The Blood of. . . . a Dangerous Slip? Sober Living in the World of Church

Why am I writing about my adventures with alcohol in the World of Church? Thank my beloved gal pal and sister in Christ, Fran Rossi Szpylczyn. 

Over on Facebook, Fran managed to generate comments on my post about GF Eucharist. Among them a well-meaning suggestion from someone about receiving only from the cup as a work-around to wheat-laced hosts. 

Uh, no.

Offering wine as the only option for Communion screws with people in recovery. Intinction ("what's the harm of a little dipping?") also screws with people in recovery. 

Even if you really truly believe that wine has really and truly substantially turned into the Sacred Precious Blood of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ during the consecration, offering wine Sacred Precious Blood screws with people in recovery, especially those not in recovery long enough to know that even a whiff of blood wine could trigger a slip or full-blown bender. It also screws with those in recovery long enough to know all this.

(Thank me for not going on about church folk who should be in recovery. Legion.)

In the World of Church there's a universal code for "I'm not receiving the cup." It's standing with your arms crossed across your chest. Sometimes the instruction to do this appears in the bulletin or worship booklet; sometimes it's announced by the celebrant. In any event, it's universally recognized across denominations as meaning, "Go ahead and bless me but don't hand me the cup." 

Universally recognized. Except when it isn't. I, of course, have a personal story about this.

At the time I'd already put together well over ten years of continuous recovery. I'd even published a book with Hazelden about Twelve-Step recovery. While there was no way I'd receive from the cup, I wasn't unilaterally opposed to serving from it as a eucharistic minister. 

On mornings when I really didn't need to be smelling wine -- especially the cheap stuff bought in bulk by the parish -- I'd quietly ask the celebrant or deacon to let me distribute the host. A couple of times I turned to the EMOC next to me and say, "Please may we swap?" Never a problem.

So imagine my utter disgust with the 40-something priest who kept offering me the cup. This guy just couldn't or wouldn't get with the program -- pun intended. 

Father Passive Aggressive would offer me the cup even after I reminded him not to. He'd offer it to me even as I stood at the altar with my arms crossed. He'd offer it to me even if I stood, arms crossed, one marble step down from other eucharistic ministers. He kept offering it to me until the bright Sunday morning when I finally hissed through clenched teeth, "Get. That. Thing. Away. From. Me." 

Protestants get this right by offering grape juice as an option, although I don't receive that either, mostly because Crest Whitestrips are pricey.

And yes, I receive Communion at Protestant churches. As someone raised Jewish and baptized, I consider my sacred right and privilege to receive anywhere, everywhere, and anytime  Repeat after me: "We believe in one baptism for the forgiveness of sins....We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic church."

Last but certainly not least, buy my book. I'm sure you know someone in the World of Church who needs to sober up from something. Relative to that, stay tuned for my forthcoming post about binge-watching stuff on Netflix.

The Body of . . .Oops! Gluten Free in the World of Church

If you follow my adventures within and beyond church, you already know I can go from zero to gazillion mph when it comes to discussing gluten-free living.

Secular summation: Why are GF foods so needlessly expensive? 

Sacramental summation: Why is offering GF Communion so freakin' difficult?

I stripped gluten from my diet several years ago. A nutritionist thought doing so would reduce my fibromyalgia pain. I rolled my eyes when she trotted out the suggestion. 

"Isn't gluten free the new bright shiny?"

Celiac disease had recently become the diagnosis du jour and I already knew I didn't have that. She provided links to articles in credible journals. Giving up wheat, rye, and barley seemed easy enough. It was and within 72 hours my pain level had dropped a stunning 80-ish percent. 

I became more careful about eating anything with gluten. It was expensive at first because GF foods, especially those made under certified gluten free manufacturing processes are pricey. That was relatively easy for me to work around because I rock at cooking. 

What's wasn't and still isn't so easy is getting GF Eucharist, especially at Roman Catholic churches. Either GF hosts aren't available or arranging to receive them is brutally cumbersome or actually receiving them can be downright humiliating. 

