So many people came into the Church this Easter! Congratulations, my new brothers and sisters. I’m so glad you’re here. Your new faith is wonderful, and soon you’ll see how liberating, how illuminating, and above all, how much sense it makes!
That is, unless you’re going to confession. Oh, not the sacrament itself. The sacrament of confession is the greatest thing in the world, next to Cadbury eggs. Um, and the Eucharist. There is nothing better than going into a dark box all laden, dirty, and bruised with sin, and coming out lighthearted, clean and healed. Magnificent!
But the confession line. Oh, the confession line.
I love my parish. But oh lord, I hate going to confession there. It’s hard enough to hurl the kids into the van, examine my conscience in a way that even resembles thoroughly, and, when I arrive at the quiet church, to control the ragged panting of a fat old mother who can never remember that confession is at 2 and not—NOT!!!—2:30.
It’s hard enough, I tell you. But what makes it almost unbearable is what happens while we’re waiting in line. Here’s a typical scene: It’s a few minutes before 2:00. I open the door and scan the dim church for anything resembling a line. What do I see? An amoeba-like blob of penitents in the pews. Their formation is line-like here, but unintelligible there. Who is first? Who is last? Are some of them just praying, or what?
The old ladies twitter among themselves; the few solitary college guys are sitting with patient endurance, just itching to be gallant and wholesome at a moment’s notice. Kerchief-and-Denim-Skirt Lady is whispering furiously at her floppy sons, who are flopping around the pews; and the old men lean on their canes, openly glaring at the world.
“Well,” I think, “I don’t know what the order is here, but I’m clearly last.” So I tiptoe over to a fellow with a bristly beard and a posture of equal parts humble piety and pure rage. He sits far from the rest of the gathering, so I whisper, “Excuse me, are you at the end of the line?”
And he bellows back, in the voice of the reformer, “I am at the FRONT of the line. Confession will be HERE, starting today.” And he gestures at a brand new confessional, which I honestly had no idea was even there.
Everyone’s head pops up. Beard Man is first? This confessional? Starting today? Line? Nobody knows what’s going on. The muttering begins. A few people slide uncertainly around on the pews, trying to assert their places. No one wants to lose their spot; but on the other hand, this is hardly the time to be pushy. No one wants to have to say, “Bless me father, for I have sinned. I knifed an old lady for cutting in line.”
Cheerful Practical Mom Type takes over, though, and sets things aright. It looks like she’s got everyone straightened out, and no one is even mad—but then the worst happens: Slowly, painfully the door swings open again, and a dark silhouette heaves into view.
It’s the Oldest Old Lady of Them All.
She has a walker AND an oxygen tank. All eyes are glued to her as she shuffles and groans on her wretched pilgrimage down the center aisle. Maybe she’s headed to the Sacred Heart altar for a quick prayer? Is she? Oh no. She’s headed for the confessional—straight for what most of us have now agreed is the beginning of the line. One medium-old lady hisses to another, “She doesn’t know where to go. WE’LL tell her.” My blood runs cold.
Finally, the priest appears. Walking more briskly than a man with his workload has any reason to walk, he zips down the length of the darkened church, snaps on a few lights, and a sunny smile cracks his face as he faces the crowd of penitents. “Good afternoon, everyone!” he says. “Thank you for coming. Now, about the seating.”
OH, HALLELUJAH! a nearly audible mental chorus responds. For we are broken. We are a shattered people. We came to be healed, but here was only more darkness, more confusion, more tangled webs of resentment, malice, uncertainty and despair. About the seating! This glorious man, this prince among priests, HE will show us the way. He will tell us where to sit, and then we will know if we are first or we are last. He has come to save us.
“The seating,” he continues. “Here’s what I’d like you to do, is just ... just move back a bit. We don’t want to sit too close, because then we can hear each other. So, don’t worry, you can keep your places—just move back a bit. All right? All right.”
And he disappears into his box.
Ah, to be a priest. Ah, to have nothing but the petty cares of a thousand souls, a dozen antiquated buildings, an order of nuns, a bishop, a soup kitchen, and a million ministries and classes and organizations and charities and fundraisers and whatnot.
Is he overworked? Is he underappreciated? Is he living the life of a martyr? Pish tush. A priest knows nothing about true suffering, and this is why: At least he always knows where he’s supposed to sit.
