First Communion Is More Than a Memory

Remember your first Holy Communion? I was reminded of mine recently when I saw the son of a close friend receive his.

Many things have changed in the Church and the world since my first reception in 1965, but it was good to see the boys still wearing white carnations and armbands, and the girls decked out in white dresses and veils. Most important, Jesus was still present in the Blessed Sacrament, humbly hidden under the appearances of bread and wine, waiting to be received by these boys and girls, and waiting also to receive them, to sweep them into his divinity, into a beautiful communion with himself and his Church.

How solemn and joyful these boys and girls were. How proud and tearful were their parents and grandparents. I thought: only God can do this. Only God can reach the heart, mind and soul on such deep levels and band together three generations in a common observance.

If some were distracted by other concerns—photo opportunities and party preparations—Father McCarthy, the pastor, brought them back to reality. Delivering his homily in simple terms every child could understand, he said that the pilgrims held a banquet to thank God for opening a passage to the New World. Catholics also have a banquet to thank God for opening the way to heaven. The food he gives us along the way is the Eucharist, His own body and blood. If we want to get to heaven, we must receive this food, Father McCarthy said.

After Mass, my friend's 7-year-old son expressed the inexpressible with an infectious smile and the simple words, “I feel so happy today.”

I told him that I still consider my first Communion to be the happiest day of my life, a happiness that is renewed each time I attend Mass. After receiving my first Communion I stood on the steps of the Gothic church in midtown Manhattan on an incredibly sunny day and knew that my life would never be the same. Everything I did, every thought I had, every friendship or relationship I entered, would somehow be shaped by the thin, round host I just received.

My faith in the Real Presence had come instinctively months before, during catechism class. Father O'Neill, all 6 foot 5 inches of him, stood before us with an unconsecrated host and an empty chalice. In a slow and sacred voice so unlike his usually booming speech, he related what he called the world's greatest mystery. “When the priest says ‘This is my body’ over a piece of bread,” he said, lifting the host, “It is no longer bread but the body of Christ.” Raising the chalice, he continued, “And when the priest says ‘This is the cup of my blood’ over the wine, it is no longer wine but the blood of Christ.”

A rush of understanding far beyond my second-grade mind came over me as I said to myself, “That's just what God would do.”

There was no turning back from this glimpse of the eternal. In my teens and early 20s this insight was something of a torment as I sought to live my life apart from God. But an unshakable belief that Jesus would be there for me at Mass eventually brought me back to the Church, back home to the happiness of my first Communion.

My faith became deeper and more mature as I learned what the Church says about the Eucharist. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that “in the blessed Eucharist is contained the whole spiritual good of the Church, namely Christ himself.”

This is what Catholics have always believed. We have the privilege of passing on this gift to the next generation.

Brian Caulfield writes from West Haven, Connecticut.