“Kiss icon! Kiss icon!” squeals my 2-year-old. She lunges forward and touches her lips to the icon of Mary and Jesus before us in the line for Communion. Other children — and adults — do the same. But my daughter, who practically demands to “kiss icon” on a daily basis, is the only one I notice. I see the joy in her face as she admires the dazzling blues and golds of our small Byzantine Catholic church, see her recognition at the hymns we repeat each Sunday. To my daughter, church is a core part of her life.
Our family is Byzantine Catholic, meaning that we are fully a part of the Catholic Church but worship a bit differently than you would at your typical Roman Catholic parish. We celebrate the Divine Liturgy, an ancient liturgy that is nearly all sung acapella. Our church doesn’t have pews, as we stand for nearly the entire liturgy. Icons, rather than statues, adorn our spaces.
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Something I’ve always loved about the East (meaning the faith of Byzantine Catholics or of Eastern Orthodox Christians) is how deeply sensorial it is. As you enter our church, your eyes take in a mosaic of color, a room filled with icons on nearly every open wallspace and a painted blue ceiling with the Christ Pantocrator, which is a large hand-painted icon of Jesus. Your ears hear how nearly every prayer is sung, both from the priest and the congregants, and even the Sunday readings are chanted. You smell the incense before you walk through the door of the church, and you are often anointed with holy oil at the end of the liturgy or blessed with the touch of the priest’s crucifix.
The most important sensory experience of the Divine Liturgy is, however, the consuming of the Eucharist. Now that we have seen, heard, smelled and touched the elements of our faith, we are invited to partake in eating and drinking the very body and blood of Our Lord. This is the same as in the Mass, but our Communion also looks different. With leavened bread mixed with wine in the chalice, we receive from a spoon — much like a child would as he is learning to take his first bites of solids.
Another tradition of the East is that children begin receiving Communion when they are babies, right after they’re baptized and confirmed. This means that my daughter, who is still a toddler, has been receiving the Eucharist for most of her life already. She is able to fully experience all five senses of the liturgy just as we are.
‘More Jesus!’
While this might seem odd to those who are not used to it (and it did for me at first, too), lately I’ve been able to see the immense fruit that has come from her receiving Communion at such a young age. Once the consecration has taken place and we are coming nearer to the time of Communion, I typically will whisper in her ear that we are about to “eat Jesus.” These are the simple words we’ve found to make sense for her, as she has an understanding of who Jesus is but no idea what the word “Eucharist” means. She knows what I mean by this and peers up at the altar, her fidgeting body calming. As we go up to the front of the church to receive, she opens her mouth wide and takes a “bite,” as she calls it. Then, without fail, she protests: “MORE JESUS!”
Though I explain to her that we only get one “bite” of Jesus today, I can’t help but stop and think about my own reception of the Eucharist every time she says this. When have I ever cried out “MORE JESUS!” after receiving his body and blood? When have I grinned with delight from kissing an icon of Our Lady, or from singing the prayers that I know backward and forward? When have I “become like children” (Mt 18:3) in my own faith, following the lead of the child I hold in my arms?
This outflowing of faith comes so easily to my daughter, as it is woven in the fabric of her daily living. She thanks Jesus for nearly everything she can think of in our nightly prayers (especially for our cat and for cookies, two of her favorite things), and she is often the one reminding me that we need to pray before lunchtime. She says “goodnight Jesus” to the icon of Christ on our icon wall as she goes off to bed. Although this is completely the work of the Holy Spirit in her life, I also believe it is in large part due to the sensory nature of our Byzantine faith.
Touching, hearing and tasting are integral to how she experiences liturgy, which are more readily understood than words when you’re only 2. Her knowledge of Jesus is not just confined to a name or a story, but extends to the icons surrounding her and the Eucharist she takes a “bite” of each week. Her faith is childlike in nature, making me pause and consider how I can become more like a child in my own way.
