Hands

This past Sunday I was an extraordinary minister of communion. In the early '90 I was a communion minister and a lector. Then my close church friends moved away, and I got really depressed. Because I was so depressed I started blowing off my assignments until I was dropped from the schedules. Back then when I gave communion I would look into each person's eyes and see the love of Jesus. I had love for humanity and for all these people who received.

Once again I am a communion minister, and I am waiting to see the love, waiting to feel the love. The problem is that the current pastor is very particular about the protocol. Then he said to use common sense. Well, I forgot all the rules, so I'm nervous. Because I'm nervous I lose all common sense. Another communion minister (I forgot her name) told me that all these rules drive her nuts. Twice now I have confided my nervousness to an older woman, another communion minister I'll call E. I have known E since I was about seven years old. Twice she has prayed over me. That helps. She'll pray over anyone. She's very generous with her prayers, but I feel like she's giving me a Cadillac each time. So she told me that God is using my hands for this act of service and act of love. She said let God work through me. So, have I broken protocol? I don't know and I'm not sure I care. I am respectful as I can be in that moment when I'm on communion duty. And as I write this, I realize that as long as I don't knock down a candle and burn down the church everything will be okay. And if the candle shall fall and burn down the church, there are plenty of emergency exit doors. Everything will be okay. It would be horrible, it would be expensive, but the parish would survive. We've survived a lot.

Now, if I could relax and feel the love . . .