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That face, that face, that wonderful face!
It shines, it glows all over the place.
And how I love to watch it change expressions.
Each look becomes the pride of my possessions.
I love that face, that face, it just isn’t fair.
You must forgive the way that I stare.
But never will these eyes behold a sight that could replace
That face, that face, that face.
(That Face: Bergman & Spence – 2006)
It still amazes me how the faces of young children can be so expressive. How they glow and shine from the feelings and emotions of joy, amazement, and wonder they are experiencing. Children’s faces are still windows to their souls, not yet furrowed or darkened by signs of worry, dread, or sorrow. I’ve watched, studied, and photographed Sarah’s face for eight years now, from crib to classroom, and it continues to fill me with joy and fascination – seeing her gaze at birds and butterflies in flight at age two, staring in bright-eyed amazement at Queen Elsa’s rendition of “Let it Go”, in the movie Frozen, as a three-year old, and observing her gliding down the aisle of St. Catherine of Laboure Church at her First Holy Eucharist Mass.
What we called First Communion is a momentous occasion for a seven or eight-year old child. For them it is more than a rite of passage, it is a gateway to a mystery of Faith they have observed for years in the actions of their parents, relatives, and friends. Receiving communion at mass was what adults and older children did – so it was a sacrament that required maturity, education, and training. First Communion was – and is – a spiritual benchmark in the life of a Catholic youth. It was “the biggest deal” for me and my younger brothers and sisters, but it was also religiously affirming turning point for our parents. Catholic parents of their generation commemorated the event with grand ceremony, formal clothing, religious gifts, and specially posed photographs. First Communion was the formal entry into the Mystical Body of Christ. I know that I participated in this event in the second grade, but I cannot now recall how I felt. My memories are hazy to absent of my Saturday Catechism classes in our parish Confraternity of Christian Doctrine (CCD) program, the religious training I received, and the event itself. The only thing I remember is posing in my suit and tie after mass, and smiling as I held a brand new missal and rosary in each hand, because I’ve seen the photograph. I could not however recall what I felt during this experience. When I asked Kathy what she remembered of her First Communion, she admitted that she also had no clear memory of that occasion, or what she felt. We could not even recall many details of Toñito and Prisa’s First Communion ceremonies besides the photographs. So I held onto a wish that I might recapture some of those lost memories while attending Sarah’s First Communion Mass at St. Catherine Laboure on May 4, 2019. My foremost goal was to observe and chronicle the visible feelings and sensations of my eight-year old granddaughter receiving the Holy Eucharist for the first time.
The Mass and Communion were a part of my life from earliest memory. My parents were devout Catholics, and my mother attended mass on a daily basis as often as she could. My siblings and I were taught that attendance at Sunday mass was an obligation, and the reception of the Holy Eucharist at Communion a sanctifying practice that adults modeled for children. Children came along to observe these two Catholic rituals and sacraments and learn. The old Latin Mass, especially when accompanied by long, droning sermons, was boring and tiring for children, but there was something mystical about Communion. As my mother explained it to us as children, the Sacrament of Holy Eucharist allowed a “communion” (or co-union) with Jesus Christ through the sanctified host they received on their tongues and consumed. It was a powerful spectacle and tale, and we longed for the day that we would participate in that first, most important event, Holy Communion.
First Holy Communion can be simply defined as a spiritual Rite of Passage that is divided into 3 parts: Separation and Training; Penance and Purification (Confession); and Incorporation with Communion. The first stage of separation began when I was enrolled into the Saturday morning classes of the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine program in 1953, when I was in the 2nd Grade. The adults referred to them as CCD classes, but the children simply called it “Catechism”, because our main task was to memorize the prayers and recite the question and answer format of the Baltimore Catechism. This was our training – to memorize the prayers and tenants of the Catholic faith and be able to recite them in preparation for the next two levels – Confession and First Holy Communion. The vigorousness of the training in these Saturday classes was slack and I found the lessons easy – and the expectations of the catechists low. Regular attendance was the main criteria for evaluation, and our mother never let us miss a lesson. However, this laissez faire attitude toward Catechism memorization changed when our parents enrolled us into St. Teresa of Avila School in Silver Lake. Our teachers, the good nuns, were more aggressive in their daily catechism drills. They were the black-habited reincarnations of John Wayne’s Sergeant Riker, the tough, hard-driving Marine Drill Instructor who was preparing his platoon for the rigors of combat. Only in their case, the nuns were preparing us to combat sin.
