Nativity Catholic Church
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A Catch in Your Throat Over the years, as I have experienced new readers of the Word of God readying themselves to step up into the ambo in their first few opportunities for proclamation, I easily sense the nervousness, the desire to enunciate well, and I can almost see that classic “lump” beginning to form in their throats as they pace about in the sacristy. I know that “lump” well, as I recall my own first time proclaiming sacred scripture at Sunday Mass in my home parish. Having just completed the 8th grade, anxious to head off to the high school seminary in the fall, I begged my way into being a reader. I was humbled, excited, honored and freakishly nervous before the liturgical entourage processed down the aisle (actually, the butterflies broke loose the moment I heard the cantor announce my name as one of the readers for the Mass), and I could feel what seemed like a small balloon inflating in my chest. As the procession neared the altar, the balloon seemed to deflate, but as the assembly was seated for the first reading, and I approached the ambo, the crazy thing re-inflated in an instant, and inconveniently made its way right to the middle of my throat! All I kept thinking was…dear Lord, please leave enough room for the words to squeeze through this tight little passage and out what once was my big mouth! As I stood in the ambo, surveying the crowd (which included beaming family members), I took that deep pause readers are instructed to take—not so much because I was dutifully following those instructions, but because I was now rendered incapable of forming actual words. That crazy thing in my throat had taken over! However, at some point, which I’m sure was only a second or two later, my mouth opened and sacred words did flow. The balloon was gone…but my heart was pounding like a jackhammer. Carolyn Foster, who offers writing exercises and coaching tips on line [CreativeChoices.net] tendered a journaling “prompt” back in March that I have been mulling over ever since. She calls it that catch in your throat, and describes it this way: you’re talking along and suddenly an upwelling of feeling surprises you. Know that feeling? Foster says that in these experiences we are vulnerably revealed when we must pause for a moment or talk through thick emotion. Sometimes these experiences are readily recognizable to those around us. No matter how hard we may try to disguise them, they sneak through the veil. At other times, we handle the vulnerability and give evidence that we are doing little more than recovering from a distraction. Whether anyone notices or not, the common factor seems to be that these “upwellings” catch us by surprise, but in the midst of them, we don’t have the time to analyze from where they have sprung. We simply breathe deeply, regroup, and move on. Unfortunately, we rarely take the time at some later juncture to revisit the source of that catch in our throat, and therefore, miss the opportunity to touch something sacred and deep within our souls. Someone once wrote that if we do not listen to the voice of our deepest self, that God-driven soul-place within each of us, our souls will get violent and eventually make lots of noise to get our attention! I have these kinds of surprise moments on a fairly regular basis: while immersing a beautiful, innocent infant in the waters of the font at baptism; sometimes in the middle of a homily, especially when gazing into the sad, lost eyes of those mourning the death of a loved one during a funeral liturgy; sometimes while proclaiming a scripture passage, or wishing a child congratulations at his or her First Holy Communion; sometimes while talking about my grandmother Emma or some dear priest friends and mentors who have died. Sometimes, in the middle of repeating words which I have uttered countless times in 22 years as a priest while standing at the altar, that sneaky little catch in my throat surprises me with its overpowering touch of grace. I’ve witnessed these kinds of surprise moments in others, too: as parents take a deep breath when their child says “Amen” to the Eucharist for the first time; when a newly baptized adult rises from the font at the Easter Vigil; when a grandfather opens his wallet for yet another showing of baby pictures; when someone says goodbye to a soon to depart friend; when a generous compliment is shared about someone’s goodness, beauty, or love. I must admit, I’m not always very good about revisiting my own “catch in the throat” moments after the fact and savoring the warmth of the Holy Spirit that God seems to provide in these experiences, but I am trying to be more conscious and grateful for them. These little throat catches may knock us off mark for a second or two; people may wonder why we get “choked up”; we may even be embarrassed that we’ve exposed some emotions to others that we would rather have kept secret—but these little “upwellings” are simply gifts of grace from a God who loves surprises—a God who loves to stick them right in the middle of our throats!
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