I Was Nobody

When I was around 14 years old, I fell in love with a priest.

Father Don wore jelly bands on his wrists and Vans under his robes. His hair was spiked in the front, longer in back. Every other Friday night, he deejayed a youth group dance, which grew to legendary renown in the area. Kids and young adults flocked to the old white barn on the side of the rectory for a night of 80's angst and disco lights. A priest who deejayed was swoon-worthy for young and old alike. However, it is in Father Don that I first saw beyond body and personality to recognize Love Itself.

The priest was soft spoken, smiled often and wept over his flock. His homilies were fresh baked bread broken for the starving. His favor fell on none in particular – his arms opened large enough to embrace all.

Going up for Communion felt like going on a first a date. Slow step by slow step, I would approach the altar, my anticipation exacerbating a full-body nervousness. His hands held the host in front of my lips as his holy whisper melted the flimsy veil between a child's world and God's: Jessica, the body of Christ.

It some ways it was a confusing time. Never before had I imagined heaven on earth and yet, this portal – this flesh and blood man – stripped away everything I saw with my eyes and thought with my mind. In his presence, I knew where I was; I knew who I was.

When Father Don left the Catholic church altogether shortly into his post to our tiny parish, I left too. On his last day, he sobbed as he administered the Eucharist to each of us with a hug and a blessing. When he held me, I was Nobody.

This embrace left me with the ability to feel and see Christ, the true living Love, in those who carry it like a hot orb, close to the surface of existence. I have felt this one other time since then, and like before, in that moment, I died the true death and rose again.