We sat toward the back of Cathedral, having arrived a few minutes late to Mass. The friend visiting from out of town converted to Catholicism a few years back. I could have dropped her off and picked her back up an hour later but this wasn't my first time at Mass and I doubt it will be my last.
I referred to the program as needed. I've amassed a certain amount of liturgical knowledge over the years. There's comfort in attending Mass. Short of the homily, we basically know how the service will go. As we drew nearer to the sacrament of communion, I fidgeted more and participated less. The priest spoke of "inclusion" and "exclusiveness" and I wasn't entirely sure what he was saying about the scripture passage. The irony of his word choice wasn't lost on me, given what awaited.
My friend rose to go to the front, while I stay seated. The last time I'd been in a Catholic church was at my grandmother's funeral almost a year ago. The memories of various Masses burned.
I blinked back tears. I wanted to run out of the church.
I wanted to take Communion...
A month or so ago, I felt compelled to finally put these stories down in writing, in hopes they would grant me some closure. I had no idea the healing that would result. Honored to be guest posting at A Deeper Story's other channel A Deeper Church today. Join me there?
