Evening Service: Traveling with our Gluten-free Pyx

It’s Sunday morning and we just decided to go to the evening contemporary mass. Since our parish does not offer an evening service we are trying to decide whether to go to Lady of the Lake or St. Ignatius. One is a contemplative service (which mom is voting for) and the other is a Life Teen mass (which Nate and Emily vote for).

I think I am out numbered.

We’ve come a long way. Years ago, when Nate was first receiving Eucharist, his low-gluten wafer was unique. Popping in to a new parish meant showing up early or calling a day in advance to explain the situation. Now, even if we have a visiting priest, we can arrive a quarter of an hour in advance, meet with the priest, and then slip into church for a quiet meditative moment before mass.

How does this conversation usually go? Now that Nate is 12, according to him, 12 years-8 months-and 12 days, we have been encouraging him to initiate the interaction. It still takes a bit of courage, occasional role playing, and then a “you-can-do-this” speech.

“Hello, Father. My name is Nate. I am gluten intolerant and I have brought my pyx with a low gluten wafer. I was hoping to have it consecrated at mass so I can receive both the body and blood.”

Either one of two things happens at this point, either the priest responds with a story of experience with low-gluten wafers, or the priest queries as he has never experienced this situation. As the years go by, fewer priests are unaware of the low-gluten wafers most of them now want to have an address of where to locate the wafers for other parishioners.

At this point, I usually get the elbow nudge. In a whispered panicked voice, Nate will cry, “MOM!” It’s my turn to step in. It’s a slow process to coach the communicant and educate the presider. As Nate grows in confidence, I am sure he will initiate more of the information when we visit new parishes, as it is now, I want Nate to feel welcome and excited about receiving eucharist.

Our home parish priest has set up a routine with Nate. No matter where we sit, Nate gets into line for Father, and then receives his low-gluten host from our pyx. (Prior to church, we laid the low-gluten wafer loaded pyx on the side table for the alter servers to deliver to the altar at the appointed time.) Quietly, the priest snaps the pyx closed and hands it back to Nate, who then pockets it and proceeds to the line waiting for the cup. This is Nate’s preferred mode of receiving. He feels like no one know he is different. No one singles him out from the rest.

Visiting a local parish when I was called to interpret for a special signed mass for the Deaf community, the priest made a big deal of walking down to Nate, giving him his host before anyone else received. All eyes were on Nate. From the front, looking down into the congregation, I saw Nate sink lower and lower into the pew. His face became a few shades redder, and his eyes darted up to mine with humility. After mass, Nate exclaimed in frustration that he was not old or invalid. He never wanted to receive eucharist that way, ever again.

When visiting a parish that the priest has experience with low-gluten hosts, we usually follow the tradition of this parish. Sometimes this means approaching the priest, receiving a blessing, circling the priest to take the pyx off the altar and proceeding to the cup. Other times, it is a matter of waiting until the very end, and going up as one of the last, so that the priest can step back to the altar and pick up the pyx for Nathan.

For either of our choices tonight, after a brief word with the priest, Nathan will be able to walk with our family, no matter where we sit, and receive Christ in the bread and the wine. It is an amazing blessing. I am thankful that we live in a time that congregations, priests, and a cloistered group of sisters understand the importance for everyone to be welcome to receive the sacrament of the Eucharist.

Bread of Life -- Thanksgiving for the Low-Gluten Wafers

Gluten-free bread has become the bread of our lives. We make it from scratch, we buy it in bulk to put in the freezer, we go out of our way to stores that carry our favorite brands, and somedays we just eat our least favorite brand to satisfy hunger.

The Eucharist is also our Bread of Life. This is an imagery that is so prevalent in our liturgy; it's in our scripture, our prayers, and in our music. Of all the music that we sing, John Foley's One Bread, One Body holds a special imagery for me.

One bread, one body, one Lord of all,

One cup of blessings which we bless.

And we, though many throughout the earth,

We are one body in this one Lord.

(John Foley, Oregon Catholic Press, Breaking Bread,

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EYlJC26-Ch0 )

This great table that we gather around, no matter where we live around the world; no matter what car we drive to arrive at mass, or whether we walk or bike; no matter if we are mothers, sons, fathers, or daughters; no matter if our skin is tan or beige or peach; no matter if we eat a wheat wafer or a low-gluten wafer, we are the body of Christ. We are One body.

What does that One Body look like beyond the table. There are divisions, just look in the fellowship hall; someone forgot to bring the promised gluten-free pasta for the Italian dinner, so Nate and the other celiac parishioners get salad and sauce. Gladys, with her diabetes, skips the desert, or at least only enjoys one forkful. Steve is avoiding the wine, as he has been battling with alcohol and even one glass can become addictive. The Ingalls family is vegetarian, so they bring their own veggie sauce. Baby David is not yet eating solids, so his dinner comes in the liquid form from behind a discrete blanket thrown over mom's shoulder.

Leaving the dinner, each of us goes home to find different foods in our cupboards. For some, it is rice and beans, others enjoy the meat & potatoes, and for another family, the cupboard looks bare until the food bank opens Monday evening. If we were truly One, I wonder if all of us would go to bed content.

