Bulletin Column: The Prodigal Communicant

I love Sundays. Generally, we begin with Mass, then brunch with whomever is home. We clean up as a family, then maybe read or take a nap. In early afternoon, we might tackle a small project together or go for a drive (maybe to pick up some more flowers for the front yard). Then we’ll have a snack or a treat and play a game or take a long walk. We come home, prepare and eat dinner together (and clean up again), then watch something we can all enjoy before prayers, bed, and the start of a new week.

When Trevor was home, 11:00 AM Mass was the norm: He loved to serve ad orientem, with incense and chant. Lily, on the other hand, struggles with both smoke and crowds of people, so she prefers 7:30 AM—which means most Sundays, even coffee waits until after church.

Unless Jodi and I are serving, arriving early for 7:30 AM Mass has proven to be a challenge, and too often I find myself throwing a quick salute to Father as we scurry to our pew before the processional. As a result, frequently my mind is racing when I kneel to pray and then stand as the music begins. I usually arrive at the Collect (the first “Let us pray…”) with my intentions intact, but—unless I’m a reader—somewhere between first and second readings, my mind begins to rush ahead.

So, brunch this morning…we have enough eggs, but the sausage isn’t thawed yet. And we need fruit. We could stop on the way home. Should probably fill the car, too—but I guess that could wait if we’re going run to Ace later for mulch.

Mulch. What else did we need at Ace?

It looks like it might rain. After brunch we should take our walk. Bruno needs the exercise, and no one’s gonna want to go if it’s wet. So—brunch, walk, then clean up the kitchen-

“The Word of the Lord”                                “Thanks be to God.”

Shoot. I wonder what the reading was. ‘Those who have ears ought to hear.’ Sorry, Lord—I’m back now. It’s Sunday…YOUR day…of course, if it’s Sunday, we should rest. A nap, then, after our walk—so maybe we should fill the car on our way home?...

Round and round my head spins, while the Word made Flesh is proclaimed, re-presented, transubstantiated, distributed, received, reserved, and praised. The Lord of the Universe is on the altar before me, and I’m thinking about cappuccino.

I am the prodigal communicant: I cannot wait for the Lord to finish His perfect Passover, to die for me, to provide for me the Blessed Sacrament and His life of grace.

We’re still invoking the saints? Give me my inheritance and let me go get a bite to eat!

I’m exaggerating—but only a little bit. Each time my mind races away from the sanctuary to what comes next and next and next, I do, if fact, turn my back on the Lord who loves me best and is providing my everything.

On the other hand, each time I turn my attention back to Him, He is right there. He responds as the forgiving father—rushing to me, taking my hand, welcoming me back with the love and abundance reserved for a beloved son. No matter how far afield I stray, He’s there when I turn around, inviting me to the feast.

I assume I’m not alone in my straying. And, miraculously, He responds the same to each of us. Every time. Even at the same time, at the same Mass. He is constantly watching for me, and you, to turn back to Him so he can clothe and feed, honor and serve…us.

What a God we have. Praise Him for His patience, His mercy, His infinite desire to welcome us home.
 

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This post appeared as a column in the Sunday, June 18, edition of the parish bulletin.