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Me and the Eucharist and the Eucharist and Me. No matter where they put the altar it’s meant to be.

When I was a Presbyterian, I never cared that much about Communion.  My Catholic friends got to wear white dresses and veils and got parties and presents when they were in second grade.  I got to “join the church” in ninth grade.  I may have gotten a new dress, but I don’t remember.  Communion was cubes of white Wonder Bread and shot glasses of grape juice and happened maybe once a month.  I may have taken communion about six times.

The Unitarians have a “Flower Communion” and a “Water Communion”.  I can’t go into the details because I refused to participate and would go outside.  I was offended as a Unitarian that the church needed to imitate another religion’s ceremonies.  When I became a Christian again, I was even more offended as a Christian.  (This should have told me something; it takes a lot to offend me.)

When I started attending the Episcopal Church again after a twenty-year break, I was not ready to “go up” at first, although someone very kindly told me that anyone who’d been baptized could take Communion.  It took me several weeks.  And then what I got out of it was more a feeling of participation and being part of the group.

It wasn’t until years later that I discovered that it was important to me.  Our priest was going to be away and a deacon would be doing the service.  We had the option of not having Communion or having it with bread and wine that that already been consecrated.  (Only a priest can consecrate.)  I found that I did not want to miss the Eucharist.  My reaction to my feelings was, “Well, that’s weird.”

But as I’ve found out, a spiritual journey is a weird trip.  Things happen.  We can only accept and be grateful for them.  For instance, I never thought I would care whether the altar is among the people, with the priest facing the congregation or at the front (or is it back?) of the church, with the priest’s back to the congregation.  But I do.  I don’t want to miss the chance to see what the priest is doing or that moment of the blessing of the elements, when God is coming through the priest’s hands into the bread and wine.  I don’t understand it, and that is part of the miracle.   

Not too long ago, I would hear Catholics on religious talk shows speak about the “gift of the Eucharist”  and put this down to “Catholic craziness.”  (Sorry about that, Catholic friends and family.)  Now I am writing about it myself, and if I ever get a chance to go on a religious talk show, I will talk about it.  (Don’t plan on this any time soon, but if any shows are looking for talent, I’m available.)

Gifts, miracles, and mystery!  That’s my kind of crazy!

     

Reality Check: The Redeeming Social Value of Keeping up with the Kardashians and the Real Danger of the Real Housewives

I don’t always watch reality shows, but when I do, I watch the Kardashians and the Real Housewives (and occasionally Breaking Amish, and Sister Wives, and Little People Big World, and The Little Couple, and Celebrity Rehab, and Gypsy Sisters . . .) In reality, it’s not as bad as it sounds.  My husband would not let it get as bad as it sounds.

We all know the arguments against reality shows.

They glorify excess and consuming.  Their message is that stuff is good and that we need more stuff and that it will make us happy.

But I wonder how many people see past this.  More than their critics think, I believe.

Frankly, I like to see Kardashian excess because it is so excessive that I’m grateful my own simple life.  After hearing about their bikini and eyebrow and who knows what else waxes, I realize the truth that it is a gift to be simple.  (And, I have to admit, I feel smug that I can live without stuff.  Well, without as much stuff.) 

And besides being about stuff the show is about looking for love and having various degrees of luck finding it.  (Mostly not much.)  So far, there have been two divorces, a separation and several breakups.  Does it occur to the audience that things, and even financial stability, don’t guarantee a good relationship?  I think it has.

You can also see this on the Real Housewives shows.  During the first season, Theresa talked about taking her daughters shopping at least once a week.  And they always seem to be buying new houses or gutting and redecorating the old ones.  But the Housewives shows deal with relationships, too.  And that it the real danger. 

The really toxic thing about the Housewives shows is not that relationships (like the friendship of Jill and Bethany) fail, but that they fail after all kinds of efforts to repair them.  People keep talking about each other and to (or at) each other, but nothing is ever resolved.  Efforts to mend fences only make the situation worse.

The message I got from the Real Housewives is “There ain’t no use in talking if there ain’t nobody listening.  And nobody is.”  So you flip tables over and tweet nasty messages.  Watch the Housewives long enough and you can become a hater and grudge holder.  Ever the optimist, I keep waiting for epiphanies and grand makeup scenes.  But they never seem to come.

Supposedly, though, after a relationship fails you can buy more stuff.  I don’t know if the Housewives see that this doesn’t help, but I have faith that the audience does.

So maybe those of us who have been guiltily watching the reality shows can come out of the closet and explain to our critics that they must look at the subtext.  (You do know I meant this in a snarky, anti-academic, anti-English major way, don’t you?)

And now for something completely different.

 

 

Thanks to Ben Guaraldi, who posted this on YouTube.

I'm a sucker for beautiful words. So sue me.

Some people don’t like liturgical worship.  They say it is artificial, confining and even boring.  They prefer a more emotional, spontaneous and “honest” service.  And of course there are those folks who are closest to God in the woods or on the golf course or in their own beds, especially on Sunday morning.  That’s fine for them, but not for me.  God is in all those places, but for me He is in church, too.

I didn’t always feel this way, but the service grew on me and in me.  The beautiful words, sometimes spoken by everyone and sometimes by one person take on a power to awe, encourage, and comfort. 

My answer for any problem used to be “See a therapist.”  Now I add, “Stop eating sugar and wheat and go to church and just sit there.”  You can just sit there with no expectations.  Your mind can wander and you don’t even have to pay attention (although it helps). But you may feel different.  Something may be happening.  You don’t have to believe it, but keep going back.  Gradually, the words and the God in them will be in you.

And you will never be the same.

(By the way, I also recommend that you go to Coffee Hour, which overflows with wheat and sugar, but that’s another issue.)