A couple of weeks ago, I attended a five-hour retreat with Josh, “my young man,” whom I am sponsoring for Confirmation. It was quite a surprise, and an honor, to be asked to be his sponsor as I had spoken to Josh and his father only in brief encounters after Mass or by happenstance meetings in a grocery store parking lot.
Humiliation All Around
Josh wants to be a highway patrol officer and so he picked their patron saint, Michael, as his Confirmation name. St. Michael is a favorite with me, too, on account of his military aspect and my increasing (especially in this day and age) want of corporeal and spiritual protection.
When we met up at the retreat we were first instructed to get into a large circle and throw a beach-ball around. The beach-ball had questions written on it. When it was your turn to catch it, you had to announce who you were and answer the questions — real burning ones like, “What is your favorite color?” or “What kind of dessert do you like best?”
Josh promptly apologized.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “The confirmation process has been very juvenile.”
“No problem” I said, brushing it off. “It’s just an exercise to break the ice.”
And, indeed, it was. It certainly seemed to work — a camaraderie of humiliation was established all around.
Next, we were taken through a rehearsal of the Confirmation ceremony itself. Everyone paid strict attention because things get a little tricky in our church. During a recent renovation of the worship space, someone had the bright idea of making the aisles wavy like a river of water. Unfortunately, it also causes a train wreck during Holy Communion. So it’s understandable that no one wanted to walk in the wrong direction during Confirmation.
All Webbed Up
The next thing on the agenda was for the confirmandi to color T-shirts. The theme of the workshop was Super Heroes. I should have guessed when I saw a large television set in the sanctuary with a Spider Man tablecloth underneath it. But it seemed to fit: the Holy Spirit — Spider Man — the Holy Spirit. Get it?
“I’m so sorry to put you through this,” Josh apologized.
“Hey, no problem,” I quipped. “We can make this work.” But we were staring down at the T-shirts and color crayon-markers in bewilderment.
Eventually, we came up with an idea. In keeping with Josh’s personal theme and convictions, he managed to draw a respectable flaming sword on the back of his T-shirt — he was way too embarrassed to put it on the front. We had a nice time getting to know each other while he neatly colored in the flames.
Just to make sure we were not getting bored, we were herded back into the church. But first, the young men and women actually had to put on their T-shirts and parade themselves before us sponsors who were, thankfully, spared the ordeal of having to wear or make T-shirts ourselves.
Even though I was cringing for the young people, I enjoyed how each one of them managed to come up with something clever and personal to comment about. I was sorry they said so little before they passed the microphone on to the next person like it was a hot potato, because some of their comments were profound and intriguing; all hinted at what the grown-ups seemed to be afraid to talk about directly: What Confirmation actually means to them.
I was just thinking about how nice it would be to really get to know them when they were told they had to wear those T-shirts for the rest of the evening, and we were all ushered into the next phase of the retreat. I patted Josh on the back encouragingly as we found our seats in the back of the church.
The next event was for the sponsor and the candidate to sit down together and get to know one another by answering a prescribed set of questions. Josh and I were way ahead of the game already on account of the T-shirt activity, but we dutifully went through the exercise and expanded on the original set of questions as we went along. This was actually a very enjoyable part of the evening for both of us.
But, alas, it was cut short as the television was wheeled out in front of the altar and we were forced to watch Spider Man 2. OK, OK, they fast-forwarded through the action scenes so that we could “get” the profound message of the film, which was — well, I’m sure it was there… somewhere.
OK, the movie was over. Thankfully, the sponsors got a break to pray while the candidates read their letters from friends and family. This was really nice.
Some People Have Way Too Much Time on Their Hands
Next, we were given a Spidey trick-or-treat bag because we were going to go on a treasure hunt for the gifts of the Holy Spirit. As we found the stations expounding the gifts of Wisdom, Reverence, Good Counsel, etc., we also got a piece of candy to help us associate and remember what the gifts of the Holy Spirit are. For example: the Eucharist — NECCO candy wafers — the Eucharist. Get it?
Josh and I repeated the gifts, along with their corresponding candies, over and over to each other.
“Wisdom — SMARTIES” said Josh.
“Fortitude and courage — RAZZLES.” I replied.
“Awe of God’s power — UNO!”
As he mentioned “Awe of God’s power,” I vaguely remembered that virtue as “fear of the Lord,” but I won’t quibble here.
By hour five, Josh and I were definitely bonded in forbearance. So it wasn’t all that humiliating to be herded into the kindergarten classroom to make a memento for each other.
We were amply armed with Elmer’s glue, feathers, beads, and glitter to make a card. Josh and I eagerly went our separate ways so that we could surprise each other, only to discover that when we exchanged cards, we had essentially made the same one: a sword with bright orange flames emitting from it.
St. Michael really had his work cut out for him that night, and I think it was a rout after all, as Josh and I hugged and made a date to meet again for the big night — his confirmation into the church as a man and not as a child. Too bad he wasn’t treated like a man.
© Copyright 2006 Catholic Exchange
Janice Smith is a screenwriter living in California. Her Christian-themed horror script, The Hounding, is making the rounds in Hollywood and garnering some promising interest. The story is a terrifying portrait of a man’s soul racing toward hell, and was inspired by Francis Thompson’s poem “The Hound of Heaven.” You can write to her at smitty1249@aol.com.
