First Communion

In an ironic twist, my entire family went to church for TWO consecutive Sundays. The last time that happened, I was 16.

But it was for a good cause--my nephew Grant's first communion.

We were all excited for Grant, who was actually very nervous. (He's always nervous.) But he was also proud of his milestone, and of being the center of attention for a whole day.

My parents beat us to the parking lot. As I exited my car, I saw my dad resting on a bench, looking down at the ground, while my mom rushed about. I couldn't tell what she was looking for, but she was determined. Suddenly, my dad looked up and waved me over. I frowned--is everything okay?--just as my mom stopped moving, and also waved me over, even more frantically.

"Something's wrong," I told Mark, rushing off. My dad sat still on the bench--I worried he wasn't well.

"Hurry!" my mom said, as I rushed up. She pointed toward the hall. "They have coffee and donuts!"

I stopped running, then sighed. I thought my dad was having a heart attack. And he was--kind of--over donuts. (My parents really love donuts.) 

"My favorite part of church!" Mark smiled, wringing his hands together. Usually he had to wait till after the service to get them.

I told Mark to eat his very carefully. He'd dressed all up for the mass, and I didn't want him to spill on his outfit. He looked very dapper.  

As we left the hall, a couple little boys ran by us wearing similar outfits (except they sported white, not black, ties).

"Uh oh," I said.

"What?" Mark asked. 

"They're gonna think you're making your first communion," I said, pointing out the other boys. "With your white shirt and black pants."

Now Mark sighed. And sure enough, as we climbed the stairs to the church, several church ladies clapped and cheered for Mark.

"First communion boy!" they called out to him. "Congratulations! We're so proud of you!"

Poor Mark just smiled painfully and graciously mumbled, "Thanks."

Scott, Mari, and their kids were already inside. We shoved into one pew that just barely fit us all (well, not quite). OK, actually, it was one person too small, but we don't like to be separated, so the 12 of us just crammed ourselves in there.

Somehow, I ended up next to my neice Gabi again. Usually, the family doesn't let us sit together because we're both inappropriate and can't keep our mouths shut. This day was no different.

As Gabi flipped open the missal to find the song lyrics, the book snapped, sounding like a shotgun re-loading. Only Gabi would recognize that sound--she looked at me, surprised and delighted, a wicked grin spreading across her face. She then snapped the book ten times in a row, until finally Mark also realized what it sounded like, and started snapping his book, too. I giggled along until both my mom and Scott shot us dirty looks; then I immediately whispered, "Knock it off!" at Gabi. She locked and loaded one last time, then winked.

The church was beautiful, filled with fresh flowers from last Sunday's Easter mass. There was also a huge cave on the altar, which I'd never seen before. (I'm usually only there for first communions or Christmas Eve.)

"Do they always have that cave?" I asked Gabi.

"Only at Christmas and Easter," she whispered back. "You know, because Jesus came out of the cave."

"He only came out of the tomb at Easter," I reminded her. "Not Christmas. Christmas was when he was born."

"Oh, yeah!" she said. "At the farm. Because the hotel was closed."

I sighed again. "In a manger," I corrected. "Because the inn was full, not closed. Seriously, do you listen at all during services?"

"Yeah," she said. "Sometimes." Then she snapped the missal at me again--click! click!--proving she actually did not ever listen.

The monsignor was great--he was sweet and funny, personable and engaging. He involved the whole church, pacing back and forth as he told the sermon, and inviting questions from the audience. When it came time to prepare the communion, he called all the kids up to the altar to participate. I loved it--the whole service revolved around the family, and included everyone. This was not the stuffy, formal Catholic church I'd grown up with. I enjoyed it a lot, and started to feel guilty that my son has none of these traditions or memories to grow up with.

"Maybe we should go to this church," I told Mark. "I really like the monsignor."

"Nah," he said. "Too early."

"It's 10 o'clock!" I told the boy who gets up every weekend at 7 to play video games. "Besides, they have mass all day, even on Saturday and Sunday evenings." Little blasphemer earned himself a couple more weeks of church for that statement!

Finally, it was Grant's big moment. He gulped, gathered himself up, and lead his parents to the altar. The monsignor spoke to him softly, while Scott and Mari each placed a hand on his shoulder. Then, Grant accepted his first holy communion, and I got a little weepy. Grant returned to the pew, with a giant grin on his face. It was a really sweet moment.

Afterwards, the rest of us stood to go for communion. Mark usually goes too, with his arms folded across his chest, to receive a blessing. But because of his clothes, I motioned for him to stay. 

"Don't go up," I said, pointing to his shirt. "You'll just confuse them!" 

"I know!" he said, sitting back in the pew. "I'm not!"

It would be just like Mark to receive his first holy communion without going to any of the classes, or doing any of the prep work! That kid takes the shortcut for everything.

After mass, we gathered the family outside to capture the moment. I took tons of photos with at least three cameras, and they came out very nicely.

"OK, we're done," I told the squirrelly family after a few minutes. They are not a patient group.

"Now one with you in it!" Kathleen called. Everybody groaned, but Kathleen insisted. "Heather's never in it," she said. "Come on!"

I jumped in the picture, and gave my best smile. What I didn't know was that everyone else was making goofy faces. So yeah, this is my sentimental Kodak moment commemorating Grant's special day.

Finally, it was time to do what we liked best--party! We returned to Scott and Mari's house to eat, drink and harass each other. Grant raced around excitedly, opening cards stuffed with $20 bills, while Mark gasped and pointed out that Grant didn't deserve that much cash (he tried bargaining me down to give Grant only 10 bucks).

"If you make your first communion, you'll get money, too," I pointed out. 

But Mark shook his head, remembering the story my mom told of Aunt Kim's conversion. "Too many classes," he said. "I'm gonna be like Aunt Kim, and do everything at once."

I just shook my head. Only Mark would plan ahead to take a religious studies crash course.

I mistakenly set my smartphone on a table and walked away. When I turned around, Gabi was taking a million pictures with it, including this one with my mom. (Gabi: "Smile, Grandma!" Mom: "OK! Look, Ralph, I'm taking selfies!")

We spent the whole day together, even staying long enough to watch a bit of Grant's baseball game that afternoon. The sun was shining, my family was happy, the spring flowers were in full bloom, and the whole day was gorgeous and bright. 

And best of all? Lightning didn't strike any of us, not once during the whole Sunday mass (our second mass in a row! Did I mention that??).  

And truly, that may be the biggest miracle of all!