The first time I truly appreciated the significance of the presence of Christ in the Eucharist was at the first funeral I attended. A close family friend, whom we called Aunty Ellen, passed away in the spring of this year; the paths of our lives had crossed by chance during my early childhood.
As a young couple with two mischievous toddler daughters, my parents lived in a Boston apartment complex, a few doors down from a middle aged couple, Ellen and John. One fine day, my three-year-old sister happened to run down the hallway and randomly bang on Ellen and John’s door. The two were delighted with their guest and offered her cookies, so she became hooked and kept returning for snacks and further mischief. Our families got to know each other well and always kept in touch, even after we moved. In Indian culture, as a sign of respect, anyone who is your elder is addressed as Aunty or Uncle—so Ellen and John became Aunty Ellen and Uncle John, and were part of the family.
As the years moved on, Uncle John passed away, but Aunty Ellen was a constant. Every couple of months my sister and I would visit her and arrive bearing crab cakes and warm, buttery blueberry scones. We’d stay to chat, try on her shoes, and plod away on her old fashioned typewriter. For her part, she was the grandmother that we had always wanted. Aunty Ellen acted like the smallest things my sister and I did were the greatest achievements in the world, showering us in praise and “oh, God love ya’s” in her quintessential Boston accent. Even when she moved to California, Aunty Ellen loved Massachusetts with her whole heart. On phone calls she would ask about the weather and how the Red Sox were doing. We would send her the good clam chowder and tell her about the exciting things we were up to, news which she would then relay to her friends as if they were stories about her own grandchildren.
Fortunately, Aunty Ellen lived into her mid-90s, so she truly had a full life. My family received the news of her passing a few months after the fact, so our sorrow was both fresh and faded; thankfully, we were all able to attend the funeral service. By chance, the Mass was at the same church where I had been baptized as an infant, which added a surreal sense of continuity to the whole thing. Stories were shared about Aunty Ellen, her excellent cooking, her capacity to welcome the stranger as guest, and her sustained Catholic faith. I pondered all of these during the eulogy and the homily, still sad to no longer have the physical presence of someone so wonderful. However, as I partook in Communion and continued to ponder in my post-Communion prayer, it dawned on me that this was the same reality in which Aunty Ellen was participating in Heaven. That surprising realization brought me an abiding sense of peace, as I suddenly felt much closer to her than I had before.
Communion comes from the Greek word koinonia, which can mean fellowship, community, and joint participation, but I think this last definition is the most illuminating. The Catechism teaches that the Eucharist is the “source and summit” of our faith, and this thanksgiving meal gathers the community of faith around one table. Of course, where two or three are gathered in the name of Christ, God is present. Since that moment, I see the Eucharist as the Body of Christ in both a literal, transubstantiated way but also the way in which the Church itself constitutes the Body of Christ, whose connectedness to those on earth and in heaven is strengthened through joint participation in Communion.
Noella D’Souza is a senior studying Chemistry with a minor in Medical Humanities. She’s is deeply devoted to BC Full Swing, Hillside Oatmeal Raisin Cookies, puns, and the Oxford Comma, in that order.
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You are an exceptional young woman.
Noella – Your piece titled “In Communion With Heaven” is profoundly moving in particular with respect to your remembrances of Aunt Ellen. Thank you.
I had the pleasure of sitting with you and your family at the reception following Aunt Ellen’s memorial service. Your family literally glowed with kindness, and a quiet wisdom. It will be persons like you and your folks who inspire the rest of us to keep swimming, and to keep our heads above water in what appears to be a sea of institutional moral decay. I wish you, and your the very best in life. Sincerely, B. Green