Sunday morning I attended a confirmation ceremony at my niece's church, where the pastor spent her homily time warning the confirmants (my niece being one) that in the years to follow, they would have their faith tested. "People will tell you that you don't need god, that the church can be ignored, that your faith isn't important" she said.
This felt like a homily directed at me, the confirmation sponsor.
Not ten minutes later I stood (with a group of four other sponsors) behind my niece as she received the sacrament of confirmation.
Later in the service I refused communion; I didn't try to make a scene about it, but the woman actually came around to my pew where I waved her away. Because I was raised catholic this always seems like a drastic measure - who dares refuse the body of christ? In his own house? After mass I did have some of christ's cake and punch though.
Later, at my mother's house, I asked if she had any gauze for me knee. She thought for a minute and said "I think there's some left from your dad."
I think there's some weird parallel there - refusing the help of a dead christ but using the leftover gauze from my dead father - a sort of intersection of remembrance, maybe...