I was scheduled as a Eucharistic minister this afternoon, and for some reason my side of the church was moving much more slowly through the line. To speed things up, two additional ministers came over from the other side of the church after they were done; still it took a long time. Not many people wanted to receive from the chalice, so there was a fair amount of the Precious Blood remaining as I turned back to the altar. Mindful that the priest was most of the way through his post-communion tasks because of that weirdly lopsided line, I attempted to consume the rest of it efficiently...
...and oh, you guys, I sent a big splash of it down the wrong pipe.
I was so distressed. If I'd been at home I would have made a big eye-watering noisy-coughing fuss, because it was wretchedly uncomfortable. Instead I just wheezed quietly as I folded the purificator. My pal Sylvia, who has an answer for everything, was also there in the sanctuary and I found her presence reassuring. "I'm sure Sylvia knows what to do if a Eucharistic minister passes out," I said to myself, still wheezing.
Back in my pew I was able to cough discreetly until I felt better. It occurred to me there that a person who inspires (in the "breathes in" sense) the Word at least has a fun title for the blog post she will write later about her painful Mass experience. "Oh, Sylvia," I told her afterward, "I have Jesus in my lungs." "Well, I'm sure he's doing good work in there," she said calmly. (All the non-Catholics reading this post are like "...You Catholics are a weird bunch.")
Sometimes at church we sing the song that goes, "This is the air I breathe-- your holy presence."
I'm going to try to be less literal about that in the future.
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