Crouched over, leaning heavily on his cane, Jack Lohman shuffled behind the last row of pews until he reached the center aisle of the church. These days he sat at the end of the last pew in case he needed to go to the bathroom during Mass. He wanted to be the last in line for Communion anyway so he wouldn’t hold anyone up.
Today he was there for the funeral of his old friend, Al. Eight decades earlier, they’d gone to grade school together right next door. Now as Jack got in line for Communion, he eyed Al’s casket up ahead.
He’d been in this church for the funerals of many friends in recent years. This morning, it was packed. Al was beloved.
As he shambled forward, Jack also thought of the funerals there for his wife and, years earlier, their son. Their presence had filled him with joy. Their absence still filled him with sorrow.
Looking up at the sanctuary, he remembered his daughter standing there, looking radiant in her wedding gown.
And there was the marble baptismal font, where his children had been baptized and he himself had been baptized so long ago.
Jack spotted a teenager in line ahead of him and thought of the special evening when he, as a teen, knelt at this very Communion rail. He could still feel the Archbishop make the sign of the cross on his forehead and hear him say, “Francis, be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Jack had always been inspired by the saint from Assisi, and he was proud to take Francis as his Confirmation name.
Then he saw a young boy and remembered the excitement of making his very first Communion.
Now all those who had been in line ahead of Jack had received Communion and returned to their seats. Jack stood alone in the aisle, beside the casket. He rested his palm on the linen pall draped over it and said a silent, final farewell.
Looking at the priest, patiently awaiting his last communicant, Jack felt a strange sensation, as if he were rising. Suddenly, he was hovering above the entire congregation.
Jack looked down at the casket. The lid was now gone, and inside lay not his friend, but Jack himself. And yet Jack was not afraid. On the contrary, he felt safe and warm, like a newborn in his mother’s arms. As he looked around, he realized everyone in the church was there for him. He could feel their affection.
Then Jack was gathered in by all his loved ones, everyone he had ever known and a benevolent presence he had felt all his life. He was one with all of them and all things. He was, at last, in perfect Communion.
Today he was there for the funeral of his old friend, Al. Eight decades earlier, they’d gone to grade school together right next door. Now as Jack got in line for Communion, he eyed Al’s casket up ahead.
He’d been in this church for the funerals of many friends in recent years. This morning, it was packed. Al was beloved.
As he shambled forward, Jack also thought of the funerals there for his wife and, years earlier, their son. Their presence had filled him with joy. Their absence still filled him with sorrow.
Looking up at the sanctuary, he remembered his daughter standing there, looking radiant in her wedding gown.
And there was the marble baptismal font, where his children had been baptized and he himself had been baptized so long ago.
Jack spotted a teenager in line ahead of him and thought of the special evening when he, as a teen, knelt at this very Communion rail. He could still feel the Archbishop make the sign of the cross on his forehead and hear him say, “Francis, be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.” Jack had always been inspired by the saint from Assisi, and he was proud to take Francis as his Confirmation name.
Then he saw a young boy and remembered the excitement of making his very first Communion.
Now all those who had been in line ahead of Jack had received Communion and returned to their seats. Jack stood alone in the aisle, beside the casket. He rested his palm on the linen pall draped over it and said a silent, final farewell.
Looking at the priest, patiently awaiting his last communicant, Jack felt a strange sensation, as if he were rising. Suddenly, he was hovering above the entire congregation.
Jack looked down at the casket. The lid was now gone, and inside lay not his friend, but Jack himself. And yet Jack was not afraid. On the contrary, he felt safe and warm, like a newborn in his mother’s arms. As he looked around, he realized everyone in the church was there for him. He could feel their affection.
Then Jack was gathered in by all his loved ones, everyone he had ever known and a benevolent presence he had felt all his life. He was one with all of them and all things. He was, at last, in perfect Communion.
