would not be able to stay, that feeling was confirmed. I had to get away. Certainly I LOVED the company, all wonderful people, but tonight I had to turn down the invitation.

After I left the dinner, mouth watering as I walked past the buffet table, I went into the church for a moment to pray. But it wasn't until I was en route home that the message of Cana came to me.

Normally I like to listen to music while I drive, but tonight, I needed the silence, and in that silence, God spoke to me. I came to understand that tonight, I had a role in the Gospel, and it was a role that applies to me both as a single woman and in my work at the parish.

Tonight, I was the servant.

I could hear Mary's words speaking to me, "Do whatever he tells you." And in my mind's eye, I could see Jesus turn to me and direct us to fill the jars with water. I considered the labor of the day and the purpose of our labor. I considered the doubts that I've had since I began my current work and my grad school studies. What am I doing? Why? What is really happening here?

In the Wedding at Cana, the servants acted out of obedience, not really understanding the task at hand, but doing it anyway. And in the end, it was they, the most humble and insignifant, who had a front row seat to the miracle that took place. The servants knew that the jars were filled with only water, for it was they who worked to hard to make it so, according to the direction they had been given.

But it was the Steward, who knew nothing of the previous events, who encountered the miracle, before the astonished eyes of the servants.

The servants don't get to taste the wine. The servants don't get to sit with the honored guest even to eat the scraps. The servants fade into the background, knowing they were blessed to have had a front row seat.

Tonight, I was a servant, and it would not have been proper for me to stay. It was proper for me to leave. Had I remained, certainly it would have been by invitation and would still have been proper, but had I done so, I would not have understood the lesson God had in mind for me.

This lesson goes far beyond tonight, for it encompasses not only my status as a single woman, but also the integrity of my work, the virtues of obedience, humility, and charity, and the understanding of what it means to be present at the true Wedding Feast of the Lamb, knowing that I am a Bride.

I need nothing more than the Divine love of Christ, nothing more than to know that I have been called to serve Him, nothing more than to recognize my poverty and that alone, nothing can seperate me from the Bridegroom who awaits us all.