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Sunday, March 10th
“Saint Augustine once said the church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints. He said this because there is this mistaken belief that all Christians, all people who go to church are somehow immune from making mistakes, that somehow, they cannot also hurt you. But my fellow brethren, we have all sinned, some more than others...” My eyebrow raised when the Father Macrae’s, who happened to be a guest from Philadelphia, eyes shifted over to me and my family once again. Apparently this sermon was for us. “…and it because we recognize these faults in ourselves that we seek the mercy of the Lord. That is what we should do. You being here in the right choice, the only choice to save your souls. However, if you care, simply for show, if you come here so others can see you here, you are only fooling yourself. For the Lord sees all.”
“This is the third time he’s looked at us.” My grandmother whispered beside me, however that gentle smile never wavered as she gave him her attention. She looked out of the corner of her eyes. “Apparently the Lord didn’t give him the memo.”
A small grin appeared, and I focused back on the man of God as he went on. “You need to know…the Lord accepts you as you come, just like a hospital. You come in broken, in need of healing, but once you come inside, you must be on the road to recovery. You should be getting better, not worse.”
I fought back a yawn, shifting in the pew and it was just a flash in my periphery, but it caught my attention…that smile. I was very familiar with it. I couldn’t believe it. I turned fully and there, holding a bible and rosary in her hand passionately, was Calliope…or better yet Sister Calliope? She sat among the nuns, dressed in black and white, a giant cross around her neck. Her face was covered with freckles, her cheeks were a bit fuller, her nose slightly wider and her eyebrows red. But the real kick was the fact that her eyes were clouded like a blind person. She was completely unrecognizable, so much so I doubted…
No, it’s not her, it couldn’t be. She was due in a week.
Shaking the thought from my mind, I watched as the priest moved to his seat and I stood saying the Profession of Faith. “I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible. I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God…”
I couldn’t help it; I looked back to the nun, who held on to one of the other nun’s arms, saying the prayer as well. Her robes made it hard to determine if she was pregnant or not. Everything on the outside said it wasn’t her. However, something in me told me it was…and I trusted my instincts even above my own eyes.
“Ethan?” My grandmother patted my arm and I took her hand helping her kneel before kneeling beside her. “Everything all right?”
“Just reflecting on the priest’s words,” I whispered and she gave me a look but said nothing more. I looked to the altar. It was the same ol’ same old.
When she and a few other nuns stepped forward to the altar, I felt that doubt pushing through seeing her walk slowly and carefully with the help. But, it was not so much she could not do her tasks.
Why was I so sure it was her? Based on a simple expression? A smile? I didn’t know but I was sure. I could sense it, like the grim reaper had walked in. She did things subtly…but she had also told me she had taken a break from her other work.
Unless she already gave birth? No…She would have told me.
“The body of Christ.” The priest spoke, and Dona took the bread, taking a step to the side and blessing herself. When the priest looked up to me, he didn’t speak, he just shook his head.
This son of a bitch wasn’t serious. He turned, about to deny me in front of the whole church.
“Oh, shit,” Sedric whispered behind me.
However, the moment he took another step he started to cough. He coughed so forcefully he had to back up. I glanced over to the nun, and she held the bread up, staring blindly in front of her like she didn’t see…or hear.
“Father?” the altar servers took the bread from him and helped him stand. He waved them off, but when he tried to stand, he couldn’t.
“Help him to his chair,” another sister said to them.
It was only when he walked back up to the altar to his seat did she walk in front of me, a soft look on her face as she lifted her hands to present the bread to me.
“The body of Christ,” she said.
I stared for a second and she didn’t seem to be phased, leaning in so close she could almost touch my lips.
“Amen.”
She placed the bread on my tongue and her cloudy eyes flickered to mine for only a quick second. Her eyebrow raised and her bottom twitched as she fought a smirk. Standing back up, I stepped aside, blessing myself and walking into the pew, my grandmother and sister waited for me to go in first. I took my place on the kneeler.
“Did that priest just try to deny you Communion or was it just a cough?” my grandmother whispered very low and sternly in Irish.
“Apparently God was giving him the memo,” I answered, and I kept my eyes forward watching Sister Calliope doing the Lord’s work…again.
But how did she know? And did she really go
through all of this just to make sure I wasn’t denied at communion? While that would have a major scandal in our community, it wasn’t something I could not get out of. It would have been a pain in the fucking ass but still nothing that required the amount of effort she was exhibiting now.
Through the rest of service, I was trying to figure it out, but nothing came together. When it ended, I let my grandmother speak with Father Macrae, but that left me with the other families who closed in on me as soon as we got outside.
“Ethan,” I turned as Savino approached. Beside him was a young petite woman with light brown wavy hair and brown eyes, wearing a questionable dress for church. “I’d like you meet my daughter Klarissa. She’s just moved back home after graduating from Rome.”