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This is SO true!!! And so funny and touching at the same time!
I remember the days when the confession line was an actual line, with a clear beginning and a clear end. Whatever happened?
That’s why I don’t go to confession.
You are *wonderful,* Simcha… this is the predicament, exactly. LOL! The biggest Penance of all is being Penitent itself, with such an environment.
Hilarious! It is still a line at our church, so rest easy; it’s not a worldwide problem! LOL
(Incidentally, what is up with this word verification? “death94”??????
www.kathleenbasi.com
This is hysterical and so true! My church is the exact same way. People spread out over about six or seven pews and you have to try to guess who is first and watch to see when people go to figure out your place.
Tiffany, please reconsider going to confession! There are plenty of churches that have a very organized way of lining up, such as folding chairs placed against the wall in a row. Also, you can call the rectory of your church and make a personal appointment for Reconcillation on a different day and time, in which there would be no waiting.
If only they did numbers, like the DMV.
This is very funny, but honestly not something I’ve experienced! At my parish and the others I’ve belonged to in the past, people actually stand in line. They don’t even sit, they stand, which is difficult when I bring my children with me. They dart in and out of line, and I’m always chasing after them and then trying to go back to my “spot”. I usually try to leave my purse on the floor to hold my place.
Oh yes. I am so thankful that my suburban parish, which has its weaknesses and flaws of course, is dedicated to a standing confession line along the wall! Thankfully there is a long wall that wraps all the way to the back of the church, so there will never been too-little room for the penitents to stand in order.
I’ve visited at another parish for confession, and it’s maddening! Everyone just sits in a blob near each confessional, and while everyone knows it (apparently), there is no sign that says, “Spanish confessions to the left, English confessions to the right” so of course, I picked the blob that I thought looked smaller. Do I speak Spanish? No. I did not catch on to the distinction at first because the blob on the left looked to be made up mostly of one family—mom, dad, several kids, maybe a grandma, and an aunt. Of course they are all going to look similar. But then more and more people poured in and continued to sit all around me, and I started to wonder. As the time drew nearer and more and more confusion occurred about what order we were all going in, I could not even discuss it with the group because they all spoke Spanish and little English. But it would not have really been any better on the other side of the chapel—the English group was scooting around in chairs as well.
People, just stand up while you wait! Unless you are physically unable, of course.
Standing line seems to work out best…and the not-so-funny reason why one needs to keep their place in line- sometimes the priest is there for a half hour and then leaves… :(
I’ve seen it. My current parish adheres to lines. Thank God. It is the one time in life I “stay within the lines.” I have had people actually ask me to cut in front them though, more than one telling me, “I’m gonna be in there a while.” Well, at least they are honest!
“I knifed an old lady for cutting in line,” had me about choking! :)
What’s sadder though than jockeying for position in the confession line? When there’s no line at all. So, those of you jockeying, be thankful there are so many of you there.
“and a posture of equal parts humble piety and pure rage”
LOL! All of it rang so true, but this is my favorite line. What is up with this attitude, anyway, common enough that I can picture it so vividly?
Ah, well, God is good to give us ever more opportunities to work on ourselves. :)
This makes me very grateful for my parish’s system: Big black arrow pointing down that says, “Line starts here” and everyone lines up against the wall below it. When we joined the parish it was such a relief to see that there would be no ambiguity because you are right - confession lines should not be the reason confession causes anxiety. :)
We have a line at our church, so that is not a problem. Also people are considerate when a very old and/or handicapped person arrives. The only real problem we have since the Reconciliation Room is not in the sanctuary, there tends to be a lot of chatter in the line.
At another nearby church we visit a few times a year they have the pew system, which can be very much like Simcha describes. They only hope is to get there early enough to keep track of the situation!
Simcha you’ve done it again. As in, written a hilarious piece I have to share on FB. Thank you thank you. Especially the priest bit. very awesome.
This mishmosh of folks waiting for confession reminds of the old saying about Catholics: Here comes everybody!
Of course this is meant as a putdown of our ordinariness but I bet the ones the Lord looks down on are the folks who say it about us.
Whatever, it’s true, nonetheless. Thank God!
PS TIFFANY: That’s like saying I don’t hug anyone because i might catch a cold. Sad.
