EMHC – Catholic Writers Guild

I wish to clarify something right away. I am NOT a Eucharistic Minister. I am an Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion (EMHC). ‘Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion” is the proper term for the people involved in this ministry. The term “Eucharist” is never to be in their title. That term is reserved for the priest alone (see Redemptionis Sacramentum).

I have been involved in many ministries over the years and have been an EMHC for 23 years. For me, nothing can compare to being an EMHC. It is all about Jesus, the person receiving Jesus, and you being the one who has brought them together. It does not get any better than that.

I rarely miss a visit to my homebound friends. As of this writing, I visit nine every Sunday. Five of them are in their nineties. Honestly, it makes my day. Ironically, it makes their day too, (and sometimeS their week) because they hardly see anyone during the week except home health aides and folks like that. All I come with is a smile, a church bulletin, maybe a prayer card and, of course, their BEST FRIEND.

I have a journaling book, and in the back, I have compiled names of people I have brought Holy Communion to over the years. I want to share a bit about a few of these folks with you. These are Catholic people who have lived their Catholic lives to the best of their ability. Many of them were children during the Great Depression and lived through World War II and into the 21^st century — like my friend George B.

George was in the U.S. Navy and stationed in London in 1940 during the Blitzkrieg. He survived that, came home and wound up at Pearl Harbor. He was there on December 7, 1941, when the Japanese attacked. He and a Marine corporal manned a 50-caliber machine gun and shot down two Japanese Zeroes. The two of them then proceeded to pull men out of the burning water near the USS Arizona. After the war, he was in the circus for more than 20 years. George died several years ago at the age of 97. I loved his stories. He was a walking history book, and he would get veryanimated when he was telling you about his adventures. I brought him Communion every Sunday for more than two years. What an honor that was.

There was Anne S. She was 90 and would be dressed to the “T” every Sunday when I arrived. She would ask, “Why does God keep me here, Larry?”

“Anne,” I would say. “He needs Prayer Warriors. That’s what you are, and that’s why you are here. There are many souls in Purgatory. They need your help.”

She would always smile and point to her rosary and her prayer books on the table next to her. She would point to them and say, “Yes, I know. I do keep busy.” Recruiting “prayer warriors” is an important part of what I do. Anne has been gone for five years.

And my little pal, Scotty Walker. He was a St. Jude baby because of a tumor on his brain stem. That was in 1977 when he was only two years old. When he was 25, he was only 4 feet, 4 inches tall. He started his own lawn service when he was about 17. Scotty wore a big straw hat, and his nose would be just above the lawn-mower handle as he pushed it along. At the same time, he was studying for his GED. He worked his tail off until he could not do so any longer. I brought him Communion every Sunday during the last two years of his life. He died in 2002 when he was 27.

I have been blessed to be part of this ministry. Seven people have received their Viaticum from me. It was not planned that way — it just happened. I pray to each of them all the time. I have on my list over 40 people who have passed on, including both my wives (one died in 2003 and the other in 2017).

I would suggest you look into being part of this ministry. You get to leave the church with Jesus in your pocket and then just you and He get to go visiting His homebound or hospitalized people. It is a beautiful thing.

I have been an EMHC (Extraordinary Minister of Holy Communion) for over twenty years. I have had the honor and privilege of bringing Holy Communion to many people in many places: hospitals, nursing homes, hospice centers, assisted living facilities,and, of course, to the homebound. I love being part of this ministry and it has brought me in touch with some amazing people who have lived their Catholic lives quietly, faithfully and without fanfare or notoriety.

Most of those I visit are Elder-Catholics.These are the Catholic faithful who have, throughout their lives, supported their church, been active in various ministries and carried on the faith that was and still is, part of their very being. Some were born into the Faith and it was nurtured in them by their parents and oftentimes by nuns, brothers, priests and Catholic laypersons. They in turn have passed it on to their own children. Some found the faith as adults and converted. (I so admire those people.) And so, as is the way of things, the Church continues.

I would like to share a story about one of these people. His name is John. I have been bringing Holy Communion to John every Sunday for a little more than a year. He is ninety years old, an Army veteran who spent almost thirty years in the Far East and was married for sixty years. His wife, Mary, passed away several years ago. He loved her dearly and misses her greatly. John is not delusional, or suffering from dementia or anything like that. His mind is sharp and clear. Physically, John is deaf (hearing aids help a tiny bit) and wheelchair bound.

When I arrive at his front door, I push the doorbell. I hear a chime; he does not. Inside, several strobe lights begin to flash, notifying him someone is at the door. He is expecting me and the front door is unlocked. I walk in and he gives out a big, “Hey, hey, good morning.”

I more or less holler back, “Hey John, how you doing today?”

He is always wearing a smile. He says, “Well, I’m still here.” We both laugh.

John is facing a dilemma. He picks up the newspaper from a few days before and points to a story. “Have you gotten any feedback on this?” I look at the paper he has opened to an article dealing with the church’s newly revised guidelines on cremation. I shrug and tell him I have not. He says, “I have a problem and maybe you can help me out. I need some guidance.”

I am not “Father Larry” or “Deacon Larry”…I’m just Larry. I immediately feel a bit insecure because I do not like telling folks what they should or should not do when it comes to their personal faith issues. I quietly ask the Holy Spirit to quickly help me out. Then I say, “I’ll try, John. But I may not be able to. I will go to Father Anthony and ask him if necessary.”

Being part of this ministry can have unexpected rewards. God was about to bless me with a glimpse into the hearts of two Catholics, a man and a woman, people of faith who married in the faith and lived it and who shared a love that did not die upon the death of one–rather, it simply continued and still existed. John says to me, “You know, I am upset about this article. It says we Catholics must bury the ashes of loved ones in sacred ground.”

I said, “That isn’t anything new. Some folks are scattering ashes over the Gulf of Mexico or off mountaintops or sharing them among family members. Those kinds of things are not approved of.”

“Look”, he says. “I have Mary’s ashes here with me. I talk to her every day. I’m all alone and I feel she never really left and I get such comfort from that. Do I have to get her over to the cemetery?”

I’m looking at him and tears are filling his eyes. He wants to be a GOOD Catholic man and he loves his wife and wants to be loyal to her. He will give her up if the Church requires it even though the pain he will feel is unimaginable. It did not matter. He would be true to his faith no matter what. I was looking at a man who would have gladly embraced a martyr’s crown if he had been called upon to do so.

I knew that cremated remains are supposed to be kept intact and placed in a proper vessel. Nervously I began to answer but he continued. “I have a spot down at the VA for both of us. I made arrangements with the funeral home and when I pass they are going to take us together down to the VA and bury us next to each other.”

I breathed a sigh of great relief. Casting doubt to the wind, I told him, “John, that is great. She can stay here with you. She is encased in a vessel and is scheduled for burial. You will make the trip to the VA together. Don’t worry about a thing.”

I will never forget the smile that broke out across his face. I’m not sure if I gave him proper “guidance.” No matter; in this case I am sure the Holy Spirit helped me out. I will check with the priest when I see him.

Tag Archive for: EMHC

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