Fuzzy Theology

When we last left our heroes, they were flying across the country in the belly of a beast heading toward a city neither of them was prepared to enter. Called by divine force (or the friendly voice of their pastor), these two bravely embarked on a journey which would take them to the heart of Sin City.

Ok, but seriously, I could never have dreamed in a million years that my Catholic faith would lead me to the streets of Las Vegas, Nevada. (To find out more about how I’d found myself heading to Vegas, click here!) It wasn’t a city on my go-to destinations bucket list, and it wasn’t a city I was very interested in. Like the prophet Jonah, I was having some doubts about answering this specific call.

But answer it, we did, boarding the plane in Florida and flying across the country to Las Vegas.

As we landed, the sounds of slot machines started ringing in our ears and those bells, those whistles, those arcade-style sound effects would continue playing in our heads until long after we’d left the city behind.

Culture shock didn’t even begin to describe it as we stepped from the airport and into an awaiting taxi cab. We’d arrived late in the evening, but the city was still wide awake and filled with gleaming lights, frantically flashing billboards, and a steady stream of headlights, of which we joined the line. Our cab driver tried to make conversation with us, telling us which places had the best steaks, best wings, and the best shows.

Looking back on our chat, I probably misunderstood much of what he said – and that was probably for the best.

Checking into our hotel/casino was an experience and not one I can safely share here – maybe one day. But soon, my friend and I were dragging our suitcases through the heavily carpeted hallways and into the elevator – all of which was wrapped in shining, silver metal.

And as I reached out a finger to press the button for our floor, a static electric charge so large its spark lit up the elevator leapt from my finger to the button. My finger went numb, and a I let out a yelp.

Note to self: super dry desert air plus industrial strength velvety carpet multiplied by ALL. THE. CHROME. Equals the worst case of static shock ever.

I wish I could tell you that was the last time I zapped myself, but it was as if the city itself was punishing me for being there.

It was a VERY long week.

Our room was simple and small with questionably washed bedding, but was far enough away from the casino floor that the noise of the machines downstairs didn’t find their way up to us. Perhaps in this small, quiet room we could find peace from the chaos below us.

We opened the window to take a look at the Las Vegas Strip at night, hoping for a view of beauty – and yes even Las Vegas can be beautiful. But instead, we’d found ourselves on the back side of the hotel with a view of the parking lot, perhaps some mountains in the distance…

And the most gigantic billboard, lit up and flashing in an array of bold and glaring colors, blocking ninety percent of it.

With an ad for a show I can’t repeat here.

Remind me again why I was in Last Vegas?

Unanimously, we made the decision to keep the curtain closed for the remainder of our trip.

The following morning found us making our way downstairs toward the conference center below the main floor of the casino for Daily Mass. Once again the noise of slot machines traveled with us, their distracting lights and sounds hard to tune out as we tried to tune our hearts in to hearing the Word of God.

If I thought I was distracted sometimes during normal Sunday Masses, this took the distraction to a new level.

We dragged ourselves into the smaller room they’d designated as the chapel. Moveable walls separated us from the rest of the casino and the other conferences, their sounds leaking through the panels as if they weren’t even there.

We exhaustedly dropped into the red velvet chairs and once again questioned why we’d woken up so early after getting in so late. Why we’d traveled here.

And what we could possibly get out of a conference in Sin City.

If it wasn’t for Christ and the gift of the Eucharist, I would not be here.

I wish I could tell you about the message I heard during the Mass. I wish I could tell you about the priest who spoke. But the honest truth is, the distractions of sound and lights and rowdy people walking by were what took my full attention. And even at the earliest of morning hours, the casino was alive and moving – unlike the dazed and drowsy congregation in the makeshift chapel.

That is until it came time to receive Communion.

We shuffled like a horde of zombies up the center aisle to the front of the room and toward the most sour-faced nun I have ever seen. She held the ciborium reverently in her hands, but with each passing person, her face twisted into a deeper and deeper grimace. It was as if the very act of giving Communion, Jesus’ very body, was physically painful to her.

Was she having a Jonah and the Whale moment too?

Were we like the people of Ninevah to her or was it the city in general? Or was it the fact that we were holding Mass beneath the casino floor where the cheers of gamblers could be heard over the prayers and intentions we offered?

My heart reached out to hers. Had she – like us – been called/commissioned to embark on a journey and minister at a conference in the middle of a city known reveling in the Seven Deadly Sins? And as I approached her, I poured all of my compassion into my eyes, hoping she could see I empathized with her. In that moment.

Under the casino.

With the Body of Christ between us.

But she never looked at me as she raised the host between us. Her teeth ground together as she whispered, “The Body of Christ,” in a voice that spoke of her pain.

I bowed, cupped my hands to form a throne, and prepared to accept the gift of Christ’s own self.

And that’s when I felt it.

POP!

A static electric snap leapt from her fingers to my waiting palms, it’s force so great it was a minor miracle it didn’t set fire to the host she placed in my hands. Pain jolted through my arms and it took everything in me to hold still in reverence.

But at last I understood.

The zombie-walking congregation plus the heavily carpeted floor in the basement of the casino multiplied by the dry desert air… meant this poor nun was getting zapped.

Repeatedly.

One after another.

For EVERY. SINGLE. PERSON.

I can still hear her voice gritting out the words, “The Body of Christ,” as she prepared herself each time for a spark.

It was physically painful for her to give the gift of Christ, but it had nothing to do with her and everything to do with how we, as a people, approached her and approached Communion.

We dragged our feet and shuffled along all the while letting our bodies build up this invisible charge within us. Much like how we wander through our days with the choices we make and the actions we perform. And upon approaching the Blessed Sacrament, upon receiving the gift of God’s only Son, in that moment, we are made whole again.

Pop!

All that negative energy is released and we can once again be at peace in union with Christ.

Now, this charge doesn’t usually happen in the form of a static electric pop, and it usually doesn’t come at the cost of a poor nun’s physical safety, but it is a miracle we experience every time we are able to take part in Holy Communion.

It is a gift to empty ourselves and allow our souls to be filled with Christ’s redeeming light. It is through the grace and forgiveness of the Sacrament of Reconciliation that we prepare ourselves for Christ’s own self.

“One Holy Communion well made is quite enough to make us perfect saints.”

Saint Francis de Sales

And from that experience, we learn and hopefully our feet don’t shuffle so slowly and our bodies don’t build up such a negative charge.

I’m happy to report that we did learn as a congregation to empty ourselves of electric static shock before reaching for the gift of Christ. It helped that every chair was also wrapped in chrome. A quick tap of the elbow to release the spark before we accepted Communion saved our poor nun’s hands for the rest of the week.

And I can tell you truthfully, I have never had such a shocking Eucharistic experience as that week in Vegas.

Thank you for joining me for this second episode of Catholics in Vegas! I would love to connect with you. Drop a comment below or follow me on Twitter (X) @FuzzyTheology.

You are in my prayers!