No joke, I attended a church where those receiving GF Eucharist were told to go to the back of the bus line to wait until everyone else was served. This was allegedly easier . . . for the deacon who also made no attempt to disguise his exasperation with the situation. I no longer attend that church. And yes, I was too weary to lift that aggravation up to the Lord or lay it at the foot of the Cross.

Last year I flat-out gave up. When not receiving Communion became too spiritually painful, I decided to opt for physical pain. Impressively white martyr-ish, eh? Not really. 

Turns out a small piece keeps the fibro pain down to a manageable 2-3 on a scale of ten. Tolerable since my normal pain level runs at 5-6 on any given day of goofy barometric pressure changes.

The next challenge became instructing clergy to offer a smaller piece of Eucharist, something routinely done so nursing home communicants don't choke to death on Jesus. But this, too, has proven to be a hassle at times. But it's not a hassle at St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church in Baltimore.

I especially love the swift, heartfelt mea culpa Pastor Dale Dusman delivers if he forgets to break what has already broken for us. Last Sunday's sounded like this: "The Body of . . . oops!"  

We both cracked up laughing at the altar rail and thanks to the endorphin boost, I was (relatively) pain-free for the rest of the day.

White Communion Wafer Dispenser

May those other copywriters find it in their hearts to forgive me, but I cannot resist offering interlinear comments on some of the copy describing a product now available to clergy (although apparently out of stock) ─ the White Communion Wafer Dispenser.

Ready? And away we go!

No germs. No spills. No waste.
Thanks be to God, because spilling or wasting Jesus would make Jesus weep. Germs would make Jesus sneeze.

Use this Communion Wafer Dispenser during the cold and flu season to prevent the passing of germs, or use it all year long to reduce the cost, time and personnel needed to provide communion by as much as 50 percent . . .
Especially if your One True Church does not condone laity, women, or both to provide communion except under extraordinary circumstances, although perhaps the flu season would qualify as an extraordinary circumstance?

The revolutionary Rapid Re-load System™ dispenses up to 140 wafers without having to be re-filled, while being fast and easy when you do need to re-load.
140 wafers? What is this, Eucharist Goes Tweet? Who chose this number? It's not even a multiple of three. Lord, have mercy.

It uses re-sealable clear plastic tubes of wafers. Tubes have a plastic plug to seal out air and moisture, increasing the shelf-life of unused wafers.
Just in case your church or the clergy who serve it are unable to convey the promise of Eternal Life.

Does This Dress Make Me Look...Holy?

This morning's laugh-groan-laugh and h/t to A Concord Pastor Comments whose post about First Communion Dresses appeared on my screen before I'd yet eaten.

And thank God I'd not yet taken a sip of anything. It probably would've splattered onto my screen as I read about one British retailer's promise not to "...Sell The Same Dress To Another Child At The Same Mass" (capitalization in the original).

After zooming in on that solemn vow, I noticed the politically correct gender neutral language (i.e., "child") and amused myself briefly by pondering a slew of little boys dressed in drag before smacking myself upside the head. Then, I visited another site, swallowing several times while trying to digest this overwrought ad copy which reads, in part:

"Here is an ultimate gorgeous girlie First Communion dress with distinctive sheer swirly layered skirt that twist and twirls with movement that every little girl and parent will just fall in love with."

The sentence structure snagged my attention but not for long because I became quickly entranced by the word "girlie" and the notion that having a "distinctive sheer swirly layered skirt" might have anything to do with receiving -- and being nourished by -- first Eucharist. Concord Pastor, Fr. Austin Fleming, makes a similar observation.

I, however, offer this solution to the soul-shaking, identity-challenging problem of having a distinctive girlie dress on such a special blessed day: let them wear uniforms.

I'm thinking plaid, which would probably go well with the latest translation of the Roman Missal.

Now in Print: Why Is There a Menorah on the Altar? Jewish Roots of Christian Worship

In print at last! In print at last!
Thank God Almighty,
my new book is in print at last!

For a while, I thought I'd have a much better chance of seeing Jesus come again in glory, but a carton filled with printed copies of Why Is There a Menorah on the Altar? was at long last delivered by UPS earlier this week.