When the nuns judged us to be doctrinally qualified, we entered the second stage of purification through the sacrament of Penance, or as we called it, Confession.
Confession was the gateway sacrament to Holy Communion, and as a child I felt it was steeped in shadows, mystery, and in whispers. I only saw adults walk into sealed, or cloaked confessionals, where they whispered their sins to a priest behind a screen-meshed window, and were forgiven. For many years I wasn’t sure what really happened inside those confessionals. So I entered this phase of our training with trepidation and anticipation. We learned the ritual and prayers of Confession and practiced them at school and home. The ritual began with a private Examination of Conscience before entering the confessional, and when inside saying, “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been (fill in) days, weeks, or months since my last Confession.” A recitation of the sins you identified followed, whereupon the priest would lecture or advise you, then giving you a penance to perform (usually a certain number of prayers to recite). At that point he would ask you to recite the Act of Contrition while he blessed you, reciting the Latin prayer of Absolution. The hardest part of this ritual for me was the Examination of Conscience. The types of sins that a seven or eight-year old child might commit are pretty limited, and I expect most priests considered them boring. Murder, adultery, and lust were off the table, so possible childhood infractions might involve disobeying your mother and father, lying, stealing, or envy – easy enough to list now, but for a young child waiting to confront a religious authority in a darkened booth, it was intimidating. Once past the hurdle of Confession, the third stage of the rite was easy, since it was basically the culminating ceremony of receiving First Communion at a Mass.
Arriving on the day of Sarah’s First Eucharist, I could sense the nervous energy crackling through the air as I watched the cars unloading smiling, white-gowned girls with veils or garlands in their hair, and grim-eyed young boys wearing tight neckties and brand new suits. The parents seemed doubly apprehensive, wanting to find good viewing seats in the church and getting their children to their respective staging classrooms on time. Not knowing Sarah’s classroom location, I too was anxious about finding it in time to photograph her before the ceremony. I needn’t have worried. Sarah’s shining blonde hair and sunrise face are like twin beacons in the darkness. I quickly spotted her, I made my way to her room. It was half full, with boys and girls moving about, greeting and chattering with friends, and putting up with fussy parents, who were fixing their hair and garlands, or straightening ties. I started taking pictures right away, trying to catch her building excitement and nervous anticipation. When she saw me with my camera, she beamed a glorious smile at me, but it was her sidelong smiles to friends that seemed to proclaim: “Can you believe it? Today is finally here!” It was only during a break, when their teacher excused the children to the bathrooms and final photos that we managed to calm Sarah down, allowing us to take her picture with her parents and sister, and posing with Kathy and me, before heading to the church to find our seats.
The formalities began before the Mass, with each Communion class marching in and carefully posing at the altar with the Pastor, school principal, and their teacher. Suddenly the students assumed serious expressions as they arranged themselves in two-tiered rows, with the adults at the top. With hands pressed together in a praying position they gazed out grimly, watching the growing numbers of guests taking their seats, and listening to their teacher for further instructions. They smiled for the photo shots, and then quickly resumed their work-like expressions as they filed out to the front of the church to await the processional entrance. It’s important to remember that First Communion is a special ceremony with proscribed parts and script, as well as being a part of the Mass. The liturgy is unique, with special readings, Intercessory prayers, and songs. All the children have roles to play and parts to perform – holding their hands just so, marching in pairs, singing, reading, presenting gifts, and finally receiving First Communion. The looks on their faces clearly communicate how importantly they took these roles and duties. When I snuck to the front of the church to take some candid photos of Sarah, she would smile dutifully at me, assuming a prayerful pose, but when I lowered the camera she seemed to muse silently to herself, casting her eyes downward or off to the sides. “What was she thinking, with that faraway gaze?” I wondered to myself. It wasn’t worry or doubt, for there were no rigid lines or creases on her face, but rather a blank look of marking time before the action was to begin. The spontaneous beaming smiles returned when the ceremony finally started, and Sarah caught sight of her aunts, cousins, and family members in the pews watching her processing down the aisle as she and the children sang, “Let the Children Come”.
