be my savior and I'll be your downfall
Where is the line drawn between social niceties and respect? Or, more importantly, I suppose, between standing our ground and not giving offense? Some days, it is a fine, fine line indeed.
It was a Sunday, and I'd heard that the priest on the island, who'd left for some reason I don't recall, had returned to host his usual Sunday service. Now, to be fair, the church is on the smallish side, clapboard, it really could be any Christian denomination. And while heathen, I'm in one multifaith group and occasionally go to their services, because they are geared for gatherers of many faiths, not just one.
And...I just didn't think it through.
It turned out to be a very small church inside, too. Lovely, simple, but small. I suppose on an island of only a triple handful of souls, so far, there's not really a need for a larger church, but I was still surprised, I suppose.
I was also surprised at the priest. Catholic? Anglican? I thought Anglican, but I wasn't sure.
Slowly the church filled, the father smiling, saying he was happy to see so many new faces. The vampire who's not a vampire walked in holding a Bible, which was...confusing....but the shared mythpool we all swim in is very diverse at this point, and very deep, and has a lot of underground, confusingly tangled passages. We all do what we can.
The new tattoo artist came in, which I smiled to see, and then her also confusingly heighted daughter...I think I stopped smiling at that point. Mainly because she claims to be three, but she's easily four feet tall, or more, and...I've never met a single three-year-old who's that tall. So it threw me.
A few more filtered in, and then the service started, and...Listen. I have attended Christian church services before. I've attended Catholic services before. I have accepted the Eucharist in good faith, blessed myself with holy water as I left, and had no issue.
But it's all in how it's presented. If it's just an invitation to come up, or the Eucharist (or in this case, piece of bread) passed to me? I can accept. Willingly. But if it's made very very plain that to accept this small offering, this sip of wine, is to directly intercess with Jesus, to directly ask him to accept your devotion, as you accept his sacrifice...Well. That's different.
And in those cases...I cannot, in good conscience, accept.
The priest moved through the group, offering bread, offering wine, and I knew I was going to be the stand-out, but I also knew I could not simply accept. So, when he got to me, he held out the cup, and the bread, saying "Body of Jesus, broken for you; blood of Jesus, shed for you."
I looked at him, smiled, and shook my head. "Thank you, though."
He stood there for a full minute, looking dumbfounded. I did, I do sympathize, but isn't the point of Catholic, or even Anglican, which I still suspect this was closer kin to being, Communion supposed to be that you are directly consuming the body and blood of Christ to sustain you spiritually, and reinforce your bond with Him? That--at least with the Catholics--your act of faith will transform these representations into the actual flesh and blood?
Which has always been vaguely creepy to me, but that's another matter. As it stands, I don't have a direct relationship bond with Christ, so...only polite to politely refuse.
He handled it well, though. He raised his hand, saying "The Lord bless you and keep you," and I smiled up at him, because blessings I will always take. There, it is the thought that counts, and I never mind.
He finished, and returned to the pulpit, ensuring that all of his flock--but one--had finished communion, and then he thanked us for coming.
"We thank the Lord for the blessings he has given us with our new visitors, bless you all," he said, as we began to file out. I paused at the door long enough to turn and to thank him for his time and devotion--only fair, and then...
...I went back to Lecora.
I likely won't attend another Sunday service. But I do wish everyone who does feel pulled strongly towards one all the best.
It was a Sunday, and I'd heard that the priest on the island, who'd left for some reason I don't recall, had returned to host his usual Sunday service. Now, to be fair, the church is on the smallish side, clapboard, it really could be any Christian denomination. And while heathen, I'm in one multifaith group and occasionally go to their services, because they are geared for gatherers of many faiths, not just one.
And...I just didn't think it through.
It turned out to be a very small church inside, too. Lovely, simple, but small. I suppose on an island of only a triple handful of souls, so far, there's not really a need for a larger church, but I was still surprised, I suppose.
I was also surprised at the priest. Catholic? Anglican? I thought Anglican, but I wasn't sure.
Slowly the church filled, the father smiling, saying he was happy to see so many new faces. The vampire who's not a vampire walked in holding a Bible, which was...confusing....but the shared mythpool we all swim in is very diverse at this point, and very deep, and has a lot of underground, confusingly tangled passages. We all do what we can.
The new tattoo artist came in, which I smiled to see, and then her also confusingly heighted daughter...I think I stopped smiling at that point. Mainly because she claims to be three, but she's easily four feet tall, or more, and...I've never met a single three-year-old who's that tall. So it threw me.
A few more filtered in, and then the service started, and...Listen. I have attended Christian church services before. I've attended Catholic services before. I have accepted the Eucharist in good faith, blessed myself with holy water as I left, and had no issue.
But it's all in how it's presented. If it's just an invitation to come up, or the Eucharist (or in this case, piece of bread) passed to me? I can accept. Willingly. But if it's made very very plain that to accept this small offering, this sip of wine, is to directly intercess with Jesus, to directly ask him to accept your devotion, as you accept his sacrifice...Well. That's different.
And in those cases...I cannot, in good conscience, accept.
The priest moved through the group, offering bread, offering wine, and I knew I was going to be the stand-out, but I also knew I could not simply accept. So, when he got to me, he held out the cup, and the bread, saying "Body of Jesus, broken for you; blood of Jesus, shed for you."
I looked at him, smiled, and shook my head. "Thank you, though."
He stood there for a full minute, looking dumbfounded. I did, I do sympathize, but isn't the point of Catholic, or even Anglican, which I still suspect this was closer kin to being, Communion supposed to be that you are directly consuming the body and blood of Christ to sustain you spiritually, and reinforce your bond with Him? That--at least with the Catholics--your act of faith will transform these representations into the actual flesh and blood?
Which has always been vaguely creepy to me, but that's another matter. As it stands, I don't have a direct relationship bond with Christ, so...only polite to politely refuse.
He handled it well, though. He raised his hand, saying "The Lord bless you and keep you," and I smiled up at him, because blessings I will always take. There, it is the thought that counts, and I never mind.
He finished, and returned to the pulpit, ensuring that all of his flock--but one--had finished communion, and then he thanked us for coming.
"We thank the Lord for the blessings he has given us with our new visitors, bless you all," he said, as we began to file out. I paused at the door long enough to turn and to thank him for his time and devotion--only fair, and then...
...I went back to Lecora.
I likely won't attend another Sunday service. But I do wish everyone who does feel pulled strongly towards one all the best.
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