Share Thy Blessings (And Do It Right!)

I go to Mass on Sundays.

I never had an official Catholic baptism, but I'm not bitter about that.

I can't receive Communion because of this, but I'm not bitter about that, either.

Most times, I approach the priest or a Eucharistic Minister during the distribution of Communion to receive a blessing instead, my arms crossed over my chest like a good quasi-Catholic.  The offer of a blessing in lieu of Body and Blood is a nice invitation by the priest and congregation for non-Catholics to participate in the experience.  It's like having some veggie burgers ready to dole out to the herbivorous few who happen to wander into your barbecue.

But when no one has decent veggie burgers blessings for hungry-souled civilians, it's at least a little bit disappointing, more than a little bit awkward, and, therefore, funny.

This lady is so ready to receive a blessing at Mass.

Blessing distribution mishaps usually happen when the Eucharistic Minister has not been taught that a person who approaches with folded arms does not want to receive Communion.  He or she honors the Church's emphasis on Communion as a sacrament and is therefore abstaining; he/she is not deliberately trying to confuse anyone.  (There are countless better ways to confuse a Eucharistic Minister than simply to fold one's arms.)  The E.M. may be from a parish where, strangely, nobody has ever abstained from Communion, ever.  It happens, I guess.

Normally, a blessing should happen like this:

You, non- or quasi-Catholic, approach the Eucharistic Minister (with arms crossed over your chest, remember?) hoping to receive some divine lovin' without hurting anyone's feelings.  You anticipate that the E.M. might look surprised or stiffen a bit upon seeing you, but you know that this only means that his/her shift into Civilian Mode is underway.  Once in Civilian Mode, the E.M. relaxes, looks upon you with love of neighbor, and may smile as he/she touches your forehead or shoulder gently--still with Host in hand--and murmurs a sweet something, like "May the Lord guide you and protect you all the days of your life."  Occasionally, the E.M. is a bona fide powerhouse of a blesser, and grips both sides of your head with the electrified conviction of an Old Testament prophet and with one finger rubs a cross into your forehead while giving you a blessing so blindingly holy that it scares any and all living hell out of you.  Amen, you say as you walk back to the pew, dodging the person with the cup.  Now, wasn't that nice?

But sometimes, it happens like this:

You approach the E.M. with crossed arms.  He/she stiffens upon seeing you, but instead of switching into Civilian Mode and relaxing, the E.M. holds up the Host to you and waits for you to take it.  You keep your hands on your opposite shoulders and duck your head a little, hoping that the E.M. will catch on.  He/she doesn't, and stares at you with suspicion.  You stare back desperately.  Nothing.  You mumble amen and walk empty-souled back to the pew.  Better luck next time.

Or like this, in today's case:

The E.M. looks at you suspiciously, acknowledges that you aren't going to receive Communion (for some bizarre reason; only God knows why) and nods at you silently and sternly.  You mumble amen and walk away.

And even like this:

The E.M. knows why you have your arms crossed.  Still, perhaps out of boredom, he flops a hand on your shoulder, pulling it away in half a second, and dryly groans, "Jesus loves you."  You walk away thinking that Jesus does love you, but probably a hell of a lot more than that.

Blessings come in all different sizes and shapes, I know, but if you happen to find yourself in the shoes of a Eucharistic Minister, please remember not to shun your wannabe-Catholic brothers and sisters, for we just want a holy piece of the Whole, too.