Holy Mortification

Okay, so the other night I went to church without my glasses on (I can function without my glasses, but everything loses sharpness of detail). Most of the time I can fake it very well, and recognize the people that I know.

This was all fine until I went up for communion and tried to drink from the cup. My fuzzy glance into the chalice told me that there was barely any consecrated wine left, so I tipped it back. Of course, my eyes were lying to me and suddenly I had Jesus running down my face, dripping down the front of my shirt, and pooling in my shoe. I stared at the communion giver, and she stared at me. I hurried back to my pew and tried to be invisible.

From birth, little Catholics are taught to be extremely careful when taking communion. To drop the host is very disrespectful. Because of course it is Jesus.

And there he was, in my Birkenstock. Ah, the mortification.