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There are two factors which combine to make it impossible for me to accept the Roman Catholic Church's unwillingness to give me communion.
"Christian"
I was born and brought up in Edinburgh. My father was an Anglican and occasionally went to our nearest Scottish Episcopal church, though he usually attended our local parish church with the family. My mother was of solid Presbyterian Church of Scotland stock. She died of cancer when I was ten, and in the five years of illness before her death she always filled out the "Religion" box on her hospital admission form with the word "Christian". At some point she explained to me that the information that was really required was "Catholic" or "Protestant", but that she felt that the only correct answer in her case was the one she always gave. I grew up, I left school, I left Edinburgh. I stopped going to church. Only in my mid-twenties, when I was living and working in the Manchester area, did I find my way back and was confirmed - as a Methodist, the local church in which I felt happiest (I had been round them all and tried them out).
Believers together
Now comes factor number two. In 1981, I went to teach English in Moscow and met my husband, a Roman Catholic. My husband was delighted to meet someone whose life was equally centred on Christ, and through all our discussions, both on our own and with the priest to the American Catholic community whom we consulted at some length, we felt that what we had in common was far more important than anything which divided us. In those Soviet atheist days you were in Russia either a "Believer" or a "Non-believer". Those who dared to admit they were Believers gave each other recognition and support unstintingly. Against this background, as part of a beleaguered Christian community in an atheistic society, I was never refused communion, and it never occurred to me that I should not receive it - the parable of the Prodigal Son had played too important a part in my finding my faith.
We returned to London, started our family, tried alternating between the Church of Scotland 'm Pont Street (there was a creche there!) and our local Roman Catholic church. As I grew more familiar with Catholic ways I realised that I should not be taking communion there without asking the priest. I considered converting, but felt that I would be saying nothing that had not already been said when I was confirmed. I approached our local priest and was firmly put in my place. Luckily, as a "good Presbyterian" I had been taught that individuals do not need to accept uncritically everything that comes from priests. I decided that my relationship with God could easily cope with my being refused communion by one particular priest. As we were about to go on a four-year posting to Germany, it was something I could get over.
Warm and welcoming
In Germany we regularly attended the American Catholic mass. In fear and trembling, I eventually approached the priest and asked permission to receive communion. He was a great burly white-bearded fellow, warm and welcoming. "If it means to you what it means to me ...," he said, and gave me the impression that he wondered why I felt I had to ask.
What now?
Eventually we returned to London. By now one son had made his First Communion (in Germany) and our second son was doing his preparation in our old parish - it is lovely, friendly and local, and has helped us to settle back into London life. The priest is the same, too. He had forgotten that I am not a Roman Catholic. I am back to where I was in 1987, pre-Germany, and I am not sure where to go from here. I want to attend mass with the family. I have absolutely no problems about our three sons being brought up as Catholics - the eldest is now at St Mary's Hall, the Jesuit preparatory school for Stonyhurst to which he will move on in due course, and the other two boys will follow him.
However, I feel very strongly that they must know and understand emotionally and "in their guts" that you do not have to be Roman Catholic to be Christian. It is an historical/geographical accident that I am not a Catholic. My parents and grandparents were not personally involved in the Reformation, they did not personally start out as Catholics and turn away from Rome, and no more did I. I have brothers, sisters and a mother-in-law who are non-Roman Catholic Christians. We are all of us, Catholic and other Christians, "not worthy to receive" - yet, "only say the word, Lord ..."
Why should that prayer, which we say together every time we celebrate mass, only work for Catholics? My nine-year-old son certainly has no deep understanding of what he is receiving, and he is allowed to receive, so why can't I?
Mary Brinkley
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