comic by Ken Fager
After my family stopped attending Catholic mass regularly and started frequenting a Presbyterian church, I discovered the absolute delight of “Communion Sundays,” which were only once a month. I loved the tiny little plastic cups passed around in fitted brass plates. After sipping up the grape juice, I would do the classy and mature thing by sticking my tongue into the cup to get every last drop from the bottom. I’d suction it onto my tongue, waggle it around, and make silly faces at my friends until an adult noticed and I had to busy myself with the bulletin or something.
My favorite part of Communion Sunday was the bread. I loved that bread. I sometimes called it “3-D Jesus” because it was in a small cubed form instead of the flat, bland wafers we used to dissolve on our tongues at mass. No crackers or matzo here, just soft cubes of a dead guy.
The best thing about this bread was its taste: it was sweet like buttered honey and it fairly melted into your teeth like a soft candy. Jesus tasted damn good. I once tried to take more bread from the passing plate, but I felt ashamed that someone might see, so I contented myself with just one tiny square of Jesus.
Now that it’s not even symbolically holy and I still remember the scrumptious taste of that bread on my tongue, I very much want to eat it again—but in mach larger quantities. Did they buy it or bake it? Is this a common communion food among protestant churches? I’ve googled “sweet communion bread recipe” and not come up with anything particularly enticing.
If you’re out there, Jesusbread baker, can you give me your recipe? I want some with a little honey on top. Like, now. I’m starving.
I was recently a bridesmaid in a wedding–bouquet and all. It was a gorgeous event, and I had a wonderful time celebrating my childhood best friend’s marriage to her new husband. Standing up with her was a youthful dream come true.
The wedding mass was held in an old, opulent Roman Catholic church where the bride is a member. I didn’t mind this despite my divorce from Christianity and personal views on the way the Roman Catholic Church (RCC) manages itself. It was a beautiful location for their special moment.
Photo by photine
During rehearsal we ran through the ceremonial procedures and were instructed how to act by the wedding sacristan and the priest. At one point, the priest walked over to where we bridesmaids were sitting and gave us all a stern look. “When you are walking up the aisle,” he said, “Once you reach the front you must stop, pause, and bow to the Eucharist. You can’t genuflect in your dresses, but you must bow.”
At this matter-of-fact instruction, he walked away. Immediately, my eyebrows shot up. Surely he didn’t expect us all to be Catholic. and what non-Catholic would bow to a piece of food in a gold box on the stage?
My feeling of puzzled reticence only inflated when the priest joined us once again ten minutes later. He instructed us how to “properly receive the Eucharist” during communion: All of us must go up together because it would (apparently) look better. Those people not in good standing with the RCC should cross their hands over their chest (like a dead person in a coffin) and receive a blessing in the form of a cross drawn on the forehead by the priest’s thumb.
I sighed audibly, rolled my eyes, but kept my vocal opinions on this instruction to myself. The bridesmaid beside me was clearly perturbed as she scoffed, “Geez, who wouldn’t want a blessing?” I guess I didn’t hide my distaste for these traditions very well.
Some of the other other bridesmaids knew I wasn’t a Christian, but all of them knew I wasn’t Catholic. I saw a few eyes dart towards me from further down the pew as I pondered what to do.
First we’re told to bow to someone who isn’t there. Then we’re told to receive a blessing and get a torture device religious symbol drawn on our foreheads? I mean really–what kind of atheist would I be if I didn’t feel a bit annoyed by this?
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