Wheels Within Wheels by Dervla Murphy

involve actually absorbing into one’s own body the flesh and blood of God himself. Confession and Communion go together – it is sacrilegious to receive Communion with a mortal sin on one’s soul – and the preparations for the two ceremonies are designed to make an ineradicable impression on young minds.
    The impression they made on mine seemed at the time comparatively slight though later events were to prove its force. I never doubted what I was being taught and I took the whole thing seriously enough to get ninety marks out of a hundred in the preparatory religious doctrine examination. Yet I just could not feel the emotions presented as appropriate when one is soon to receive Holy Communion. Perhaps my rationality was affronted by the doctrine of Transubstantiation – which provided my parents with one of their favourite theological bones – and as the weeks passed I became more and more aware of the inadequacies of my spirituality.
    I was also troubled by a desire to ask inconvenient questions. The atmosphere at school naturally precluded these and I hesitated to ask my mother lest such irreverent wondering might upset her. I therefore continued to speculate secretly, feeling increasingly guilty, until it seemed to me that my impulse to ask such questions could only lead to my being flung into Hell’s hottest fires to writhe in torment throughout eternity.
    Clearly the time had come to consult my mother, whatever her reactions, and on the eve of my First Confession I asked the most worrying question of all: what happened to the Sacred Host when one swallowed it? Did it continue to be God’s body? If so, was it not grossly disrespectful to subject it to the routine processes of the human digestive system? And if it did not continue to be God’s body, at what stage did it revert to being the piece of unleavened bread it was before the priest changed its nature at the Consecration of the Mass? (Not for nothing had I been exposed since birth to theological debate.) I was immensely relieved when my mother, instead of being upset by all this, looked positively pleased. But in reply to my question she only said that God, as the inventor of the human digestive system, could have no objection tobeing involved in its everyday workings. She added that many books, which I could study when I was older, had been written on this doctrine. Her reaction soothed my fears about hell-fire yet her actual answer did not satisfy me. I never doubted the Host’s being God and I was made deeply uneasy by the essential irreverence involved in eating him. If I lacked the kind of superstitious awe my teachers were trying to inculcate, I did not lack reverence – described by Alexander Skutch as ‘the chief of the religious emotions’. An instinctive reverence is, I believe, a part of every child’s nature. But it needs to be carefully cultivated and this is why I have never regretted my Catholic upbringing; for all its peculiarities it encouraged my natural reverence to grow into something capable of surviving without the protective netting of formal religion.
    Despite the build-up, my recollections of First Holy Communion Day are hazy. I chiefly remember acquiring an unprecedented amount of money, through sixpenny and shilling tips from the neighbours, and feeling very important and adult and conscious of having begun an entirely new phase in my life. The Roman Catholic Church is often accused of retarding the mental and moral development of its members – and so it does, in many cases. But the First Confession/First Holy Communion initiation rite, with its emphasis on the seven-year-old as a responsible person, probably hastens, at this stage, the maturing process. Or at least can hasten it, if those in charge of religious instruction are not themselves superstition-sodden autocrats.
    Being mainly dependent on my parents for such instruction, I soon became familiar with the neat logic that underpins Catholic moral theology. To