As I walk home from work
on a rainy, grey October evening,
a whiff of chips from a passer-by
triggers a memory
from once upon a time
when I was a teenager
and I went to Benediction
for the first ever time.

I was on a personal quest for God
spurred on by one thing only –
fear.

Two girls in my class at school
were coming to class each day
holding pupils spellbound
by predictions made the night before
on a Ouija board.
I listened to these tales, fascinated
and frightened.

I had seen how scared
my two big brothers had been
when they had gone to see The Exorcist
as soon as they had turned 18.
School tales of a Ouija board
made Evil feel uncomfortably close.
I was disturbed.

Fear drove me
to walk with my sister, Brenda,
to our chapel at Carnhill
on a dark, winter’s evening
on a Saturday.

In the chapel, I found silence, peace
and reverence.
People paused to bow
and to kneel down on both knees
before entering their seats.
Even the priest seemed to be unworthy
to touch the Blessed Sacrament.
I watched, fascinated,
as the sacristan draped a cape
around the priest’s shoulders.
The priest then wrapped the ends of this cape
around his hands.

Only then, with his hands shielded,
did the priest use his hands
to raise the monstrance
and bless all of us
with the Blessed Sacrament.

In that evening’s Benediction
I sensed the immensity and power
of My God.
I felt a conviction
that My God was powerful enough
to protect me from Evil
and I felt reassured.

On our way home,
Brenda and I called into the chip shop and,
with a pound note that our Daddy had given us,
bought two bags of chips
and a bottle of Ice Cream Soda
to share with our Daddy
when we got home.

That night a tradition began
of Benediction and chips in our house
on a Saturday night.

Whoever would have thought
that Benediction and chips
would be such a perfect combination?

© Claire Murray, 21st October 2013