Ummm… I *think* Tiffany was kidding…
Righ, JH. You and I know Tiffany well enough to know that the real reason she doesn’t go to confession is that she’s too drunk to find the church.
Ha ha! I know that lady with the oxygen tank. Or at least, her sisters. At our parish there are two elderly, er, chronologically gifted ladies who wear hats and sit in the front pew at the 4:00 pm vigil Mass. We usually go to Mass on Sunday morning, but when we occasionally attend the vigil, we usually sit in the 2nd pew, behind them. So our 4 kids can see the altar. And they are actually generally well behaved with the occasional scuffling, wriggling and belching followed by muffled laughter. These two ladies sit ahead of us with a scowl on their faces as if by our very existence on this planet, we are inflicting them with great suffering.
They always wear red hats.
My husband and I have taken to referring to them as “the Mad Hatters.”
Why are they so mad all the time?
I’ve never actually seen a confession line at our parish. I usually just walk right in. One time I showed up and there was someone already in the confessional and I had to wait. One time. I kind of wish there were a line.
Clearly our parish is so much holier than yours, Simcha! We barely have three people including my oldest child in line for confession during most times of the year. ;-P
I try not to go around Christmas or Easter as the lines are generally longer then, lol. It’s like shopping for winter clothes in Florida. Buy sweaters in June, go to confession in September. ;-D
At my former parish there would be one line for two priests. There was usually a lot of jockeying in the line and generous “oh you may go ahead of me” because Father X was much easier in the confessional than Father Y. You wanted to avoid Father Y at all cost.
When we arrive for confession there may be the beginnings of a line as well as a smattering of folks sitting in the pews waiting to get in line. When they see our brood, you should see the pew sitters make a beeline for the actual confessional line!
Recently we were standing in the line for confession and an old man came in. He saw the line and uttered a profanity before heading back out the door. If it hadn’t been so funny I might have felt bad for making the line so darn long.
Was I just in the mood this morning or is this the funniest thing you’ve written yet? I also vote for “equal parts humble piety and pure rage” as best line.
Truly, patience is an incredible virtue that is wonderful to have and we should all seek it. =)
And somebody tell the pastor to think about a line rule though since my church has it against the wall I never really thought about how you’d need to do that…Label the last few pews near it with tape saying start here and go in this direction and the row in front next… this way to there and slide down or something.
I had no idea you were in the same line as me on Good Friday. I love it.
It was Reconciliation evening just before Christmas in our parish. There were about eight priests available to hear confessions and, blessedly, it was very well attended. A friend of mine arrived late and since he preferred a confessional to open confession, he selected the line of the retired priest. He waited and waited, and after 40 minutes contemplated switching lines, but figured that as soon as he did so, his line would start moving. Finally the wait was over and he eased into the box and commenced his confession in his soft-spoken voice. Half way through my friend’s confession, the priest got up, switched off the light and left the confessional. The friend popped his head out the door and called out to the priest who was making his way to the sacristy. Startled, the old priest turned, made his way back to the confessional and my friend started over again, this time with a slightly louder voice. Laughingly, we have all determined if we ever have a “biggie” this is the priest we want to confess to :-)
I always wished we could “take a number” so that I could remain in the pew, praying, instead of fidgeting in line and anxiously watching the door with the rest of the people.
Great column!
I notice that in your posts, you often assess people according to their appearance. This is not the first time you have labeled people according to how they look to you; sometimes you even post photos of them and then ridicule their appearance, giving them labels or nicknames or speaking about them sarcastically. I wonder where that is coming from. Remember St.Paul: whatever is good, true, beautiful… think on THOSE things. I think you have an excellent writer but tend a bit toward the negative and sarcastic. You direct it as much toward yourself as toward anyone else, but that doesn’t make it any better…I would hate to have you see ME in church and then end up in a verbal caricature in NCR or your blog. We don’t all fit the categories you would superficially put us in. We’re not all absurd. Maybe you could write something more uplifting rather than something that satisfies the needs of the lower part of ourselves. For myself, when I find this kind of writing funny, I feel less of a person and realize I have a lot to overcome. Many of us resonate with the situations in this article, but maybe in ways we would be better off letting go of.
This had me laughing out loud. Oh, how true! There used to be people that would just sit in the back about 3 pews from the confessional. Just praying. Then one time, I noticed that they were no longer there. I asked Father if he had told them something, but he denied doing so. ;-) And the lights? Does a red light mean stop or go? At our parish one red light means go, and two means STOP! Sadly, I seldom have to wait in line.
