(warning: yet another bodily function post!)

For many years in the U.S., American Catholic kids who attended public schools often turned to their parishes to provide religious education, usually referred to (sometimes incorrectly) as "CCD." My daughter attended religion classes at my parish for two years, beginning in kindergarden. She always seemed to enjoy it, as the classroom learning was supplemented with kid-friendly crafts, games, and songs. I always made sure she did her homework which never raised any objections from her.

This year, my parish made a radical change in "faith formation" education by eliminating all grade-level religion classes. Instead, the education model is "Intergenerational Chatechesis" - or basically all-ages learning sessions.

Without getting into a discussion of my feelings (or that of my peers and our children) about the new programming, I merely wish to introduce this notion, as it impacts the rest of the story.

The format of the once-per-month sessions is that the families (a group numbering around 200 people per session) gather together prior to the "learning" portion of the session to "share a meal." The meal is provided for us, although we never know what type of food we are going to get. On the whole, most of the food has been pretty good. But, with my kooky, unpredictable g.i. tract, eating and then being expected to engage in activites in a large group for another 2.5 hours is nervewracking.

The meal portion is "required" for attendees, and since we are attending immediately following Mass, we are all usually quite hungry (as we are expected to fast at least one hour prior to Mass.)

I was exceptionally hungry tonight. And of course, they fed us hot dogs, Italian beef sandwiches, chips and sodas.

Despite the tastiness of these Chicago-style delicacies, there is one MAJOR problem with this sort of meal combo: it REALLY give you GAS!! If the hot dog or beef sandwich (with "sport peppers" and pickled veggies known as gardiniera) doesn't repeat on you continually, then the soda you washed it down with will surely get the burps a-poppin'!

Instead of our typical post-meal learning session in the classrooms, tonight the planners organized a liturgy of reflection on the topics we have studied thus far. So that meant we were to sit (and stand, and sit and stand - we are Catholics - we do the pew olympics every week!) for an hour and a half. All the while that hot dog, diet pepsi and beef sandwich (I told you I was hungry!) was churning away in my guts, fermenting into some sort of witches brew in my duodenum. At one point, thankfully while sitting, I felt the first wave of gurgles make their way lower down the tract and *whoops!*

I had to clench it in as casually as I could. I was sandwiched between two people in the pew so I could not exit quietly and wait out the prayer session in the safety of the ladies' room. My daughter was sitting with my friend's son a few rows ahead. I turned to my friend and whispered, "Oh no, that dinner is giving me gas!"

She rejoined, "Ugh, me too!"

And with that we both began clutching our guts, in what would be a futile attempt to calm the inner workings of our church-bound bodies. The true test of my butt-stifling arrived when we were forced to stand and sing a hymn - not just one but all three verses!

Finally the service ended, I gathered up my daughter and our coats and we beelined to the car. As I hustled my daughter out the door, I shared, "Oh man, we have to hurry, I have such bad gas and had to hold it in the whole time we were in church!"

"Mom, me too! I had to hold in farts at least two times," she countered.

Finally getting into the car, the seatbelts clicked, doors locked, I heard the mightiest chain of windbreaking eminating from my little gal in the backseat!  A few blocks down the road, the spirit moved me - or at least the spirit of processed meats! - and I let go of those "tensions" that were causing me so much worry moments earlier.

The closing hymn used in the service had the following lyrics:

"I send you out, on a mission of love
I send you out, on a mission of love,
I send you out, on a mission of love,
and know that I am with you always,
until the end of the world."

My progeny and I, now relieved, began singing it, but with our own altered lyrics:

I send you out, like a blast of hot gas,
I send you out, like a blast of hot gas,
I send you out, like a blast of hot gas,
and know that it is really stinky,
'cause it came out of my ass!