The Sacrament of Eucharist

Rows and rows of boys in neatly pressed suits and girls in pristine white veils and dresses made of laces and satins were almost spoiled by the dark, ominous skies. Various colored umbrellas hung precariously over the heads of the young children being quickly ushered from the convent to the church. It was the day of my First Holy Communion, and the clouds had burst open with a fierce downpour. The rain pounded the pavement around us, splashing dirt onto our shiny white shoes. It looked as dreary as I felt.

Making your First Holy Communion is a big deal in Catholicism. For the first time in a child’s life, you are old enough to enter into another aspect of your religion. It was a very special time we were told. We would be allowed to receive the body of Christ in the form of a wafer, which begged the questions, at least from me, “How did they get Jesus’ body into that little wafer? And why would you want to eat it?” Many more of these crossed my mind, some expressed and some not.

Then, of course, was the counterpart of the wafers, the wine (I thought you had to be an adult to drink?). But this wasn’t any ordinary wine, it was supposed to be the blood of Christ. Gross! This seemed pretty creepy to me. I guess, it was just me, though, because everyone else seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, especially the priests.

Part of me felt very proud to participate in this special occasion, parading across the schoolyard for all of our families to see, but another part of me could not escape all the questions it brought forth. It made me uncomfortable. As we entered our local church, we were escorted into the pews and warned again to be quiet. I sighed and nervously peeked back to catch a glimpse of my Nan and the rest of my family. I couldn’t see them so I turned back around and put my attention on the altar.

It was adorned and surrounded by beautiful white and blue flowers leftover from the May Procession, which was in honor of Mary, the Virgin Mother of Jesus. I had asked Nan what did it mean to be a “virgin," but she waved me off with a brief but abrupt answer that never made any sense to me.

When I asked my teacher that same question, “What was a virgin?” she turned several shades of red, stuttered awhile, and then asked why I wanted to know. Slightly relieved when I told her I wanted to know why Mary was called a virgin, she told me that God put Jesus in Mary’s belly. I thought about this and then said, “My neighbor was talking to my Nan and told her that Pauline would be a virgin for the rest of her life. Is God going to put a baby in her belly, too?”

My teacher’s mouth hung open and her face lit up like the red bulbs on our tree at Christmas time. “No, Tammy,” she managed to squeak out, “Mary was very special. This won’t happen again.” I chewed on that thought for a few moments and then spit out,

“Did God marry Mary afterwards? Did Mary divorce God and marry Joseph? Aren’t we all children of God? If we are then are our mommies virgins too…” The words flew out of my mouth like bullets but were halted in mid-air by the look on my teacher’s face. She reached up and rubbed her temples.

As she turned back to the class, she said, “We’ll talk about this more another day," which translates into “when hell freezes over.” I giggled at the memory of it and was snapped back into the present by Sister Mary tapping on my shoulder. She leaned close to my ear and whispered, “I have my eye on you, young lady.”

“Great!” I thought. “Why does she always have to sit right near me.”

The Sacraments

Sacraments were Catholicism’s version of initiations. First, you were baptized as a baby because, if you weren’t, you had to go to purgatory, a kind of holding tank for all the Souls who didn’t meet the requirements at the golden gate into heaven which was, of course, guarded by Saint Peter. (Well, that is purely subjective because no one actually knew for sure, but that’s how all the jokes go.)

Some may wonder, if you aren’t familiar with this religion and even if you were, why a pure infant would not automatically pass into heaven? Good point. It was one I made several times to no avail. The answer I received, and the only one I can give you in their defense was an age-old culprit called “original sin.”

Baptism, according to these teachings, washed away this kind of sin, the rest was on you. To get rid of that sin, you had to make the Sacrament of Confession, also known as the Sacrament of Penance. Apparently, second grade was when you were no longer allowed to sin in ignorance. Now you would be held accountable unless you went and confessed these sins to a mediator, a priest who would listen to your stumbling blocks on your path to God and then absolve or forgive you for your sins.

As a punishment for these mishaps, you would have to say these prayers that he gave you immediately afterwards. I wonder what happened if you didn’t say those prayers. Did they take back the forgiveness they just gave you or what?

Hand in hand with the Sacrament of Penance was the Sacrament of Holy Communion. This is where you dressed up in fancy white dresses and veils, at least the girls did. The boys would look too silly in that get up so they wore white suits, at least they did then. Whoever thought of the idea of putting kids in white clothes must’ve never had any children, but that’s just my opinion. I digress.

Holy Communion was where you finally were allowed to stand in long lines to receive the body and blood of Christ. Who knew that was going to be a big hit? Surely, it wasn’t me. I’m still trying to figure out how they turned Christ’s body into those small, cardboard tasting wafers. And why is drinking blood bad for vampires but not for the rest of the church going world? These questions weren’t well taken by my teachers so I will have to get back to you on that.

About fifth grade, you were considered old enough to renew your baptismal vows, and this is known as the Sacrament of Confirmation. Confirming your vows, confirmation, get it? It took me a while to figure out that one too. All I knew then is that you got a longer name for your parents to scream out to let you know just how mad they were.

For instance, I picked Theresa after my aunt and Mother Theresa was my idol in those days. So, when I was in trouble, Tammy Marie Stone was okay. But if I were in really big trouble Tammy Marie Theresa Stone vibrated throughout the neighborhood. I’m sure that wasn’t its intended purpose, but you couldn’t tell our moms and dads that.

There are some other sacraments, but these are mostly the ones I will refer to along our journey together. These were the ones I had direct experience with so I couldn’t really tell you too much about the others.