Of course, the snafus continue, latest one being Amazon.com's persistent belief that "this title has not yet been released." I've asked the publisher to look into it, as well as authorize (note ironic word use) the "Look in the Book" function. We'll see how long that takes, meanwhile I hope you will:

• order my book by clicking through to amazon.com from the Shelfari widget on this blog.

• post a favorable review directly on the amazon.com page for this book.

• encourage adult faith formation folks in your church to use my book as foundation for discussions about Judaism's enduring legacy. I wrote this book for Christians who worship at "high liturgy" churches.
  

• contact me directly (as someone already has) with your personal concerns about the ecumenical turn my work and life seem to be taking.
  

And now, I think I'll go sit on my front stoop to wait for Jesus and Elijah.

Sustaining the Joy of Holy Communion

Like many who are blessed to serve Holy Communion, I crouch down whenever children come up to receive. It's certainly easier to make eye contact with them and significantly reduces the probability of Jesus ending up on the floor. And, let's face it, my quadriceps could always use a workout.

I almost didn't move into distribute-ready position last Wednesday when the boy came up my line. He was so little, I assumed he had not yet received First Eucharist. He was surrounded by similarly little siblings and his mother cradled an infant in her arms, so I focused on her -- but not for long.

"Hello!"

That he sang out "hello" rather than "hi" or "hey" captured my full attention. My "hello!" in return rang out more loudly than I'd intended as I knelt before him. "The body of Christ," I said in the most reverentially friendliest way I could muster as I placed the host in his little hands, cupped and outstretched to receive.

"Not in your hands," hissed his mother as she hustled him off to a pew. And not for the first time, I wondered about the hazards of piety and the ways we unwittingly obliterate joy.

Ministry: What's Mood Got to Do With It?

The Lector and EMoE schedules are constructed months in advance, so I never know how I'll feel when it's my turn to serve. Truth the tell, I'm often not in the mood to get up, wash up, and show up for the 12:10 weekday Mass.

By 11:30 am, I'll have had a half dozen conversations via different media. I'll have forgotten to eat and be hypoglycemically cranky. I'll be loathe to drive, although living within walking distance of church probably wouldn't make a huge difference in my mood -- or my ability to show up on time.

This morning, I posted this thought on Twitter: "Wonder what God has in mind for me today & how it will be revealed."

My open embrace of divine providence? Pretty much shut down by the time I got into my car. Plus, the prospect of reading what was scheduled didn't elevate my mood at all.

So, imagine my delight to race in late to find: 1) the credence table had already been set up by another parishioner; 2) because it's the Feast Day of St. Catherine of Siena, I'd be proclaiming special readings; and 3) Friday night's movie had been changed from Chocolat to The Bells of St. Mary's. "You announce that," said the Chief Operating Priest, "you're standing closer to the ambo."

Hard to feel anything but joy while reading, "God is light; in him there is no darkness at all" (1 John 1:5) and "Praise the Lord, O my soul; all my inmost being, praise his holy name" (Psalm 103:1). These words, during today's homily about St. Catherine of Siena, generated grateful relief: "She proved that prayer and activism go together."

Today, God has revealed how faith has nothing to do with mood. Nor, should my mood determine if, when, and how I serve God and the people of God. I wonder how often God will have to re- reveal this revelation to me. According to the Lector schedule, probably Sunday morning.

Messy Messiah, Fragments of Faith?

Had I been reading the newspaper on Christmas Day, I surely would have zeroed in on the New York Times article titled, "Bread of Life, Baked in Rhode Island."

But I wasn't reading the paper.

I was reading Isaiah (52:7-10) and Hebrews (1:1-6) from the ambo, trying not to fall asleep on my feet at key liturgical moments and then, staggering home to collapse on the couch.

Only direct experience ever seems to permeate the wall of thought around my consciousness. And so, I believe this year's felt sense of being an exhausted heap of protoplasm is a yet another message from God about my true vocation.

Days later I was awake enough to read about the company supplying 80% of the communion bread used by Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran and Southern Baptist churches in this country. It is, notes the NYT, "a seemingly recession-proof business." That's certainly one way to look at it. Clergy seem to view the Cavanagh Company's product line in different terms.

