From that point, all I could think about was if I would get my gloves back. When walking up to the altar to receive, my hands joined piously in little white gloves, a black-gowned nun's arm swooped down across my face from behind and snatched my gloves off. We had to fast from midnight, so I wriggled through Mass with a headache.
This started on my First Communion day, when I was seven. I have been in the line-up in that café for years, but at the far end of the counter, anxious about food poisoning. Following are NCR reader responses to this guest column with letters that have been edited for length and clarity.ĭaryl Rigsby's article gave me a jolt. The real issue is whether we are still feasting at the banquet of Catholic life, said commentator Daryl Grigsby. Some Catholics speak derisively of other Catholics as "cafeteria" believers.
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