There were three aspects of this First Communion that made it quite extraordinary for me. First, we had incredible seats which Sarah’s parents, Prisa and Joe, won in a silent auction at the Parish Fiesta. We were therefore able to sit in the first family pew behind the rows of First Communicants, giving us an unobstructed view of Sarah throughout the mass. At all of the many First Communion masses I’ve attended, I’d never sat so close. Second was the fact that Sarah’s Uncle Dick, a deacon, was on the altar, concelebrating the mass with the pastor. Dick Williams, and Kathy’s sister Patty, had known, babysat, and interacted with Prisa and her daughter Sarah all their lives – they were family. I can only imagine how happy and proud Sarah felt at hearing Dick introduced by the Pastor as her uncle, hearing him read the Gospel from the pulpit, and seeing him right there with her at the foot of the altar, the moment she received the Holy Eucharist. I should also confess that these two factors proved to be a major distraction from the mass and the liturgy. With camera in hand, I was so busy keeping my eyes on Sarah and watching Dick on the altar, that I blanked out on the mass, sermon, and songs. Thinking more about photo opportunities, trying to catch Sarah’s sidelong looks, and backward glances and smiles, I had little idea what was happening on the altar. It wasn’t until the end of mass, before the final blessing, that the third special factor occurred. After having received the Holy Eucharist for the first time, the students of the two classes reassembled themselves on the altar facing the congregated guests. The principal thanked the parents of the communicants for supporting and helping their children throughout the year, culminating in this sacramental ceremony. The children then thanked and serenaded their parents and families by singing “You Raise Me Up”. Looking at Sarah as she sang, I suddenly noticed that she had become flushed and red-faced, and was wiping her eyes with both hands.
“I think she’s crying”, I whispered to Kathy.
“She is”, Kathy replied.
It was only later, when we were at the reception her parents had organized after the ceremony, that Kathy was able to take Sarah aside and asked her why she was crying on the altar. Sarah embarrassingly replied that at that moment, while looking out at our pews filled with parents, grandparents, sister, aunts, uncles, and cousins, she was overwhelmed by feelings of love at the significance of the words she was singing, and couldn’t hold back the tears:
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas
I am strong when I am on your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be.
This was a First Communion Kathy and I will never forget, and hopefully one that Sarah and her parents will recall for years to come when reading this essay and looking at the photos I took. Photos of that wonderful face and the feelings it revealed on that momentous day.
It shines, it glows all over the place.
And how I love to watch it change expressions.
Each look becomes the pride of my possessions.
I love that face, that face, it just isn’t fair.
You must forgive the way that I stare.
But never will these eyes behold a sight that could replace
That face, that face, that face.
(That Face: Bergman & Spence – 2006)
It still amazes me how the faces of young children can be so expressive. How they glow and shine from the feelings and emotions of joy, amazement, and wonder they are experiencing. Children’s faces are still windows to their souls, not yet furrowed or darkened by signs of worry, dread, or sorrow. I’ve watched, studied, and photographed Sarah’s face for eight years now, from crib to classroom, and it continues to fill me with joy and fascination – seeing her gaze at birds and butterflies in flight at age two, staring in bright-eyed amazement at Queen Elsa’s rendition of “Let it Go”, in the movie Frozen, as a three-year old, and observing her gliding down the aisle of St. Catherine of Laboure Church at her First Holy Eucharist Mass.
What we called First Communion is a momentous occasion for a seven or eight-year old child. For them it is more than a rite of passage, it is a gateway to a mystery of Faith they have observed for years in the actions of their parents, relatives, and friends. Receiving communion at mass was what adults and older children did – so it was a sacrament that required maturity, education, and training. First Communion was – and is – a spiritual benchmark in the life of a Catholic youth. It was “the biggest deal” for me and my younger brothers and sisters, but it was also religiously affirming turning point for our parents. Catholic parents of their generation commemorated the event with grand ceremony, formal clothing, religious gifts, and specially posed photographs. First Communion was the formal entry into the Mystical Body of Christ. I know that I participated in this event in the second grade, but I cannot now recall how I felt. My memories are hazy to absent of my Saturday Catechism classes in our parish Confraternity of Christian Doctrine (CCD) program, the religious training I received, and the event itself. The only thing I remember is posing in my suit and tie after mass, and smiling as I held a brand new missal and rosary in each hand, because I’ve seen the photograph. I could not however recall what I felt during this experience. When I asked Kathy what she remembered of her First Communion, she admitted that she also had no clear memory of that occasion, or what she felt. We could not even recall many details of Toñito and Prisa’s First Communion ceremonies besides the photographs. So I held onto a wish that I might recapture some of those lost memories while attending Sarah’s First Communion Mass at St. Catherine Laboure on May 4, 2019. My foremost goal was to observe and chronicle the visible feelings and sensations of my eight-year old granddaughter receiving the Holy Eucharist for the first time.
