Holy Joe....

First Holy Communion fever has hit our boy’s school. And I’m not talking about the kids getting all hyped up about being on first name terms with the big man up above. No, the little dudes are more concerned about how much cash will change hands on the day and the little ladies are all about who’s got the biggest and best dress.
I’ve been watching My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding over the past number of weeks with interest, particularly the traditions followed during First Communion celebrations. And while most of England are up in arms about 7-year-olds from the travelling community wearing Holy Communion dresses that are twice their body weight and getting spray tans before the big day, I’m thinking, judging by the mumpetition at the school gates around these parts, get a Channel Four documentary camera crew over here STAT, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
There are mothers getting dresses shipped all the way from America for their little darlings, mums spending up to £1,000 for a truly impractical white frock which their girl will never get another single wear out of and mums cutting back on grocery shopping to save for princess tiaras. There are limos, dinners in fancy restaurants and function rooms being booked en mass. There are special trips to various cities to purchase mother of the holy child outfits, entire families getting kitted out in designer gear, Christmas day style presents being bought, hairdressers being flown in from Dublin. There was even a rumour of a LED-style dress with accompanying fire extinguisher-wielding assistant, but that is, as yet, unconfirmed.
Maybe it’s because I’m not buying the big flouncy white dress and tiara this year – white isn’t really Daniel’s colour – but I’m not really feeling all the hype.
I have been learning a lot about God and religion with Daniel this past few months and for that I’m grateful. It has been a learning curve for us both. I may not have listened too well in religion during my school years but I suppose through my son I’ve learned everything I needed to know about the big man but was afraid to ask. I have often felt the urge to stand up during Sunday mass and request an explanation – and recipe – for that whole water/wine thing and the logistics of how Moses parted the sea. Also it’s good that my own extensive religious training (standing outside mass smoking and chatting to boys) allows me to answer all his profound ecumenical questions – like why did Jesus commit suicide and why God invented blue bottles, like what purpose do they serve?
My own memories of my First Holy Communion are happy enough ones. My mother and father, in true Breslin fashion, got the time wrong for the mass. We arrived at the chapel – me in all my finery – as my classmates were filing out to go home.
As I stood in the car park actually balling in terror – assuming that because I didn’t receive Communion in my allocated time Beelzebub himself was about to appear and drag me off to the fiery depths of hell for eternal damnation – my mother arranged for me to attend another ceremony up the road, thus saving all our souls.
After the mass we did the rounds of the rich relatives and made a right few quid, which my mother kept safe for me. I must ask her for it back actually, I’d say there should be a fair few pounds interest on it after 20-odd years.
But the thing I remember most about it is the rosary beads my Grandmother gave me. They were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen – pearly white beads with silver links and an ornate silver cross. I still have them in a drawer at home.
As with all things these days – Christmas, Easter, everything – commercialism has blinded us to the real meaning behind the celebration. Christmas equals Santa, Easter means chocolate. Holy Communion seemingly means getting all dolled up for the day and hitting the most expensive restaurant in town.
First Communion is one of the most sacred and solemn occasions in a Catholic’s life, and indeed calls for great celebration. I don’t know if there’s a mention in the big book of rules about spending shed loads of money and booking limos in a recession to do that, though. Maybe I missed a chapter.
Me, I’ll buy my son a nice suit, take everyone to the church (on time) and have a big gathering of our nearest and dearest back at our house. Bring your wallets folks!