Like many who are blessed to serve Holy Communion, I crouch down whenever children come up to receive. It's certainly easier to make eye contact with them and significantly reduces the probability of Jesus ending up on the floor. And, let's face it, my quadriceps could always use a workout.
I almost didn't move into distribute-ready position last Wednesday when the boy came up my line. He was so little, I assumed he had not yet received First Eucharist. He was surrounded by similarly little siblings and his mother cradled an infant in her arms, so I focused on her -- but not for long.
"Hello!"
That he sang out "hello" rather than "hi" or "hey" captured my full attention. My "hello!" in return rang out more loudly than I'd intended as I knelt before him. "The body of Christ," I said in the most reverentially friendliest way I could muster as I placed the host in his little hands, cupped and outstretched to receive.
"Not in your hands," hissed his mother as she hustled him off to a pew. And not for the first time, I wondered about the hazards of piety and the ways we unwittingly obliterate joy.