It's a circle that we live. When we partake of the Body of Christ, we are to live more fully as the Body of Christ. As we live out that life, those around us are more fully blest, desire to find out our motivation, and seek to find Christ. They in turn, come to the table that gives life. It is simple acts that we model of Christ's that bring us closer and inspire us to return each week and live more holy lives.

Blessed Mother Teresa is quoted as to having said, that we are to find the poorest of the poor in our own communities to serve. We all don't need to leave our homes and travel to India to serve in order to live holy lives. The Body of Christ is around the world and in our own towns, and in our own parishes.

For our family this week, we will pack a bag for the food bank; packing it to provide for those that are the poorest in our own community. We will try to think of various members of the body of Christ and choose foods to support them; a bag of rice, a box of gluten-free cereal, potatoes from the garden, and something for babies that are just starting to eat.

It's bread that brings us life and energy to live. It's the Bread of Life that brings the Catholic Christian community together each week at the altar. It's the Bread of Life that moves within us to live in the example of Christ.

Each week, Nate is able to walk forward, reach out his heart to ask Jesus to lead his life, and receive in out stretched hands the body of Christ.

I am so thankful that we have low-gluten wafers that allows even more Catholics to gather around the altar. In one more way, we are all a part of the Body of Christ.

Where are the Pink-Frosted-Rainbow-Sprinkle-Donuts?

The Sunday following Nate's Celiac diagnosis, I realized we were going to need a new routine to our Sunday mornings. In the past, we would show up for choir rehearsal with Papa, and walk the gardens around St. Ignatius. An hour later we would head in for Mass, leave mid way for Children's Liturgy of the Word (C.L.O.W.), return to Mass, and then afterwards head over for the pink-frosted-rainbow-sprinkled-donut. Rick, my husband and Nate's papa, would take time packing up after choir and track us down in the community center amidst all of the other sugar high youth bouncing between the tables.

How do you tell, at three years of age, that what was the post-mass highlight was no longer in the diet? We were still trying to get across the "yucky-wheat" story and making connections to how his tummy felt sick and would soon feel better. Sitting in the community center amongst the gluten laden feast with no options was the equivalent to rubbing salt into a wound. For myself, personally, I loved the apple fritters, but I could do with out, and preferred to survive the morning minus the all-out temper-tantrum and hundred averted eyes that I predicted would occur if we could only look at pink-frosted-rainbow-sprinkle donuts.

About three years later, Nate suddenly asked about the pink-frosted-rainbow-sprinkle donuts, "What ever happened to them?". I had so successfully changed our family routine, Nate had forgotten the experience of the community room and donut feast. Our first couple weeks, we "remembered" an extra special treat that we had packed in the car. One week, having forgotten to get a special treat, we made a rare trip to the store on a Sunday. (I have a long standing tradition, since college days, of not shopping on Sundays in the hopes that my avoidance would allow others a day of rest.) There in the natural food section, we chose between dry cracker cookies and rice cakes with tamari flavoring. Not much of a "treat," but at least we were distracted.

Those early days were hard. My community of support was sitting on the long cafeteria benches often talking of the three "P's"; parenting, prayer, and pregnancies. I longed to join my friends and catch up on menu ideas, park trips, and how to live through the preschool years. My needs for community were as lean as my gluten-free dinner menu ideas.

Whether it was from sheer will or exhaustion, I had no tears to shed, yet I was quite sensitive to eating gluten items in front of Nate, or taking him to activities that were based around gluten food item. In those preschool years, I could not find any local sources for gluten-free donuts and just gave up the search. Fast forward to Nate's inquiry for the disappearing donuts, and I turned to the newly expanding internet to check out more national resources for donuts.

Typing a Google search, "gluten-free donuts," up popped Kinnikinnick. (www.kinnikinnick.com/) Double click on the website, and there appeared a Canadian gluten-free bread factory that featured six different varieties of donuts; maple frosted, chocolate glaze, vanilla glaze, plain, cinnamon sugar, an chocolate frosted. No pink-frosted-rainbow-sprinkle-donuts, but more gluten-free choices than I imagined possible.

But would these taste like sawdust? I ended up ordering one of each, plus bagels and pizza crusts. At this point, Nate was wanting to go to Coffee and Donuts because his Cub Scout buddies were all climbing on the chair racks and chasing each other around the hall. This sounded like the epitome of boyhood fun. The donuts arrived and we feasted. We opened all of them up, tasted each variety, declared them all good, and decided the cinnamon sugar were GREAT! Together we re-packaged the donuts into individual zip-lock baggies and froze them for the coming Sunday and succeeding weekends.

Flash-forward to Sunday, mass was complete, Nate came running up to ask if he could run with the other boys, AND could he take his donut to eat with his best friend Sebastian? It's one of those moments that I snapped with my magical memory camera . With all the hard heartache of what seemed to be constantly saying "no," this time I was able to offer a yes. Nate's beaming face, bright cheerful eyes, and appreciative grin are etched in my mind forever. Gone were the toddler-tantrums, he now understood about Celiac and being gluten-free.

Nate would have gladly gone to donuts and had nothing while playing tag around the benches, yet the socialization amongst our church friends was so much more enriched by a simple sugar donut.