This reminds me of the last time I went to confession a couple weeks ago. The line had started in the wrong place, with people sitting in a pew too close to the confessional for comfort. Then some people who came later started to form their own line in the correct spot. I had to combine to two lines with the earlier ones at the front to prevent a riot.
@ Jennifer: There are plenty of sincere, beautiful, uplifting Catholic articles aound the web. Overwhelmingly, they are also trite and boring! Simcha’s humorous take on life a Catholic DOES feed my soul, and, we you mentioned, she caricatures herself more than anyone else! She is not mean-spirited or nasty towards others, and her articles are full of humility and thoughtful reflection.
I once went to confession - got through the whole thing - and there was no priest behind the screen. I can’t remember how I managed that one.
Jennifer*...News flash!!! HUMOR is allowed! Even when discussing the more serious matters such as the sacrament of reconciliation. Please realize that for some people it might just be the “ice breaker” that gets them back to practicing their faith. Also it might just be the touch of humility we all need to be truly repentent…as well as charitible. I have never felt Simcha was being mean or nasty or belittling….mostly she pokes fun at herself ..and she never names individuals…only types with which we are familiar. Seriously, I hope you can see this and begin to enjoy the lighter side of life for really it helps us to be more compassionate towards others and even see ourselves more clearly. A sense of humor is a blessing from God for it lightens the heart and makes us more cheerful towards our fellow travelers. One of my favorite pictures of God shows him laughing..of course he is supposedly laughing at us and our grandiose plans for ourselves..and the world! There is far too little reason to laugh in this world…thank God for those who help us laugh at ourselves once in awhile!
I hope a bishop reads this or a priest who will bring it up with a bishop. Actual lines should be mandatory unless, of course, one is handicapped or disabled in some way. Then those in line should oblige. You are so right Jennifer. In NJ when I was growing up there was always a line. In NH and MA people shuffle in the pews like a game of musical chairs.
For those concerned..and most here seem to be…about the regular apparent
dis-order regarding the manner in which this sacrament is being so causually addressed in parishes…go to your Parish Council/Worship Committees…and speak out!! Surely it should not be so difficult to have a more orderly procedure brought about. This does not have to be the common complaint…nor do lines at confession have to go the way of the Altar rails. We can do something…besides just complain! I would quess in most parishes dis-orderly lines would be a blessing…any line at all would be a blessing so little use is made of this sacrament. The “sitting in the pew” while waiting seems to be least desireable way to make for order. Clearly defined lines can be arranged using the suggestions here.
This is not rocket science…it just takes someone(s) to step up to the plate and see that it is done! Don’t leave up to your pastor…this is something lay people can arrange…with his input and approval. Stop whining! Get active!!
One wonders if Tiffany deigns to accept CPR from the paramedic if the crash site is too chaotic.
To everyone, re Tiffany who never goes to confession: since she’s on vacation at the moment, and was just posting that comment as a way of putting off packing, I’ll speak for her: she is my dear friend, a good, practicing Catholic who receives the sacraments regularly. She is kind of a smarty pants, though. So, it’s okay, everyone. Let it be known far and wide: Tiffany goes to confession!
Great parish, to have a line at all. You come to my parish ... you’ll be the only one there ... Father leaves if no one shows up within 15 minutes ... sigh.
Simcha, thanks for “clarifying” the procedures of confession for a new convert. I went to my first confession before Easter and was a little confused. When I arrived at the church, there were several people scattered about in pews so I thought that they were ahead of me “in line” or were performing their penance after confession. I noticed that the confessional door was open, but since I wasn’t certain why the people were in the pews and didn’t want to butt ahead of them, I sat down to wait patiently. After several minutes I made eye contact with one lady and “mouthed” to her “have you been to confession?” She moved over to me, and I pointed out that the confessional door was open. She seemed confused by my comment. What to do? Do I just go on in, or wait some more? Finally someone came in and stood by the wall near the confessional; I decided to get up and join that person which caused the other persons in church to follow my lead and form a line. IN the future I will just go into the confessional if the door is open! As a new convert, I found confesion a little intimidating but a totally rewarding experience.
Actually, I love the blob form of confession-lining! It lets you be a little more invisible, which is exactly how I usually want to be right before confession.
