When I was in second grade, my classmates and I celebrated our group first Communion at St. Pius X Church in Rodgers Forge. It was a beautiful liturgy, and I should remember more details. But what I recall best was that after that Mass, 40 years ago, each of us received a goldfish swimming around in a plastic bag of water.
I’m not quite sure why we received goldfish as gifts for first Communion, but I couldn’t believe my luck. I had wanted a pet forever, but the answer from my parents had always been no. Now I had one.
I’m sure my parents were equally excited – especially when we somehow ended up with a second fish.
Two goldfish! Life was good. We bought a small fish tank, filled it with water, added the fish and started discussing names. We settled on Frantic Fred, who was a traditional orange goldfish, and Whitey, who was white with a red spot.
The fish didn’t do much except swim in circles, but we were proud of them.
Then, early on, one of them died.
Now, there are different ways to approach the death of a fish. You can acknowledge its passing openly and move on. Or you can do what we did. You can distract your younger siblings for a few hours and secretly hurry to the pet store to replace the deceased and pretend that the fish is still alive.
I can’t tell you how many times we had urgent, hushed conversations in the kitchen before I slipped out the backdoor to run to the pet store and pick a fish resembling the one who had just passed away. The pet store staff patiently helped us as we selected just the right fish.
Back at home, we would place the fish in the tank hoping the little kids wouldn’t notice. For years, we got away with it. Frantic Fred and Whitey allegedly lived long, full lives, although their roles were actually played by a series of several fish.
Eventually, we ended up with heartier goldfish who lived long enough and thrived, growing big enough that we couldn’t replace them when they died. But we filled many years with replacement fish.
When I look back on that time, I wonder why we were so concerned that the younger children would be upset. It could have been a chance for them to learn to accept that life has a natural end on earth. But we naturally try to protect those around us from struggles and challenges. We want their road to be smooth. We know they will face problems, but we want to spare them from difficult experiences when we can.
Sometimes I think that’s how God looks at us, too. He doesn’t switch out our dead goldfish with a live one, but he offers bright spots in the darkest moments. He inspires friends to support us with love when we are struggling. He helps us find reasons to be grateful even when life is heavy and hard. He sends a rainbow after the storm. He reminds us again and again that we are not alone.
In the midst of sorrow, he invites us to lean on him for support and to search for joy.
“Sadness is looking at ourselves,” Blessed Carlo Acutis said. “Happiness is looking toward God.”
Whatever life is bringing you these days, no matter how difficult, I hope you will know and experience God’s presence in your life. May you keep your eyes on him and find happiness in the beautiful moments along the way.
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