In Remembrance of Me

You guys, I’m sorry, but I’m obsessed with the Eucharist again.

“Oh God,” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “I thought we were over this yearsago. Write about something else, please. Or write about sexting again. Everybody liked that.”

No. We will revisit the Body and Blood of Christ, especially since I have…additional insights.

Also today is the feast day of Frances de Sales, the patron saint of writers, & I’m writing. About Jesus. So there. Logos to your Holy Mother. *crosses arms like an ’80s rapper*

The 15 or so priests who read this blog with tremendous amusement and forehead slapping are anxiously awaiting my additional insights, so I will tell you that they come of being super into bringing all the Eucharist kit up for healing masses or setting it up after any masses at St. Nicholas, and by Eucharist kit I of course mean the chalice assembly, but I always have to come up with a cutesy name for all the things.

Y’all are lucky I don’t call it Jesus Gear.

Anyhow, this fills me with great delight. As literally insane as this might sound to normies, I get a huge kick out of carrying Christ materials about. It used to terrify me, as I was convinced I would trip, but now I’ve learned to balance bottles of holy water & wine with a chalice assembly & a number of other accoutrements, all in one trip. It’s like I bundle all the Jesus in my arms & share him with errbody. It’s fun.

I also think other stuff is fun. Don’t worry too much.

Tonight I was going over the clean up process in my head, over and over, & the reassembly of the Eucharist kit. It’s like wrapping presents. It fills me with unspeakable joy.

Is this even remotely sane? I don’t even know whom one goes to in order to complain about such a thing. “Doctor, Doctor. You’ve got to help me. I keep thinking about the Eucharist.”

It’s not just The Stuff. I love the liturgy around it. I’ve memorized like two versions of it. I get annoyed if the rhythm of it is disturbed. That’s something I have to work on.

I of course enjoy receiving it, as I’ve written many times before. We have a funny little process down at St. Nicholas, where I have my own little bowl of low gluten, though if we want to be super Catholic, I’m apparently supposed to have a little thing of wine that gets poured before the bread goes in. I’m down for that, too. I used to have the very different textured gluten free host at St. Thomas, but I want to do whatever is Correct. And also not destroy my small intestine.

It is not lost on me how unfair it is that I can’t do Communion like a normal person, but I also stopped worrying about things being unfair when I was 13 years old. Life is unfair & stupid. Our job is to be graceful anyway.

Is there any way I can just live in a church all the time and just do church things? Is that being a nun? Should I be a nun?

OMG SHOULD I BE A NUN?!

Since I am not at this time a nun, please buy my very not-a-nun books.

The Small Intestine is Faithless

A little while ago I shared with you my first communion experience at the wonderful & welcoming Saint Thomas the Apostle of Hollywood. To summarize this experience, I took Communion without thinking & didn’t become immediately ill.

I continued to take Communion. I never became immediately ill, ever. I felt like I was the embodiment of perfect faith, or perhaps incredibly lucky.

Then my fibromyalgia seemed to be acting up.

I blamed June gloom, which is a phenomenon in Los Angeles whereby every Beach Boys song becomes a flaming harmonized lie. We start the day, even in the valley, with what in the beach towns is typically a “marine layer”. This sounds like dolphin porn but is actually some meteorological thingy you can Google or whatever. Anyhow, it blankets the whole of SoCal except barometric pressure changes come with it, which every fibromyalgic & migraineur has learned to associate with suicidal ideation inducing pain levels. So I figured it was that.

Then the June gloom stopped, but I was getting worse. I cancelled event after event, plan after plan. People I wanted to see & things I really wanted to do pale in comparison to wishing you were dead because you’re 39 & nothing works properly. You’re having painful spasms everywhere. Your brain stops thinking clearly. Your digestion becomes a kaleidoscope of conflicting complications, all of which are potentially embarrassing. I was conserving all my energy for church & Communion.

Well…the wafers are not gluten free.

I have never been glutened & not had the near immediate urge to teleport to the nearest loo. As this was not happening after Communion, I figured I was fine. My faith in Christ was all like “What up, stupid wheat protein? How you like me now?”

My small intestine was all like “Oh hell no, ho, I ain’t playin’.” Because my small intestine is Wayne Brady & it had to smack a ho the only way it knew how–neuromuscular failure.

I had a very nice chat with our rector on Sunday. He seemed alarmed (in that very gentle Welsh way) that I was essentially tormenting myself & instructed me to chat with the folks in the sacristy before mass & gluten free host will be provided me. “You needn’t worry; it’s already consecrated,” he assured me with a hug.

So.

He didn’t judge my faith nor my intestines, who are jerks. He doesn’t judge the faith of others with celiac or an allergy or autism, either, as the gluten free host is all ready to go. He just wants me to be able to enjoy the sacrament & not make my fibro worse & not get cancer & die. That’s pretty Christ-like.

So anyhow have I said enough times already how much I love St Thomas??

The Body of Christ: Is It In You?

I have avoided Communion every time I’ve had an opportunity to receive it, because I have celiac disease. As anyone with that affliction or even a mild gluten intolerance knows, the slightest bit of wheat will send us running to a bathroom within 20 minutes, & to pain meds & antidepressants within days. It is hard for even those of tremendous faith to get past the fear of crapping themselves dead in church.

A while ago a dear friend of mine (who also happens to be a staunch atheist) questioned the trend in Italy to go to gluten free wafers. “If the wafer becomes the Body of Christ as it passes the lips, why worry about gluten?” I explained the above, that how once you’ve felt gluten tearing up your small intestine & thrusting every last particle of food in your body rapidly toward your descending colon, faith wavers. What if there’s a crumb on your lips that didn’t transform? What if your faith was recently tested and wrung & you kneel at the railing utterly convinced that your bowels will let loose in front of the whole congregation? “What if what if what if” is the enemy of faith &, of course, the mantra of the celiac sufferer.

But I took Communion on Holy Saturday, kinda by accident.

I went up to the railing of my new church with the intent of receiving just a blessing. That’s what I normally do. Christened in the Church of England, I am welcome to take Anglican Communion but, you know, celiac.

When the bishop approached, she had the wafer, & I don’t know what happened. This was the first church I’d been to since I was a small child where I felt the presence of Christ. I opened my mouth, & she gave me the bread. My sister, next to me, shot me a concerned look.

As I shuffled back to my pew, I swallowed & simply said, in my mind, “This is the body of Christ, washed down by the blood of Christ. I’m fine.”

Twenty minutes later, I was still fine.

Two hours later, I was still fine.

The next day, at Easter service, I wept during a moment of silence after the liturgy. Christ’s sacrifice was so great; who am I to begrudge this sacrament? I just about ran up to the rail on Easter, so eager to receive Communion. I had an hour drive out to see my Mum after, & I didn’t care. I wanted that wafer & that wine.

And I never got sick.

On the drive I pondered this. Is my faith in Christ so strong now that gluten has no effect on me? “Don’t be stupid,” said my sceptical mind. “They’re obviously gluten free wafers.” But then I had the thought “Does it matter? I accepted the wafer without question, & either way my faith was rewarded.” And it will continue to be. There is no one on the planet more fired up about Communion than this girl.

As the radio blasted “It’s got to be real” I laughed, car danced to ridiculous disco, & told God I loved Him & my new church. Then “Hot Blooded” came on & I was forced to remember that embarrassing Bones episode.