White Communion Wafer Dispenser

May those other copywriters find it in their hearts to forgive me, but I cannot resist offering interlinear comments on some of the copy describing a product now available to clergy (although apparently out of stock) ─ the White Communion Wafer Dispenser.

Ready? And away we go!

No germs. No spills. No waste.
Thanks be to God, because spilling or wasting Jesus would make Jesus weep. Germs would make Jesus sneeze.

Use this Communion Wafer Dispenser during the cold and flu season to prevent the passing of germs, or use it all year long to reduce the cost, time and personnel needed to provide communion by as much as 50 percent . . .
Especially if your One True Church does not condone laity, women, or both to provide communion except under extraordinary circumstances, although perhaps the flu season would qualify as an extraordinary circumstance?

The revolutionary Rapid Re-load System™ dispenses up to 140 wafers without having to be re-filled, while being fast and easy when you do need to re-load.
140 wafers? What is this, Eucharist Goes Tweet? Who chose this number? It's not even a multiple of three. Lord, have mercy.

It uses re-sealable clear plastic tubes of wafers. Tubes have a plastic plug to seal out air and moisture, increasing the shelf-life of unused wafers.
Just in case your church or the clergy who serve it are unable to convey the promise of Eternal Life.

Mooning Around Over Corpus Christi

To support your appreciation of Corpus Christi, I encourage you to visit A Concord Pastor who has been posting his typically gorgeous posts about this feast since Friday. Fr. Austin Fleming has accompanied his commentary with audio clips of classics such as Mozart's Ave verum corpus.

But before you hie over there, please keep reading here for background about this thirteenth century feast. I quote, immodestly, from my book, The Catholic Home: Celebrations and Traditions, wherein I explain what was up with a sixteen year old Augustinian nun named Juliana:

For years, she'd had a recurring vision of a full moon, its glowing surface spoiled by a little black spot. What was that mysterious blemish? Eventually, Jesus appeared to explain: The moon represented the Church calendar, the black mark the absence of a joyful feast to honor the Eucharist, and he was choosing Juliana to promote what would become known as the Feast of Corpus Christi, the Body of Christ. By the thirteenth century, this feast had become one of great pomp and circumstance.... (p. 98-99)

No, she did not also come up with Tantum ergo Sacramentum, O Salutaris Hostia, and Panis Angelicus. Those hymns were composed by St. Thomas Aquinas at the request of Pope Urban IV, who put Corpus Christi on the liturgical calendar.

Messy Messiah, Fragments of Faith?

Had I been reading the newspaper on Christmas Day, I surely would have zeroed in on the New York Times article titled, "Bread of Life, Baked in Rhode Island."

But I wasn't reading the paper.

I was reading Isaiah (52:7-10) and Hebrews (1:1-6) from the ambo, trying not to fall asleep on my feet at key liturgical moments and then, staggering home to collapse on the couch.

Only direct experience ever seems to permeate the wall of thought around my consciousness. And so, I believe this year's felt sense of being an exhausted heap of protoplasm is a yet another message from God about my true vocation.

Days later I was awake enough to read about the company supplying 80% of the communion bread used by Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran and Southern Baptist churches in this country. It is, notes the NYT, "a seemingly recession-proof business." That's certainly one way to look at it. Clergy seem to view the Cavanagh Company's product line in different terms.

I've been thinking about this glowing endorsement from an Episcopal priest: "It doesn't crumb, and I don't like fragments of our Lord scattering all over the floor." God only knows what this priest's bishop said after that quote was published.

After pondering the image of Jesus as Mess rather than Messiah, I've come around to thinking that we could probably benefit from having fragments of our Lord scattered more liberally -- more messily -- throughout our lives. Yes, I realize that "all over the floor" seems sacrilegious. And yet in my experience, people tend to look down rather than up; why not meet them there?

Corpus Christ

I think I was a bit too much under the thrall of this morning's homily for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ. My evidence is what happened while I was distributing Communion.

The priest at the 11:30 Mass was wired with a wireless mic that allowed him to move away from the ambo. Dear God I wish this would happen more often. I find it easier to connect to the message(s) when the homilist wanders into the nave without clutching a sheaf of papers. Note, I do mean into the nave and not into the pews as if we were at Michael Feldman's Whad'ja Know?

Stepping away from the ambo underscores how the homily is a teaching moment and serves to strengthen the link to how Jesus taught in addition to what Jesus said. Of course I realize not everyone is well suited to this teaching style. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed that for some the ambo is a necessary prop in every sense of that word.

I was also captivated by the content of the homily which in addition to explaining what we believe about Real Presence, included a lesson about receiving Communion. That's right! We received a play book distinguishing among current forms of reverence, including what seemed a wistful reference to kneeling at altar rails and a somewhat bizarre reference to EM's making sure that the Host is consumed on the spot rather than taken home "for Satanic worship."

It was either during that part or the commentary about receiving on the tongue when I wished I hadn't been sitting in one of the front pews. I so wanted to observe the Body of Christ's facial expression and body language.

Alas, when it came time to distribute Communion I wasn't observing the Body of Christ closely enough to avoid placing the Host on the tongue of a very surprised woman who evidently wanted to receive Him in her hand. You may be wondering how this could possibly happen. No, I did not force her jaws open as if I were pilling a cat. Let's just say that we were both rather startled and then both tried to not laugh.

After Mass, when I went over to apologize, she confessed how in the wake of the homily she was so busy deciding between a head nod and a solemn bow that she neglected to get her hands up quickly enough. By the grace of Almighty God, I resisted saying anything about spiriting the Host home for God only knows what.