I’m technically Catholic, but not really. Here’s one reason why:
After receiving First Communion (which I never think too much about) and confessing all my dirty little sins to the priest (looking back on that, I realize how creepy that must have been), I hoped my Church affiliation could begin and end then and there. I wasn’t interested in any of this. Hated the stupid mindless activities my mother forced me to attend. Tried to get out of that Catholic retreat as early as possible to hightail it to a math contest.
(And in defense of math contests, which I could write a whole treatise on by the time we’re through here, they were the best thing I EVER did in Florida. Ever. The awesome level of nerdiness combined with fast food Saturday lunches with my fellow geeks are something I’ll always look back upon with fondness.)
But one thing really stands out; at my sister’s First Communion the following Sunday, receiving only my second Communion, all that lack of discipline, of practicing simple-minded doctrine, came back to bite. Big time.
One of the bearers of the body of Christ was in front of me. Despite all my reservations and my general disinterest in religion, I enjoy the communion rite. They play very soothing tunes that put you at ease, and everyone seems to be fairly happy afterwards, with the sun shining into the colored church panels. Say what you want about Catholics, but they do know how to put on a good spectacle.
Well, in this revelry, I forgot about the ritual itself. I reached out for the body eagerly like a young child, as if I was touching God.
What I felt next was God touching me. At least if you consider a priest pushing your hands away angrily a sign from the Lord.
That priest viewed my obvious act of childish exuberance as a sign of sinful wrath as he took the bread away from my eager fingers. He then forced me to cup my hands as the embarrassed bearer (a flustered forty year old woman) then placed it in my hands. Red with shame, I walked away and sullenly ate my bread. At least my mom hadn’t seen that escapade.
I think that was the first time I realized Catholicism might not be it for me.
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