I've been thinking about this glowing endorsement from an Episcopal priest: "It doesn't crumb, and I don't like fragments of our Lord scattering all over the floor." God only knows what this priest's bishop said after that quote was published.

After pondering the image of Jesus as Mess rather than Messiah, I've come around to thinking that we could probably benefit from having fragments of our Lord scattered more liberally -- more messily -- throughout our lives. Yes, I realize that "all over the floor" seems sacrilegious. And yet in my experience, people tend to look down rather than up; why not meet them there?

Seeing Christ in everyone, maybe...

I can explain the loud explosion followed by the sound of a moist splat this morning at approximately 11:00 AM Eastern Time. That was the sound of my brain exploding out of my skull when I read what John L. Allen reported from the Synod of Bishops in Rome.

The pressure started to build as I read Bishop Salvatore Fisichella's comments about Christianity being a "religion of the Word" as opposed to a "religion of the Book." And then, instead of switching screens to feed my virtual goldfish, I kept reading down to the very last bullet point wherein Bishop Filippo Santoro of Brazil is reported as having raised the "issue" of Extraordinary Ministers of the Eucharist. Here's what he has to say about us:

"by themselves, and in themselves, [they] do not arouse an encounter with Christ, [but rather] can end up exacerbating the bureaucratization of the church."

Oh really? So much for seeing Christ in one another. I guess this means holding and distributing the Eucharist doesn't count either. Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison.

Catholic Karaoke

Having arrived at the 12:10 Mass as the opening antiphon is ending, I slide into the nearest pew instead of scanning the church. I'll have more to say about church seating maneuvers in another post. This post is about the octogenarian seated in front of me. Feature this: The senior citizen seated in front of me is lip-syncing the entire liturgy.

I notice this especially after the Liturgy of the Word is completed and the Liturgy of the Eucharist begins. Yep, no doubt about it. She is not praying the Rosary. She is lip-syncing the entire liturgy. Entire. Liturgy. All the words. In order. Along with the septuagenarian priest.

Try as I might, I cannot place my thoughts elsewhere. I think, "Good thing you're not getting captured on hidden video in the Archdiocese of St. Louis."

So at this point during Mass, as is often the case for many Catholics except I write about it, I'm struggling to pay attention. But hey, at least I am not getting all distracted by screaming infants. No, I am getting all distracted by thoughts about Church history, in part because I'm currently reading Women in Christianity by Hans Küng. I figure I'll get back in line -- so to speak -- when it's time to receive Communion.

It's time to receive Communion. I go up. She stays put and I think, "Wow! Are you excommunicating yourself for lip-syncing the consecration?" I'm dying to ask her -- an idiom I don't at all mind using given my belief in the Risen Lord. Instead, I decide to mind my own beeswax, especially on this feast day for the patron saint of beekeepers.

After the dismissal (which she lip-syncs) she turns to me and asks, "Why weren't you the lector today?" I tell her I wasn't on the schedule and ask, "Why didn't you receive Communion?" She tells me why. By now our hands are clasped together. Christ is present. I decide not to ask her about the Catholic karaoke thing...just yet.

Give me Jesus

Sixty-one (61) folks voted in my Peeps Poll and only twenty (20) registered their opinion about Jesus on the hand (9) v. Jesus on the tongue (11). What does this reveal? Not much.

Corpus Christ

I think I was a bit too much under the thrall of this morning's homily for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ. My evidence is what happened while I was distributing Communion.

The priest at the 11:30 Mass was wired with a wireless mic that allowed him to move away from the ambo. Dear God I wish this would happen more often. I find it easier to connect to the message(s) when the homilist wanders into the nave without clutching a sheaf of papers. Note, I do mean into the nave and not into the pews as if we were at Michael Feldman's Whad'ja Know?

Stepping away from the ambo underscores how the homily is a teaching moment and serves to strengthen the link to how Jesus taught in addition to what Jesus said. Of course I realize not everyone is well suited to this teaching style. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has noticed that for some the ambo is a necessary prop in every sense of that word.

