Tag: palm-sunday

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

Palm Sunday and First Holy Communion

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

Lenten Reflections #33

Every week after church, Dad asks if our church fills up. “It’s pretty full, Dad, but we have fewer churches here in Marietta,” I say every week. In fact, my hometown of Albuquerque has 32 parishes for the 37% of Catholics in the city. Meanwhile, in Marietta, Ga…there is a grand total of 4 Catholic churches to accommodate our 1% of Catholics. I cannot speak to the amount of practicing Catholics, but even for the Christmas-Easter crew, there are plenty of options to kneel and say an Ave or two.

Mom and Dad attend the 4:30 pm mass on Saturday evenings. Arriving late to church is very stressful for Mom, and arriving early to church is unheard of for Dad. I decided to choose my battles today and leave early (for mom) and drive slooooowly to church. Dad, whose driving speed from ages 14-86 could only be described as manic, noted my speed and said with a tinge of disappointment in his voice, “Wow, you really follow the speed limit.”

Cars zoomed past, and as we approached an intersection, we passed a dry, grassy field on fire, uncontained and spreading toward the road. We (Siri) called 911, and the fire department said they were on their way. Mom asked for the time, and I reassured her that we had 30 minutes to complete an 8-minute drive. As the firetruck passed, we finally pulled into a packed parking lot. I carefully (and slowly) squeezed our Honda between a huge SUV and a flashy Impala lowrider with gold rims.

When we opened the door to the Sanctuary, we were surprised to see the pews filling quickly. Not only was it Palm Sunday, but it was also First Communion for 17 kids. Concerned that Mom and Dad would get tired and hungry, I proactively gave Mom a mint, which calmed her, then leaned over and whispered to Dad that I bet God would let us leave early since we showed up for the rosary ahead of mass. Unrattled, they both sat patiently and sang along to the Spanish and English hymns, except when Mom plugged her ears because the guitar was just “too loud”.

First Holy Communion is a family event. This evening, pews were filled with extended families. Palms were craftily folded into crosses, babies were passed from row to row, and children were dressed with care – bows in place, tiny neckties straightened. The communicants all sat in the first two rows with pressed suits and snow-white dresses. Flowers dotted the girls’ hair, and boys stood proudly in their shined shoes. One by one, they walked, leading with their prayer hands as they received their First Holy Communion. Their parents and siblings beamed because it was a big deal. This sacrament truly is tremendous. As Catholics, we know that the Holy Eucharist is the origin of our faith. Pope Francis has called it the “Sacrament of Love”. He says, “The Eucharist is at the heart of ‘Christian initiation’, together with Baptism and Confirmation, and it constitutes the source of the Church’s life itself. From this Sacrament of love, in fact, flows every authentic journey of faith, of communion, and of witness.”

Pope Francis knows what he’s talking about. He’s a big deal.

What I learned:

I reminisced about our church in Marietta. Every Saturday before the final prayer, two elderly men meet the deacon at the foot of the altar, bow their heads, and receive a blessing and a pyx with care. A pyx is a handheld tabernacle that holds the Eucharist to provide spiritual nourishment for the homebound. Each week, I try to envision their situations, marvel at their kindness, and pray for their ongoing strength and hope.

Then I thought of every little lovely wavy-haired child whose dark eyes glistened after receiving the “Sacrament of Love”. I pray that every one of them will encounter extraordinary joy, grace, mercy, thanksgiving and communion on this side of eternity.

Here’s to Another Good Day!

Thanks for joining me,

Lucretia

Posted in Family, Faith and Fitness

“Calm” Palm Sunday

Posted on by Lucretia Cahill

#35 Lenten Reflections

When the children were younger, we longed to be that family for one hour per week at church. You’ve seen them. The family with the brood of children who sit with their missals in their laps, following along the readings and pointing to the words with their fingers. During the sermon, the same kids answer the priest’s questions with “Genesis!” or “Luke – Chapter 12!” Then they flawlessly sing all the high notes of”How Great Thou Art”.

During the mass, these “model children” are referenced by onlooking parents who tell their own children “See they’re sitting” or “That boy doesn’t have his brother in a headlock”. Finally, upon their exit, they receive oodles of acclaim from elderly folks grateful for parents raising the next generation with respect and goodness in God’s House.

Unfortunately, even after putting our kids through practice/training type masses during the week when they were young (not recommended although it seemed brilliant at the time), Sunday mornings remained drenched with whines, untouched missals, Matchbox Cars stashed in pockets, and little eyes staring up at us asking to be held. To this day, my husband and I sway involuntarily from side to side like palm trees in church, poised to hold any toddler needing a better view.

Enter Palm Sunday.

Knowing Palm Sunday is on deck to kick off Holy Week, brings me great solace. You see, even though our kids are older, there is still restlessness during mass for all of us. As we enter the church we are greeted by our warmhearted Monsignor who bellows out in his Irish lilt, “The Cahills are here! Must be time to start mass!”. On that uplifting note, we make our way in, avoiding the usher so we are not scooted up to the front row. Pre-college, when we would sit as mass began, there was a lot of blaming, loud singing, correcting, and “not touching” that went on in the pew, followed by my shushing, and my daughter’s re-shushing.

But Palm Sunday brought little gifts for everyone. Palms. Pliable, soft, fresh, green reeds begging to be manipulated into works of art. This is the Sunday for a long homily when Father can freely cover the highlights of the New Testament and even throw in a few biographies of some saints. Everyone is busy forming their humble cross tied in the middle with palm strings, accompanied by a calm throughout the church as we exit.

One Sunday when the kids were little, I vowed not to get too many palms because growing up, Mom and Dad taught us to take special care of them like you would a prayer card or rosary. So in that spirit, I placed our unused palms on the table in the narthex for the next fidgety parishioners.

As we climbed in the car, my youngest son said, “Mama, look what I found on a pew on the way out!” He passed me a handful of palms. “Oh great” I lied, “Let’s google how to make a basket when we get home.”

God, Thank you for keeping Palm Sunday nice and calm.

IMG_6612
Beginning a basket…

Have a Blessed Holy Week.

❤️Lucretia