The Mass and Communion were a part of my life from earliest memory. My parents were devout Catholics, and my mother attended mass on a daily basis as often as she could. My siblings and I were taught that attendance at Sunday mass was an obligation, and the reception of the Holy Eucharist at Communion a sanctifying practice that adults modeled for children. Children came along to observe these two Catholic rituals and sacraments and learn. The old Latin Mass, especially when accompanied by long, droning sermons, was boring and tiring for children, but there was something mystical about Communion. As my mother explained it to us as children, the Sacrament of Holy Eucharist allowed a “communion” (or co-union) with Jesus Christ through the sanctified host they received on their tongues and consumed. It was a powerful spectacle and tale, and we longed for the day that we would participate in that first, most important event, Holy Communion.
First Holy Communion can be simply defined as a spiritual Rite of Passage that is divided into 3 parts: Separation and Training; Penance and Purification (Confession); and Incorporation with Communion. The first stage of separation began when I was enrolled into the Saturday morning classes of the Confraternity of Christian Doctrine program in 1953, when I was in the 2nd Grade. The adults referred to them as CCD classes, but the children simply called it “Catechism”, because our main task was to memorize the prayers and recite the question and answer format of the Baltimore Catechism. This was our training – to memorize the prayers and tenants of the Catholic faith and be able to recite them in preparation for the next two levels – Confession and First Holy Communion. The vigorousness of the training in these Saturday classes was slack and I found the lessons easy – and the expectations of the catechists low. Regular attendance was the main criteria for evaluation, and our mother never let us miss a lesson. However, this laissez faire attitude toward Catechism memorization changed when our parents enrolled us into St. Teresa of Avila School in Silver Lake. Our teachers, the good nuns, were more aggressive in their daily catechism drills. They were the black-habited reincarnations of John Wayne’s Sergeant Riker, the tough, hard-driving Marine Drill Instructor who was preparing his platoon for the rigors of combat. Only in their case, the nuns were preparing us to combat sin.
When the nuns judged us to be doctrinally qualified, we entered the second stage of purification through the sacrament of Penance, or as we called it, Confession.
Confession was the gateway sacrament to Holy Communion, and as a child I felt it was steeped in shadows, mystery, and in whispers. I only saw adults walk into sealed, or cloaked confessionals, where they whispered their sins to a priest behind a screen-meshed window, and were forgiven. For many years I wasn’t sure what really happened inside those confessionals. So I entered this phase of our training with trepidation and anticipation. We learned the ritual and prayers of Confession and practiced them at school and home. The ritual began with a private Examination of Conscience before entering the confessional, and when inside saying, “Bless me Father for I have sinned. It has been (fill in) days, weeks, or months since my last Confession.” A recitation of the sins you identified followed, whereupon the priest would lecture or advise you, then giving you a penance to perform (usually a certain number of prayers to recite). At that point he would ask you to recite the Act of Contrition while he blessed you, reciting the Latin prayer of Absolution. The hardest part of this ritual for me was the Examination of Conscience. The types of sins that a seven or eight-year old child might commit are pretty limited, and I expect most priests considered them boring. Murder, adultery, and lust were off the table, so possible childhood infractions might involve disobeying your mother and father, lying, stealing, or envy – easy enough to list now, but for a young child waiting to confront a religious authority in a darkened booth, it was intimidating. Once past the hurdle of Confession, the third stage of the rite was easy, since it was basically the culminating ceremony of receiving First Communion at a Mass.
Arriving on the day of Sarah’s First Eucharist, I could sense the nervous energy crackling through the air as I watched the cars unloading smiling, white-gowned girls with veils or garlands in their hair, and grim-eyed young boys wearing tight neckties and brand new suits. The parents seemed doubly apprehensive, wanting to find good viewing seats in the church and getting their children to their respective staging classrooms on time. Not knowing Sarah’s classroom location, I too was anxious about finding it in time to photograph her before the ceremony. I needn’t have worried. Sarah’s shining blonde hair and sunrise face are like twin beacons in the darkness. I quickly spotted her, I made my way to her room. It was half full, with boys and girls moving about, greeting and chattering with friends, and putting up with fussy parents, who were fixing their hair and garlands, or straightening ties. I started taking pictures right away, trying to catch her building excitement and nervous anticipation. When she saw me with my camera, she beamed a glorious smile at me, but it was her sidelong smiles to friends that seemed to proclaim: “Can you believe it? Today is finally here!” It was only during a break, when their teacher excused the children to the bathrooms and final photos that we managed to calm Sarah down, allowing us to take her picture with her parents and sister, and posing with Kathy and me, before heading to the church to find our seats.
