The Bubbler
Wife: “You’re taking the kids to Mass with you… they’re too much to handle”
Husband: “That’s fine”.
Husband thinks to himself: “My wife is overreacting”… “Likely...”
The Sunday night Mass at Villanova.
The front of the church has seating on either side of the altar and chairs behind the alter for the choir. About five rows of pews on the right and left of the altar. Anyone sitting in these pews is clearly visible to the entire congregation in the main seating area.
The seating order was the following: Dad, Hope, Michael, Me. Michael is my younger brother. He is fair skinned and has dirty blond hair. Of the explosive personalities of the family, he is the calmest and quietest. Without a doubt, it was heavy on him to have me as an older brother.
I am totally brain dead during this particular mass. I remember that much. I had no idea what section of the mass we were in. In my digestive system, I felt what’s called a “Bubbler”. A ‘life of its own’ type if you know what I mean. This thing needed to come out and soon. I have every intention of respecting the ceremony so I employed the following mental plan. Lean to one ass cheek, spread the lifted ass cheek to create an open unobstructed passageway out the ass. Second, time the departure for when the whole congregation is speaking so that the sound is drowned in the voices of over 100 people. Simple. Sensible. Easily achievable.
We are at a section of the mass that has the priest reenacting the last supper wherein the priest reads narration and the congregation repeats back phrases. Singing would have been ideal, but this is a massive bubbler and I can’t wait for a hymn. I’ve got to time this to the next response. Easily achievable. Sensible. Simple.
I load the bubbler in the chamber. I don’t know what part of the digestive system this is, is it the colon? The actual anus? Don’t know, but what we do know is that it’s a point of no return. It’s out of the lower intestine and ready for birth to the world.
The priest talks… Shoot, no response from congregation… Says some more stuff… Shoot, where are the damn responses?… Oh shoot… this thing is coming…
I am not focused on the fact that we are reaching the absolute pinnacle and most sacred part of the mass. The transformation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. The sacred sacrificial meal that has been reenacted across the world for the last two thousand years. This has been disputed amongst Catholics and Protestants for years. Is Christ actually present in the body of blood? Was Jesus speaking literal or figurative? Pope Benedict argues that the clause “Which has been given up for you” verifies the literal-ness since his actual body was given up for us shortly afterwards. Theologians will also wrestle with when the transubstantiation takes place, what modalities the bread maintains through the liturgy of the Eucharist, and at one point does it become the body and blood of Christ? One argument is that it takes place at the very moment the priest holds up the Eucharist in the act of offering and says the words “This is the body of Christ”
Back to our story.
Father Sean Tracy holds up the Eucharist and says “The body of Christ”. The entire church is complete silent.
BRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRR
Father Sean STOPS WHAT HE’S DOING AND LOOKS OVER AT US.
THE WHOLE CHURCH HEARD MY ASS EXPLOSION.
I immediately cocked my head to my brother and said, “Miiiiichael!” Loud enough for the priest and our entire section to hear us. I then scoot two feet away from my brother. His fair skinned face turns bright red. My father turns red out of incalculable anger.
I had one major oversight in my strategy… The pew. These were old hard wooden pews. Also, our pew was sparsely seated, only four of us on a pew that could hold over a dozen people. Surface area was large with a low amount sound deadening butts in the pew. The effect was a reverberation in either direction of the pew. The word “Snare drum” comes to mind. The image of a suspension bridge during earthquake comes to mind.
I laughed the rest of the mass. I laughed in line for the eucharist. I laughed when receiving the Eucharist. I laughed during the final prayers. I laughed during the final blessing. When we finally left the mass I doubled over screaming laughing.
My sister was regrettably amused at the absurdity but would not allow herself to laugh. My brother did not laugh. My father did not laugh. When my mother asked, “How was Mass?” My father did not answer.