Communion

Over the summer I told my son I thought he shouldn't receive communion.

This was not a decision made lightly. You may remember when I posted about Alex's doubts; they intensified, until he said, "There is no God." Whether or not you are Catholic, you know that receiving communion is a Big Deal for Catholics. We believe that the Eucharist is Jesus Himself, body, blood, soul, and divinity. Because of John 6 we reject the idea that it is merely a symbol or a memorial. To receive the Eucharist is to receive the Lord.

After a lot of soul-searching, I took a deep breath and said, "Alex, you can't treat the holy Eucharist like a goldfish cracker. It's fine to have doubts. It's fine to receive the Eucharist saying, 'Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.' But if you explicitly reject what you've been taught about the Eucharist, if you say it's just bread and nothing more, then you shouldn't receive communion." It was a bit of a bluff. I knew that receiving communion had been really important to Alex, and I half-expected him to say, "You know, I'm being an idiot here." No dice. For weeks we went to Mass and Alex sat quietly in the pew at communion time.

My husband was a little shocked at this state of affairs. I knew he would be, because he grew up in a family where missing communion is something you just don't do. And I was worried that he was right -- who am I to keep my son from communion? I talked it over with Alex's godfather, who would, I was sure, pull no punches if he thought I was in the wrong. Unbeknownst to me, he put his whole family to work after our conversation, praying for Alex.

About once a month Alex and I go out together on a Saturday afternoon. We go to confession and then stop in somewhere for a cup of coffee (me) and something sweet (him). We skipped September because I just didn't want to hear again about his rejection of the faith. I didn't even bring it up. But in October I said, "Let's go to confession, Alex." He said, "But why? I don't believe." I said, "You have to take a shower even if you don't believe in soap." We went.

The next morning at Mass I was in the vestibule with the 2yo at communion time but it looked for all the world like Alex went through the line. "Did he?" I asked Elwood afterward. "He did," said my husband with tears in his eyes. "Praise God." (My husband is not given to saying "praise God." In fact, I don't think I'd heard him say "praise God" in our whole marriage.) I talked it over with Alex's godfather the next day, and he told me that they had been praying faithfully for Alex. His oldest daughter, who is thinking about religious life, had made a special project of interceding for him.

Before I had children I had clear ideas about what sort of children I would have. (My hypothetical children would never, but never, do some of the stuff my actual children get up to, but my actual children are far more interesting than their hypothetical siblings.) I wanted my children to know God, and I had clear ideas, too, about what that would look like. I wanted them to "be ready to give an explanation to anyone who asks you for a reason for your hope." I wanted them to love the Mass. I imagined peaceful family prayer times in the evenings.

The thing I did not anticipate about raising children was how long it takes to teach them what they need to know. I figured I would say, "You must not hit your brother," and they wouldn't hit each other. I would teach them to pray and they would pray. Right?

[insert a pause while I collect myself and stop making those odd noises somewhere between laughing and crying]

I have been slow to learn that the Christian life is a marathon and not a sprint. It is a succession of steady small steps with no pole vault option, or the equivalent of a three-day cassoulet in a world full of canned baked beans. Some things can't be rushed.

That's what I tell myself when we sit together in Mass these days. My hypothetical children would be sitting attentively, praying the responses reverently. My actual children aren't there yet. But this is the pot of metaphorical confit d'oie I have been given to stir, and I am resolved to relish the stirring instead of wishing my cassoulet were already baked.

When Alex's godmother and I were pregnant with our oldest children, I couldn't really imagine the future. I couldn't get my mind around the truth that we were raising up brand new little people, who would have opinions and agency and who would go out into the world to make a mark upon it. I am more touched than I can say that this girl who played with Alex as a baby took it upon herself to intercede for him that he might know the goodness of God. Every week that we are at Mass, straggling through the communion line together again, I am thankful for her prayers.

Writing this post I have been thinking about the origins of the word communion: it comes from the Latin com + munus, meaning shared duty, shared gift. And I have been thinking that raising a family is its own sort of communion -- a life of shared duties, to be sure, and at the same time a life rich in shared gifts.

Comments

[CJ]

I couldn't find a good way to work this into the post itself: the reasons behind Alex's change of heart were more complicated than I have indicated here, but he asked me not to post them on the web.

[JeCaThRe]

As a (Episcopal) youth leader, I deal with the same issues with my kids when they're preparing for Confirmation. I have a kid who should have been confirmed last year, but chose not to be. He keeps coming to youth group, and I keep praying that he'll find his way.

A lot of people go through this kind of spiritual crisis. Alex is blessed to have people to walk with him.

[gina]

Praise God.

And have a blessed new year.

We are thinking of you all...

And I marvel over your beautiful posts...

You are my role model as a parent...and I so appreciate the thoughtful way you raise your children...

[Jody]

Thanks for sharing this story, CJ. I hope Alex continues to find the same loving support as he struggles with these issues that you and all your extended family have been giving him so far.

[You raise some fascinating questions in my own mind, about what I think is happening among the people of God as they gather at the table to partake of Christ's body and blood, and what that would mean for me if I were ever to be in your situation -- which I suspect I could very easily be, given my kids' personalities. But I don't know what the answers are, necessarily, and in any case, the real point would just be to say thanks -- again -- for sharing this story about your thoughtful quest to be a good mother to your children.]

[Arwen]

This is a lovely post.

[AmyinMotown]

As someone who went through her own crisis of faith and whose parents handled it horribly (as if it were a personal affront instead of a genuine quest) I love how you've approached this. My mother actually didn't speak to me for a week because we were not offering communion at the wedding--custom at our church when a Catholic marries a non Catholic. Lovely.

[pnuts mama]

oh cj, praise god indeed. so many good feelings are going through me right now- just so very thrilled for you and alex and all. i can't imagine what your heart went through. we've all gone through our crisis of faith- my own former nun mom must have been in such anguish during my own young adult years. and now i'm a ym with grad degrees in rel ed. huh. god bless alex for working it out and for all those who loved him through it.

i'm saying a prayer of thanksgiving that alex is in union with community once again- we missed you, dear one.

[carmen]

CJ, this was a beautifully written piece. Thank you so much for sharing the struggles in your family - it brings hope to me.

[Angela]

First...LOL! I want this to be my Facebook status: Angela is and resolved to relish the stirring instead of wishing my cassoulet were already baked. I think my friends from the Cooking Light website would appreciate it too. :)

Also...
I chose to not take communion for the first time on Christmas Eve. My parents both know that I've been doing some searching these past 8 years...at this point I will say I'm a Theist but can't expand on that in any simple way. Anyway...I certainly didn't expect that my choosing to not go up for communion would make my mother cry...but it did. Ugh. :( Part of me thinks I should take it (I'm not Catholic so the transubstantiation is not an issue with me) as a sign that I'm still open to the possibilities...