The formalities began before the Mass, with each Communion class marching in and carefully posing at the altar with the Pastor, school principal, and their teacher. Suddenly the students assumed serious expressions as they arranged themselves in two-tiered rows, with the adults at the top. With hands pressed together in a praying position they gazed out grimly, watching the growing numbers of guests taking their seats, and listening to their teacher for further instructions. They smiled for the photo shots, and then quickly resumed their work-like expressions as they filed out to the front of the church to await the processional entrance. It’s important to remember that First Communion is a special ceremony with proscribed parts and script, as well as being a part of the Mass. The liturgy is unique, with special readings, Intercessory prayers, and songs. All the children have roles to play and parts to perform – holding their hands just so, marching in pairs, singing, reading, presenting gifts, and finally receiving First Communion. The looks on their faces clearly communicate how importantly they took these roles and duties. When I snuck to the front of the church to take some candid photos of Sarah, she would smile dutifully at me, assuming a prayerful pose, but when I lowered the camera she seemed to muse silently to herself, casting her eyes downward or off to the sides. “What was she thinking, with that faraway gaze?” I wondered to myself. It wasn’t worry or doubt, for there were no rigid lines or creases on her face, but rather a blank look of marking time before the action was to begin. The spontaneous beaming smiles returned when the ceremony finally started, and Sarah caught sight of her aunts, cousins, and family members in the pews watching her processing down the aisle as she and the children sang, “Let the Children Come”.
There were three aspects of this First Communion that made it quite extraordinary for me. First, we had incredible seats which Sarah’s parents, Prisa and Joe, won in a silent auction at the Parish Fiesta. We were therefore able to sit in the first family pew behind the rows of First Communicants, giving us an unobstructed view of Sarah throughout the mass. At all of the many First Communion masses I’ve attended, I’d never sat so close. Second was the fact that Sarah’s Uncle Dick, a deacon, was on the altar, concelebrating the mass with the pastor. Dick Williams, and Kathy’s sister Patty, had known, babysat, and interacted with Prisa and her daughter Sarah all their lives – they were family. I can only imagine how happy and proud Sarah felt at hearing Dick introduced by the Pastor as her uncle, hearing him read the Gospel from the pulpit, and seeing him right there with her at the foot of the altar, the moment she received the Holy Eucharist. I should also confess that these two factors proved to be a major distraction from the mass and the liturgy. With camera in hand, I was so busy keeping my eyes on Sarah and watching Dick on the altar, that I blanked out on the mass, sermon, and songs. Thinking more about photo opportunities, trying to catch Sarah’s sidelong looks, and backward glances and smiles, I had little idea what was happening on the altar. It wasn’t until the end of mass, before the final blessing, that the third special factor occurred. After having received the Holy Eucharist for the first time, the students of the two classes reassembled themselves on the altar facing the congregated guests. The principal thanked the parents of the communicants for supporting and helping their children throughout the year, culminating in this sacramental ceremony. The children then thanked and serenaded their parents and families by singing “You Raise Me Up”. Looking at Sarah as she sang, I suddenly noticed that she had become flushed and red-faced, and was wiping her eyes with both hands.
“I think she’s crying”, I whispered to Kathy.
“She is”, Kathy replied.
It was only later, when we were at the reception her parents had organized after the ceremony, that Kathy was able to take Sarah aside and asked her why she was crying on the altar. Sarah embarrassingly replied that at that moment, while looking out at our pews filled with parents, grandparents, sister, aunts, uncles, and cousins, she was overwhelmed by feelings of love at the significance of the words she was singing, and couldn’t hold back the tears:
You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up to walk on stormy seas
I am strong when I am on your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be.
This was a First Communion Kathy and I will never forget, and hopefully one that Sarah and her parents will recall for years to come when reading this essay and looking at the photos I took. Photos of that wonderful face and the feelings it revealed on that momentous day.
