How (Not) to Summon Jesus

Image by Robert Cheaib from Pixabay

Thirty Pieces of Silver

Almost twenty years ago now, I sneaked into a large Catholic church and met Jesus, but not in the way you would normally think. Instead, I gave a priest a blowjob in exchange for some consecrated hosts. I didn’t care if the wafers that some guy in a white collar and a dress had said some magic words over were really Jesus or not. I do know I had made a mockery of other things as well, I had giggled and said bless me, Father, for I am about to sin…I thought myself quite clever and witty at the time.

Image by Nickbar from Pixabay

Father Judas (not his real name) was willing to sell Jesus for a blowjob from a nineteen-year-old homeless slut. Maybe the Father thought that if it was “just” a blowjob, that he wasn’t technically having sex and so he would be cool with Jesus and the Church. I tend to suspect that Jesus and the Church might have a different opinion on that, but all I can do now is take responsibility for my own actions. I do hope that Father Judas has made peace with God over this.

I thankfully didn’t come to the same demise as Judas Iscariot, the shady disciple of Jesus we hear about in the Gospels who sold Jesus for thirty pieces of silver, but I did spend many years dreading the day that this would be brought to the light. What disgusts most people who know about this part of my life more than a young woman screwing a priest to obtain Jesus, is a priest who is willing to sexually degrade and humiliate a woman who was truly seeking Jesus by selling him to her for a sexual favor.

All I had was the oldest profession in the world, Father Judas had Jesus, and I wanted Jesus. I just wish that I had known that it really was Jesus I walked back out of the church with that day. It turns out that obtaining the hosts in this manner wasn’t the lowest I could go, and that there were other, even more evil ways to desecrate Jesus, and I was there to do it. I think if I had really and truly known for sure that those hosts were indeed Jesus, I would have consumed them and walked away from this whole affair, but unfortunately there was more.

I sat on a large slab made from stone, with one of those hosts on my naked breast, to offer it up to the Canaanite god Baal whom I was was worshiping. Although we were desecrating the sacrament, that doesn’t change the fact that it was Jesus, and even at my lowest point, Jesus himself was there, on my breast, present with me in the bread. I didn’t understand this until many years later, although I somehow had suspected that there was indeed something legitimate about the round, tasteless wafer I had sneaked around to obtain.

Big Theological Words

M y theology is mostly experiential as in I’ve never been to seminary and I don’t know much, but I do know Jesus. I think I had intuitively known my whole life that the Eucharist was the literal body and blood of Jesus, despite being taught otherwise. I’d heard the tired out phrase about being a cannibal if I believed that the bread and the wine were the actual body and blood of Christ, and that I chose to consume them anyway. Those who say this think they are clever for doing so, but the amount of times I’ve heard it said, it gets old.

Image by Candelario Gomez Lopez from Pixabay

Transubstantiation is a big word, but that’s okay because it’s a big concept. What’s even more intimidating to me than a big word is a big theological word. I knew a rough concept of what transubstantiation meant because the same people who had made the comments about cannibalism were the ones who explained the concept to me. How very Protestant of them.

They wanted to carry on about cannibalism and the Eucharist and yet they didn’t notice at the time thirteen-year-old me cutting myself with razor blades, butter knives, can lids, whatever I could find that was sharp and I could conceal, and then consuming my own blood. I knew sins had to be atoned for but I didn’t know Jesus so to my adolescent brain this totally made sense.

I had once offered help to the lady preparing the communion with the little individual shot glasses of grape juice, and tasteless, hard, pillow-looking lumps that we were told was unleavened bread. I asked her if she wanted my help with setting up communion and she looked at me, glaring one of the worst I’d ever seen on her, and she said “we don’t call it communion, that’s Catholic, and they aren’t saved and aren’t Christians. We call it the Lord’s Supper, just like the Bible does.” Since I was thirteen, and this woman was friends with my parents, I decided the smart thing to do would be to apologize and move away from her.

No matter what I was told, it seems, I instinctively just knew deep down inside of me that a properly consecrated Eucharist was indeed the body and blood of Jesus Christ, and that I needed it. I did not find Jesus in communion, or really anywhere else either, in my entire time at Trinity Independent Baptist Church. I guess they just didn’t know how to summon the guy.

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MaryClare StFrancis

MaryClare StFrancis

My friends assure me that I am never boring, so hopefully you won’t be bored either.