Holy… Communion, Batman!

It was my little niece’s first communion and my first visit to a Christian church in probably –well, many a year. It held all the beauty and fascination that I remember as a child. The pews, the stained glass, the ornate altar and statues and that certain smell. A very similar smell that is in a Buddhist zendo. Part incense and part musk, and part human emotion all wrapped up in a tight little package.
The little girls and boys ( 8 & 9 year olds) went through the motions as they sang, and recited, and prayed. I sat in the pew next to her god parents who reeked of alcohol at 12 noon, and had to smile thinking of all the times I attended church as a teenager high on something or another.
My little niece looked like a cheap K-Mart doll dressed up in an ill-fitting white dress with a hand me down dirty sequined tiara on her head, but her smile lit up the room as she went through this rite of passage. I was happy for her not so much for this event but for her ability to be with her peers and enjoy the moment with them. I know that would not have been possible without the therapy that she has been receiving for a condition known as Aspergers Syndrome.
Then there is the reception. A get together of adults and TV, food and cocktails and kids running amok. A general scene of chaos. How different, I thought, of how my experience was when I was growing up. Family and guests would gather around and I would read each card aloud, and open the gift, and look at the giver and say thank you (no matter what the gift was) and smile. Here the children were ignored and they ripped open cards and presents and no one knew what came from who and no one cared. After all it’s not about the gifts on a day like this, is it?