We were running late. After gingerly negotiating the baby’s car seat and oversized diaper bag through the narrow backdoor of St. Mary’s Chapel, we found our way into an empty wooden pew at the back of the church; the Mass had already begun. This was our first stop on the way home from the hospital, after giving birth to our first baby daughter, and a chance for us to express our profound gratitude to God.
It had been an emotional 72 hours, and I really needed some God time. What I didn’t know was that God needed some time with me, too.
As I settled our newborn into my arms, everything felt different. I had been to this Chapel hundreds of times before, praying for the moment when I would sit in front of His altar with a baby in my arms and my husband by my side. I couldn’t believe I was living my dream, and now everything was different. I was a mother and we were a family; a Catholic family, celebrating the gift of the Eucharist together for the first time.
Before I could finish that thought, my eyes were dripping wet. Shocked by the abruptness and intensity of my tears, even embarrassed by them, I tried to quickly brush them away without disturbing the baby or drawing attention to myself. I remember wondering how tears of joy could be so overpowering. But there was more to these tears, these were tears of revelation and the revelations were just as overpowering:
The Holy Spirit was with me. The Holy Spirit wishes to move the Church forward through us and through our child in a very human way. The Catholic faith that my parents had passed on to me and that my husband’s parents had passed on to him would be passed on to our daughter by us. It was our time, our turn, and our privilege to be her Eucharistic minister. I was not only this child’s mother but I was a Catholic mother and responsible to keep His Eucharist alive in her heart and offer her bread for her journey. That was my sacramental promise. That was the expectation. That was the hope of the Holy Spirit.
Time stood still, but the revelations continued. It was clear that I was on a new faith journey and it was already proving to be transformative. I felt a paradigm shift so incredibly powerful regarding my role in our Church, from receiver of the Eucharist to bestower of the Eucharist. I was now moving His bread forward into a new generation.
Suddenly I remember being startled when people were already filing out of the pews for Communion. I was still so filled with emotion and His grace, I wondered how could make it up the aisle. I wasn’t ready and yet, I also knew that not going to Communion was not an option. I needed Holy Communion. I needed to receive the Eucharist for the first time as a new mother with my baby in my arms. I needed to thank God and I needed to let Him know that I understood and that I would honor His hopes as best I could.
As I made my way up the side aisle, I tried to cradle the baby with my head down, again hoping no one would notice the emotion on my face. The revelations just kept coming.
There I was, standing there with all my flaws, holding the most perfect gift ever and about to receive His most perfect gift, the Eucharist. The communion of those gifts was magnificent.
I heard the priest say, “The Body of Christ.” I looked up, fearing that if I uttered, “Amen” a wail so loud, so tender, so powerful might escape, so I nodded. But I nodded with conviction, and everything about that silent gesture was profound. It was as if I renewed all of my sacramental vows: Baptism, Reconciliation, First Communion, Confirmation and Marriage in this one moment.
Honestly, I wasn’t convinced that I could do what God was asking me to do. But I was convinced that He thought I could. I knew that from that moment forward, each time I received the Eucharist, I would forever be reminded that He was with me on this journey, that He trusts me and that He believes in me. By receiving the Eucharist, I was also acknowledging and honoring my promise to Him that we would continue to hand on our Catholic faith and my actions and examples would bring the Eucharist to life for our children, His children.
Over the next five years we would return to St. Mary’s Chapel on the way home from the hospital three more times, after giving birth to three more daughters. Each time the tears flowed, but I understood their presence, His presence, and I was prepared enough to bring tissues. With each visit we grew stronger in our faith and more confident in our sacramental convictions as parents to share with our children the gift of our faith, hoping that one day our daughters would do the same if they had children.
As our girls have grown, we have tried to help them see the Eucharist as a source of spiritual nourishment and strength. One of our daughter’s calls the Eucharist her “Jesus vitamin” while another (our daughter with the sweet tooth) calls it her “Lord cookie.” Those words tell us that they view the Eucharist with great affection and that they understand in their own way its power. But it is harder for them to fully understand that they can find the gifts of the Eucharist in friendship, compassion, forgiveness and sacrifice. Or that God reveals Himself to us through the Eucharist and through His radiant light we become our best selves. These revelations will take time and that is all part of their journey.
Sure, there are many times when I find myself wondering if we are doing enough to teach our children all that they should know about the Eucharist and our Catholic faith, but those are also the times that I am comforted by the revelation that some of the most profound and lasting lessons our children will learn will be from the Holy Spirit and through their personal faith experiences in their own life feast.
KAREN KIEFER is the associate director of the Church in the 21st Century Center at Boston College and the mother of four daughters