During the SARS outbreak back in 2003, Catholic churches in the greater Toronto area advised their congregants to take communion by hand instead of directly into the mouth. It was a practice most people were doing anyway, but after the edict came down from above in the midst of the SARS pandemonium, pretty much everyone opted to follow the new rule.
Because SARS scared me, I obeyed too, even though I was used to simply popping out my tongue and being served.
We stopped shaking hands at the sign of peace for quite some time too. They were strange times, that frightening Spring of long ago.
Anyway, for some reason I never got back into my old full-serve habit and have been taking communion by hand ever since.
And it's been working out just fine.
On Sunday...*shudder*...on Sunday, in that fraction of a second when you see something that isn't quite right but don't have enough time to react to it, I saw a hair on my host.
And I know it wasn't Jesus'.
With absolute horror, I saw it laying across the top of the host sitting in my upturned palm. "BLOW" was my first thought, but it somehow seemed wrong to dust off the body of Christ before putting it into my mouth. I didn't want to offend. Or cause a scene. Or get Jesus all mad at me.
So I ate it. Hair and all.
I can only assume that it belonged to the Minister of Communion. The good news is that she looked nice and clean, albeit colour processed.
But still, dudes, I ate her hair.
I didn't sign up for this. I totally did NOT sign up for this.