What Do You Mean, Jesus Doesn't Taste Like Marshmallows?

When I was 8, I had to go to CCD classes at the Catholic Church so I could make my Communion. I was not a fan of this at all, but was however, convinced that the Eucharist, aka “the body of Christ” was a marshmallow. Why else would everyone wait in line to receive it? So I went to the classes, learned all the prayers (which I only pretended to say), confessed made-up sins to the priest…anything to be able to receive the holy marshmallow. One day after class, I saw a stash of wafers in one of the rooms in the church and I couldn’t resist…I shoved one in my mouth, of course expecting it to taste like sweet, sweet marshmallow, alas, it tasted like stale cardboard. I felt cheated, and cursed out loud. It was the same feeling I got when I swallowed that first gulp of the overly hyped, now long defunct Crystal Pepsi. I still had a few weeks left of classes to get through, now knowing that Jesus tasted sad. It also suddenly made sense to me that some of the little old ladies would dip theirs in the wine. Shaking my head silently, I figured they must be trying to jazz it up.

Those last few weeks became pretty much intolerable. I was already the least enthusiastic kid in the class, and now slacked off even more, though I got mildly excited at the thought of starting a revolution with the three other kids at my table. I had always made a point of staying completely quiet and as uninvolved as possible, like I was the sole member of a silent protest. I tried whispering really lame commentary to the other kids while the nun taught us about the 12 disciples. They shushed me and said I’d get them in trouble. So I casually asked them if they believed what we were being told, and if they believed in God at all. They shrugged and rolled their eyes. Still bored, and with no one aiding me in my disruptiveness, I told them my friend said that Jesus was a Jew. Finally, I got a reaction from one girl in the form of a confused look, to which I just said, “Yep,” simply because I didn’t have any further information at that time. I didn’t want to tell them about the wafers either, because I figured they probably already knew what I now knew and I didn’t want to embarrass myself further by saying something like, “I tried the wafer, and it does not at all taste like a marshmallow.” I did not go on to make my Confirmation…shockingly.

I guess sometimes life doesn’t taste like marshmallows when you might expect it to. Shit, sometimes you even wish it at least tasted like cardboard. I may not have appreciated those classes at the time, but twenty-two years later I can honestly say I learned something there about patience and striving to let go of expectations of the unknown…but perhaps Jesus did taste like marshmallows. We’ll never know, so I guess for now he’ll keep making cameos on grilled cheese sandwiches.