Plus the line (especially in the “sitting in a pew form” brings up the awkward question of when you slide over when the penitents change. You’re sitting there trying to look half-holy and the guy at the end leaves to go into the confessional-do you slide over immediately, thereby revealing to your fellow pew-sitters that you weren’t really immersed in humble prayer, you were counting your knuckles hairs to try and keep yourself bfrom freaking out? Or do you make them worry that you haven’t noticed, and are going to mess up the entire line system by introducing gaps and causing it to degenerate into the blob system?
Phew. Far too stressful to deal with that. Give me the old “is she here for confession or just to pray the rosary with the old ladies blob” any day.
That empty chair between you and the person in front of you—is it okay to sit in it, or are you then too close to that person and probably overhearing what the Holy Spirit is prompting him to say in confession? That’s what I always wonder. (we have a pew and a bunch of chairs along the back wall outside the confessional, and the empty chair always seems to have its own place in line).
I never said humor was not allowed. I just don’t think it needs to include an assessment of every person in the confession line. And I think the comment that many of the sincere, beautiful, uplifting Catholic websites are “trite and boring” is quite a condemnation indeed.
It’s sad that one has to agree with the prevailing opinion, or be condemned if one thinks a little more charity couldn’t hurt, or that humor is actually possible without caricaturing others.
I have only commented on blogs or articles a handful of times, a very long time ago. Now I remember why I stopped.
This would make me crazy. Our parish does lines.
@Jennifer Heath: Believe it or not, I thought long and hard about your original comment, and here is what I have concluded: it’s true that I’m sometimes guilty of mocking people, and it’s true that turning it on myself doesn’t make that any better. Sarcasm and mockery really don’t have a place in Christian thinking, and I am trying to grow out of that. What can I say, I’m better than I used to be - but I know I have miles to go.
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On the other hand, I don’t think I’m guilty of that in this particular piece. It was, to be honest, mostly fictional. I didn’t have specific people in mind when I wrote it—it was an amalgam of many, many Saturday afternoons, and I tried to draw a picture that people would recognize. This is simply descriptive writing, and it seems perfectly okay to me for two reasons.
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The first reason is that it was a story. If we aren’t allowed to draw recognizable portraits of people in fiction, then, well, goodbye fiction. That includes CS Lewis and Tolkein and Shakespeare and all.
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The second reason I think this piece was fine is that I suppose you could say, “Well, sure, she’s not talking about an actual person, but she’s encouraging us to look at our fellow Catholics with a scornful and mocking eye.” But if you read my post again, that’s not what I was doing - or at least not what I was trying to do. I didn’t claim to know anyone’s soul or conscience. I was just saying, “Look at us Catholics - we’re all nuts, we’re all in trouble, we’re all ridiculous.” In this case, it really does make a difference that I included myself as one of the cast of characters being teased.
THANK GOODNESS WE’VE DISPELLED THE CARICTURE OF THE HUMORLESS CATHOLIC.
Simcha,
I am of another opinion. It’s one thing to paint a verbal portrait of a person, but I feel you passed from description to labeling. Description is one thing; giving humorous, slightly mocking labels to people, people in the confession line of all things, is not something I have often read in Tolkien or Shakespeare. Or rather, when it does appear, it is not in the mouths of the most admirable characters.
I never judged your motive. But this—and other posts including some with photos which included your commentary on the appearance of the people portrayed—have appeared, to me, to be mocking. To be honest, I think you have to admit that you DO mock. You have even made mocking comments about your readers in some posts. I know it is meant to be all in good fun. But maybe someday, someone is going to recognize themselves in your writing, and be hurt. Whether it is literally that person, or someone like them, I just wonder if it is worth it to get a laugh. I have not been personally offended by your writings; you don’t know me and none of your characters resemble me. But someone might recognize a “type” of themselves and feel a sting. And, I have certainly been mocked myself by some of the responders to my comments, implying I am anti-humor or would censor all literary characterization. Not so. I am just against hurtful humor. I am sorry that has been found offensive.
This is what I mean. The descriptions of human beings speak for themselves.
http://simchafisher.wordpress.com/2010/11/02/all-politics-is-local-politics/
Don’t worry, I won’tpost again.
