Catholic in Film School

I think I underestimated just how much not having a parish to call home has affected me.

Last night I went to evening mass at a parish at which I am hoping to eventually become a member. It’s not the same parish as my teaching placement, though I have grown an affection for that community too.

This particular parish is run by Carmelites, and the associate pastor actually performed at October’s Catholic Underground LA a few weeks ago. I find it ironic that I like this parish as it is very similar to the parish I was raised in and I think I temporarily fell into the trap of wanting something “exciting and different” in my new parish home.

That being said, this community has a few additional pluses. It’s very ethnically diverse, and although I’ve only been to a few masses, it seems like the ratio between older couples, young families, and twenty somethings is pretty good. It’s also an activist parish, with a lot of events for young people and social justice issues. (It was announced that next weekend there will be a baby bottle drive for LAPS.) My interactions with parishioners have been quite positive, something that unfortunately hasn’t happened at every parish I’ve visited in the last few months. Last but certainly not least, this parish offers a Latin High Mass.

Admittedly I know practically nothing about Carmelite spirituality (for now), but something happened last night that I have honestly never experienced before in my near 20 years as a Catholic.

I went up for communion like I usually do—nothing out of the ordinary—and when I extended my hands the priest looked me in the eye and said “the Body of Christ”…but the way he said it—his voice was very soft, but soft in a way like he didn’t have the capability to utter the words any louder. He placed the host in my hand, but the way he did it—he was so gentle about it that once the host touched my hand it was like time stopped for a second. He didn’t just put the host in my hand, but rather sort of laid it in my hand, with his fingers pressing the host into the center of my palm. I stared at the host like I had never seen one before, and then walked away quickly so as not to cry in front of everyone.

My words don’t do the scene justice. It was like love touched my hands and I couldn’t take it. On the flip side, I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a priest treat the Eucharist with so much reverence before. That’s not a knock against priests, I’ve just never experienced anything like that before.

I still don’t really understand what happened, but I can’t help but feel like that realization or revelation or whatever it was is as an early birthday present. It was kind of embarrassing because once I got back to my pew I must have looked crazy because the man seated next to me was staring with a confused, “What is wrong with you?” sort of look on his face…and then I realized that I was grinning from ear to ear.

Pax Christi, Rebecca.