March 30th, 2025
I woke up tired this morning, like I do most mornings. Some of the fatigue is simply due to me getting older. Some of it is due to being a fulltime caregiver for a four-year-old boy. Raising our grandson, Asher, can be exhausting. In any case, I was dragging when I got up, and caffeine was of no help to me. Sometimes, coffee is a stimulant. Sometimes, it’s just a diuretic.
I would have liked to just slouch through the day, but seeing it was a Sunday, my wife and I needed to go with Asher to church. Taking Asher to Mass can be fraught with peril. Generally, he is well-behaved, at least for a four-year-old he is. Asher is well liked at church. The congregants all know him by name, and they are fond of him. However, there are times when Asher is moody and restless. He can be loud and demanding. He will often just leave the pew and wander about the church. Nobody seems to mind him doing that, but either Karin or I have to be vigilant. He’s been known to splash around in the baptismal font.
In addition to being responsible for the surveillance of Asher, I also needed to perform the duties of a eucharistic minister. To give a brief explanation, I have to mention that part of the liturgy, actually the most important part of the service, is when the priest transforms bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. The wafers of unleavened bread and the wine are still physically the same after the transformation. However, Catholics (and some other Christian denominations) believe that these things are profoundly changed. The priest, and sometimes a deacon, give the communion to the assembled congregants. Eucharistic ministers assist them with the distribution of communion. That’s what I was going to do.
Distributing communion is not a difficult task. All I was required to do is stand before of a long line of worshipers, hold up a wafer, and say, “The Body of Christ”. Then I would hand the wafer to the person in front of me, who would then promptly place it in his or her mouth. It can be like a religious assembly line. I expected that it would be that way for me.
It wasn’t.
As the first-person stepped-up to me, I held up the host, looked the individual in the eye, and said, “The Body of Christ”. As soon as I spoke, I felt something akin to an electrical shock running through my body. I stood there stunned because I was suddenly aware that the person receiving the communion was also the Body of Christ. And so was I. And so was the priest. And so was my Muslim friend who is celebrating Eid al-Fitr today. And so is my elderly Jewish friend who wants me to take him to a synagogue.
So is everybody and everything.
Then Asher yelled at me, “I don’t want you doing that!”
He gave no reason why he didn’t want to hand out communion, but Asher was adamant that I should stop. Asher came up to and gave me a shove. Karin got up from the pew and dragged him back there. Asher was inconsolable at that point. He wanted me to be with him. He almost always wants me to be with him.
I snapped out of my reverie and continued to distribute the hosts. I still had the same feeling as before what it wasn’t as intense. I wanted to cry.
When I had finished my work, I went back to the pew and picked up Asher. He wanted me to hold him. He sniffled and said, “I didn’t want you to do that.”
I whispered to him, “I don’t have to do it anymore.”
I sat down with Asher in arms. His head was resting on my right shoulder. I thought for a while. “Asher” means “Happy” in Hebrew. The name fits him. He usually is happy. In some mysterious way Asher is connected with the Jewish tradition along with being a baptized Catholic.
I started saying a Hebrew prayer to myself as he clung to me.
“Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu, me’lech ha’olam…
“Blessed be the Lord our God, King of the Universe…”
That’s all I know of the prayer. It was enough.
Frank is Emptiness 