*
The event was a Marian/Eucharistic Congress and there were more than eight thousand in attendance from every state in the union. Lectures were being given at regular intervals in the main auditorium, which was normally used for major sporting events. There were also “breakout” sessions for the children and teens in a side auditorium. Grandma Annie, her mother and Reecie had more or less camped out in the main auditorium where they had managed to find good seats on the main floor. When the lectures were less than stellar the teens decided to wander throughout the complex. There was a room the size of a football field filled with Catholic and Christian items available for purchase. You could easily spend a couple of hours just browsing through the many booths filled with statues, tapestries and pictures, books, videos, and DVDs on any imaginable Christian topic.
There was another room which was dimly lit and had Gregorian chant music piped in. This room was lined with glass cases containing relics—bits of bone from or fabric worn by countless saints and martyrs from every era of the Church’s two thousand year history. There was even a relic of the true Cross, on which Jesus Christ had supposedly been crucified. The Brown hooded caretaker told them that any object touched to this relic became a third degree relic, so people were hastily rummaging for holy cards, rosaries and jewelry, pressing these against the glass container in which the fragment was held.
Below this level there was another area, part of which was designated for perpetual adoration. The Sacrifice of the Mass was offered daily for all Congress participants, but for those who wished to spend more time with their Savior in silent companionship, this room had been provided and was furnished with pews and kneelers. A consecrated Host was on display in a giant gleaming container called a monstrance. Stacy’s mother and grandmother kept a regular hour for adoration in a local chapel where this was available back home. Once Stacy had gone with her Mom, but this had been years ago, part of the hodgepodge of childhood memories that swirled together in the back of her mind.
The last part of the complex was a long hallway leading to a large room, partitioned off into twelve sections. Each section contained a cubicle, two chairs and a kneeler. Within each was a black-clad collared priest sitting on one chair and an empty chair was available for any who wished to go to confession. People were lined up on either side of the hall for at least a hundred feet, waiting for their turn to tell their sins and receive absolution from the priest. When Zeke saw this he immediately joined one of the lines. “I need a bath,” he said, sniffing his armpit. Arthur joined him and Zeke gave the girls an expectant look. “I don’t think I’m the only one who could use a good cleaning. How long has it been, Stacy? I know you had a first confession. Did you ever go back for another?”
He was not far from the mark, but Stacy didn’t appreciate the coercion. Besides, she didn’t even believe in this stuff. She tossed her hair with annoyance and grabbed her sister’s arm. “I think I saw a concession stand back there. Let’s get a cappuccino, Em.” Emily shrugged and gave the guys an apologetic backward glance. “Sister bonding,” she agreed, although somewhat unenthusiastically.
“I’ll pray for you, Stace,” Zeke called out as they headed back down the hallway, “to St. Jude!”
“Who’s he?” Stacy asked her sister.
“The Patron of Hopeless Causes,” Emily said, and she smiled tightly.
Not without difficulty, the girls managed to find a table in a corner where they settled themselves, coffee and hazelnut pastries in hand. “I thought he was funny enough,” Stacy said of the first speaker they had listened to that morning. The topic had been, Music: Sacred or Satanic? “The content was a load of crap, though. You can’t actually believe that major music companies are owned by Satan worshipers, or that the music we listen to on the radio was consecrated to the devil in a black Mass.” She considered her younger sister dubiously. Actually she wouldn’t be surprised if Emily believed the things the presenter had said. She was pretty gullible.
“Well, how could he just get up and say that stuff if there was no factual documentation? I mean really, Stace, that would be a lie.” Emily’s eyes were so serious that her sister couldn’t help but laugh.
“Emily,” she said, condescension evident in her tone, “I know this will shock you but… people lie!”
Emily shook her head somberly. “Not these people. Besides,” she took a sip of her coffee, “I heard the same thing before from another source.”
Stacy met her gaze levelly. “Name the source,” she challenged her sister.
Emily’s gaze wavered. “Uncle George,” she said.
Stacy almost spit out her coffee. She raised an eyebrow but didn’t bother to reply.