@Jennifer, in my first response to you I said, “it’s true that I’m sometimes guilty of mocking people, and it’s true that turning it on myself doesn’t make that any better. Sarcasm and mockery really don’t have a place in Christian thinking, and I am trying to grow out of that. What can I say, I’m better than I used to be - but I know I have miles to go.”
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You responded to this by hunting through my blog and linking to a post from last November, proving that I do SO mock people? Wait a minute, I think I figured this out! YOU’RE Dan Kingery. “Jennifer,” my behind.
Simcha,
I don’t know who Dan Kingery is. And I don’t care, since it is irrelevant to my issue. I did not have to “hunt” through your posts to find that one. It was a vivid memory in my mind. Because whoever Dan Kingery is, whoever you are, whoever I am, whoever is in the confession line… I don’t think we need to look at others in terms of who has “balding, greasy hair” or he “tree trunk legs.” That post saddened me; in fact it left a lasting depressing effect on me. Some of those people you blasted might have been my brother, my uncle, my grandmother, my neighbor, my fellow parishioner. If you resent my referring to one of your own posts, if that is a concern for you, then maybe that is your problem, not mine. Believe me, I did not have to “hunt,” it came readily to mind as something which had affected me in a deeply negative way. I am sorry that my advocating for greater charity in terms of whom you lampoon on your posts has caused such offense. And, in reference to your defensive replies, I am surprised that any writer would have the gumption to compare their own writing to that of Shakespeare or Tolkien—not differentiating, of course, between the writer him/herself and the characters who are speaking, who are sometimes foolish and reprehensible. I am sorry that I am basically deemed, by you and many of your respondents, as the person whose plea for charity spoils their fun.
Geez, Jennifer, you’re still totally missing the point. About a million years ago, I said, “You’re right, sometimes I’m mean to people. I know it’s wrong, and I’m trying to do better.” And your response to that is to quote an example of me being mean to people. I already agreed with you - what more do you want from me?
“That post saddened me; in fact it left a lasting depressing effect on me.”
Lady, there’s medication for this kind of thing now. Sounds like you need it.
Jennifer and Simcha…Hey! I think you both make good points…and this is how…No one, I repeat, No one should be making personal comments and/or judgments regarding persons as they approach the sacraments…either confession or Holy Eucharist! It is sinful to do so I believe. However human nature being what it is (fallen)we are all tempted and some succumb to people watching at this most inappropriate time! If we are properly disposed to our own reception we would not have time or inclination to be “looking around” at others. In this respect Jennifer makes a valid argument.
However, I believe the real point of Simcha’s blog here was about the
dis-order if not actual chaos in many parishes during Confession…like when are they heard to where is the line beginning and proper time to start it, is it proper for us to sit in pews while waiting turn,and on and on. The confusion that reigns in many parishes reaches the point of mild hysteria ...and that in itself is distracting. It is not always in keeping with the seriousness of the business at hand nor the sacredness worthy of a sacrament. The behavior of some and the antics of others can be laughable given the bizzareness of the particular situation.
I think Simcha has a very humorous style of writing (like Mark Twain) and uses her humor to make serious points. That’s why I think what she has written here was ok…she was not naming names or parishes so one cannot therefore take any of this personally. Just a common experience shared.
Let’s all lighten up over what was not intended to be offensive and address the situation in our own parishes so as to give more reverence to
the sacrament(s) and perhaps improve upon areas that need it. We can all be more charitable towards others ...and more reverent in how we receive the sacraments. Just as we can all learn to enjoy some levity even in a
serious moment…without compromising our duty to be charitable. Okay girls?????
Thank goodness Thirst for Truth stepped in to break up the cat fight. You little ladies ought to be thankful men read your musings.
After Mass today, I was struck with the light-hearted prayer, “Lord God, Your Catholics are so very strange sometimes…” To laugh and be laughed at is good for the soul, I think. Thanks, Simcha, for reminding me that the Body of Christ has many members and is not a homogeneous blob of me-like people. Thank God for that!
Super super funny. I could picture it all in my mind’s eye. Well done.
I do agree with Jennifer about the other one. Sorry.
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I really wish they would do away with all the nonsense of “no lines”. This happens at most parishes here, and especially at communal services (people eventually form lines anyway). So much less confusing to just make a line!
(Don’t even get me started on the whole kneel/stand/kneel thing that happens during communion. argh!)
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