I was also captivated by the content of the homily which in addition to explaining what we believe about Real Presence, included a lesson about receiving Communion. That's right! We received a play book distinguishing among current forms of reverence, including what seemed a wistful reference to kneeling at altar rails and a somewhat bizarre reference to EM's making sure that the Host is consumed on the spot rather than taken home "for Satanic worship."

It was either during that part or the commentary about receiving on the tongue when I wished I hadn't been sitting in one of the front pews. I so wanted to observe the Body of Christ's facial expression and body language.

Alas, when it came time to distribute Communion I wasn't observing the Body of Christ closely enough to avoid placing the Host on the tongue of a very surprised woman who evidently wanted to receive Him in her hand. You may be wondering how this could possibly happen. No, I did not force her jaws open as if I were pilling a cat. Let's just say that we were both rather startled and then both tried to not laugh.

After Mass, when I went over to apologize, she confessed how in the wake of the homily she was so busy deciding between a head nod and a solemn bow that she neglected to get her hands up quickly enough. By the grace of Almighty God, I resisted saying anything about spiriting the Host home for God only knows what.

Finding a Place to Belong

Barbara, who characterizes herself as a "Catholic in crisis," writes to say that her core identity as a Roman Catholic is exactly what stops her from leaving for an evangelical or Pentecostal church. "I can’t bring myself to follow the lead of so many to find a closer experience with God, to find a place to belong. Its been a struggle for me for about 2 years." She asks if I have any advice.

These sorts of conversations with cradle Catholics always ramp up my gratitude for arriving at Catholicism during adulthood. By then, I'd pretty much figured out that to be a "good" Catholic I'd need to distinguish:

• religion from faith;
  
• religious identity from cultural identity;
  
• being catholic from being Catholic, and
  
• parish life from the Body of Christ.

Being raised Jewish puts me at an advantage because Jews have spent millenniums grappling with such nuances. My Jewish legacy absolutely entitles me to answer her questions with questions:

• What do you mean by "closer" to God?
• What do you mean by "belonging"?

Whenever I get my knickers in a twist over something that's going on with the People of God or church leadership, I take a break from them and focus on God.

I suppose I'll always retain Judaism's insistence on direct dialing, but as a Catholic this means I focus on Holy Communion. Call me human, but I cannot commune with them unless I'm in communion with Him. You will not find this central focus on Eucharist at an evangelical or Pentecostal church.

As a practical matter, you'll need to find a parish where you can focus on coming to the table of the Lord and being nourished there. Go someplace where you're not distracted by community maneuvers or whatever you may have heard about the pastor. Practice lectio divina with the Mass readings du jour. Pray to God for signs. Gently place your two years of desert wandering within a lifelong journey of faith.

As for "belonging" in the sense of participating in a parish community, I'll have more to say about that in another post. Just yesterday, I had a conversation with someone about the whys and hows of leaving one parish for another. I seem to be having a lot of these conversations lately. So glad that tomorrow is Laetare Sunday!

Come to the Table: A Catholic Passover Seder

How is this seder different from other Christian seders?

Years ago, I decided to create a seder that would reveal Judaism's legacy to Catholics by highlighting the symbolic (and liturgical) similarities of our faiths. I also wanted Catholics to better understand the history of Jewish-Catholic tensions and to appreciate the challenges of reconciliation. And, I wanted to make all this available in a book that provided practical instructions for creating a seder in either a parish or home setting. Not too ambitious, eh?

I'm happy to report that more parishes adopt Come to the Table each year. During the past three years, I've received lovely notes from people who have used this seder service at home. I'm starting to hear from catechists who are using this little book to teach about the Eucharist throughout the year. Last year, I had the privilege of presiding at a parish-wide seder at the Church of St. Luke (Plainfield, NJ).

This year's liturgical calendar crunch seems to be throwing everyone into a tizzy about whether they can, in fact, put together a seder at this point. I say you can! Why not? The book provides the service -- you just have to pull together the food, the table settings, readers, and a presider. People will show up for this event.

And yes, churches do receive a discount on bulk orders. Please contact me directly: meredith@meredithgould.com. And yes, you can get an autographed copy if you buy directly through Plowshares Publishing.