The day’s lectures concluded with a high Mass in the auditorium, twenty priests and several Bishops in attendance. “High” meant there was a lot of music and the music was emotionally swaying, A concert violinist was present and the choir was well-practiced. Even Stacy could feel her heart swelling in her chest as the music came to a crescendo. When it came time for those present who were in a state of grace to receive Jesus in the form of bread and wine—what is termed Eucharist—Stacy jumped to her feet with the rest of her family. Ezekiel gave her a warning look and her mother gently nudged Stacy back into her seat. “No, Stace, it wouldn’t be right.”
Stacy blinked angry tears from her eyes. What right did anyone—even her mother—have to determine what was right for her? Fat chance Stacy would ever bother coming to worship with her family if this was the kind of treatment she could expect! She couldn’t imagine why she had ever come in the first place. Stacy stumbled down the aisle of makeshift seating and found her way to the lobby, fighting back tears. She looked up at a gentle touch on her shoulder to see the face of her grandmother, sympathy evident in her gaze. “It’s not what you’re thinking, Stace,” her grandmother brushed her cheek gently and motioned her to a love seat near the wall. “Did you hear the words the priest said right before we got up to go to Communion? He said ‘let it not bring you condemnation, but health in mind and body’. You need to be properly disposed—for your own sake.”
“But Gram,” Stacey blinked back tears, “I do feel disposed-”
Her grandmother cut her off, “It’s not about feeling,” she said. “You haven’t been to church in years. You need confession first.”
“Well then,” Stacy stood with determination, “I’ll get confession!” She left her grandmother gazing after her with concern.
Stacy dropped into a seat opposite a bearded brown-clad figure. The room was dimly-lit, with the light scent of roses. Stacy could just make out the priest’s face as he inclined toward her. “How can I help you, my child?”
“They said I need to come here before I can have Communion.” She fidgeted in her seat. “It’s been a long time. I can’t quite remember the procedure,” she spoke hesitantly.
The priest said nothing for awhile. “Are you Catholic?” he finally broke the silence.
Good question. Stacy considered before she spoke. “I was raised Catholic and have received the Sacraments,” she responded carefully.
“But are you Catholic?”
Stacy wasn’t sure. She decided to be honest, “I’m here with my family. I love God. People think I don’t love Him just because I don’t go to church all the time.”
The priest considered her gravely. “I’m going to give you a pamphlet. It will help you examine your conscience. When you decide what you want to do, then you can come back for absolution.” When she didn’t get up, he said firmly, “Go my child. God waits for your response.”
Back in the lobby, Stacy shook her head. She stuffed the pamphlet in her pocket. She wasn’t sure what she wanted.
The family ate at a Villa Italia that night. It really had been awhile since they had all gone out together. The bread shop took a lot out of Gram and Stacy’s mom, but the business was in its infancy and new businesses require a lot of nurturing.
“Table for seven,” Grandma
Annie spoke for the group. The waitress was thirtyish and a bit chubby. She led them to a table set for eight and brought them a booster seat for Reecie, who was small for her age. After they had ordered and had been given sufficient time to survey the room, Stacy decided to have some fun. She reached over and unbuttoned the top button on her mother’s shirt. “Possible unattached distinguished gentleman at three o’clock,” she informed her mother
“Oh, Stacy!” Stacy’s mom slapped her hand away and rebuttoned herself.
“Mother!” Stacy feigned exasperation. “You’re far too eligible to hole yourself away. Anyway, he looks like he could be fun and we have an extra seat.”
Despite herself, Rose sneaked a glance in the direction her daughter had indicated. Rose tilted her head, considering the man. “He looks like a bus driver,” she pronounced. He was bald, chubby and wearing sports clothes. She shook her head. “Can’t account for some daughter’s taste.” Her mother drifted back to recapping the day with Grandma Annie. Neither was paying attention to the others for the moment. Stacy got up.
“Where are you going?” Emily asked her.
“Never mind,” she shushed her sister. She walked over to the waitress and they spoke for awhile.
Emily’s curiosity was peaked. “What did you say to her?”
“I slipped her