A Child’s Cry and the Body of Christ

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I woke up tired this morning, as I do most mornings. Some of the fatigue is simply due to getting older. Some of it comes from being a full-time caregiver to 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. Sometimes, coffee is a stimulant. Sometimes, it’s just a diuretic.

I would have liked to slouch through the day, but since it was Sunday, my wife and I needed to take Asher to church. Bringing a four-year-old to Mass can be fraught with peril. Generally, he is well-behaved—for a four-year-old, at least. Asher is well-liked at church. The congregants all know him by name, and they are fond of him. However, there are times when he is moody and restless. He can be loud and demanding. He will often leave the pew and wander about the church. Nobody seems to mind, but either Karin or I have to be vigilant. He’s been known to splash around in the baptismal font.

In addition to keeping an eye on Asher, I also had to fulfill my role as a Eucharistic minister. To explain briefly, the most important part of the liturgy is when the priest transforms bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. The wafers of unleavened bread and the wine remain physically unchanged, but Catholics (and some other Christian denominations) believe they are profoundly transformed. The priest, and sometimes a deacon, distributes communion to the assembled congregants, and Eucharistic ministers assist them in this task. That was my role today.

Distributing communion is not difficult. All I had to do was stand before 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 place it in his or her mouth. It can feel like a religious assembly line. I expected it to be routine.

It wasn’t.

As the first person stepped up to me, I held up the host, looked them in the eye, and said, “The Body of Christ.” As soon as I spoke, I felt something akin to an electric shock running through my body. I stood there, stunned, because I was suddenly aware that the person receiving communion was also the Body of Christ. And so was I. And so was the priest. And so was my Muslim friend who was celebrating Eid al-Fitr that day. And so was my elderly Jewish friend who wants me to take him to synagogue.

So is everybody and everything.

Then Asher yelled, “I don’t want you doing that!”

He gave no reason why, but he was adamant that I should stop. He marched up to me and gave me a shove. Karin got up from the pew and pulled him back, but he was inconsolable. 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. The feeling remained, but it wasn’t as intense. I wanted to cry.

When I had finished, I returned to the pew and picked up Asher. He wanted me to hold him. Sniffling, he said again, “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 my arms, his head resting on my right shoulder. I thought for a moment. “Asher” means “Happy” in Hebrew. The name suits him. He is usually happy. In some mysterious way, he is connected to the Jewish tradition while also being a baptized Catholic.

I started saying a Hebrew prayer to myself as he clung to me.

“Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha’olam…

“Blessed be the Lord our God, King of the Universe…”

That’s all I know of the prayer.

It was enough.

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Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.