The Liturgy of the Word

When I was a child, we attended mass every Sunday, arriving early so that my mother could prepare for the scripture readings. Always as we entered, the colors and smells of the church would overwhelm me: the white altar, the golden tabernacle, the heady odor of incense and of the wine that I was not yet allowed to take — more than a metaphor, the real blood of Christ. But then we would sit and my legs would itch, and I would wonder why anyone…