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When I was 8 years old, I tried to turn a slice of Wonderbread and a glass of grape juice into the body and blood of Christ on my bedroom floor. As best I could cognitively manage, I copied the exact actions of Father (something or other) in the blessing of the bread and wine each Mass…
Arrange bread and juice in front of me.
Lift bread up toward the ceiling with both hands.
While bread is lifted, sing the following words in a solid, monotone tenor: "through him, with him, in him, in the unity of the holy spirit, allpowerandhonorareyours, almighty Father, forever and evvvvvverrrr. Aaaaaaaaaaameeeeeeeen."
Eat bread, which has now been physically transformed into the actual body of Christ.
Repeat with wine or grape juice. Drink wine or grape juice.
In my naïve, albeit well-meaning, adolescent attempt at transubstantiation, I managed to spill the blood of Christ all over my new white carpet. I tried to hide the purple blemish under (what I thought to be) a brilliantly inconspicuous sneaker, strategically placed in the middle of my bedroom floor. And yet somehow, remarkably, it did not take long for mom to discover my chimerical papal endeavors. She was unimpressed. I remember a long lecture, something to the tune of "WHAT... ARE... you doing with grape juice all over your WHITE CARPET!?"
"But it's not grape juice mom! It's... the blood of Christ!"
I can't be certain, but I believe her censure softened, markedly, when I explained why I did, in fact, have grape juice in my bedroom that day.
Tonight, Pastor Isaac took the time to explain to us what it meant to be a member, a partner, at Summit Church. I remember feeling absolute delight as he spoke the words, "Don't think our mission is to keep you. Our mission is to reach the lost." How brave and profound an idea in our self-aggrandizing consumer culture. In those few moments I reflected, with gratitude, on the knowledge that church is not about me. In those few moments, I was overwhelmed with desire to go where God calls—to serve without reservation, trepidation, irritation. To be truly selfless.
I would love to claim that my service is always selfless. I would love to claim that the thoughts I have about the people with whom I live in community are always pure. I would love to claim that my actions, however topically altruistic, are never carried out begrudgingly. But I would be a liar to claim any one of those things. Even at my best, I am often derelict.
And then, suddenly, I have a moment.
That rare and precious occasion in which I realize that life is not about me—that my desire to do good is genuine, tangible, willing. That moment when, by God's grace, I experience a brief and poignant inkling of transformation. A seed. If only I can make it grow. I long for that moment--even if I am inept at seeking it.
As embarrassed as I used to get when mom would tell my friends and relatives about my grape-juice-into-blood-of-Christ debacle, this was as pure a moment as I've ever had. I wanted to be close to Jesus. As an eight-year-old Catholic, this was my best understanding of how to accomplish that.
Though my understanding of what it means to be close to Jesus has matured with age, I would be lucky to regain so innocent a pursuit.
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Posted by kaileyH on 2008-07-09 20:49:26 | Rating: | Views: 52
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are you still catholic
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Posted by roe
on 2008-07-23 02:14:08
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