As the saccharine sweetness of "On Eagle's Wings" washed over my craggy soul, the nearly half dozen altar girls and the three other women on-stage were aided in their mastery over the two young boys on-stage when geriatric woman after geriatric woman stalked out onto the stage for Communion, in their floral sweaters and coiffed hair.
"Hair we go," I moaned to myself. Out those ever-ordinary extraordinary ministresses trotted with the Host, to the back of the Church, in order to facilitate the groping masses.
Communion on the tongue? Have at ye! I'll take it from here! I can take matters into my own hand! I can handle it from here!
Have I ever laughed out loud at the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass? No, but I nearly did that night, not so long ago. Could the Church be loping after the Protestants any faster than Her human elements already are? If so, I'd at least like to have the choice of what device I use to gouge out my eyes.
