Bread and Wine

We had communion at church this morning.

When it was time, I went up to get the elements (Bread--"This represents the body of Christ, which was broken for you" and grape juice--"This represents the blood of Christ, which was shed for the remission of your sins.")

I took them back to my chair and sat praying and meditating on Christ's sacrifice and talking to Him about my life and relationship with Him, and worshipping and thanking Him.

As I prayed I looked down at the elements in my hands, meditating on their meaning.

Then it dawned on me.

Bread. It's almost impossible to find bread that doesn't have soy or corn in it. Most have soy protein added--the worst culprit of all for Baby E's allergies. And grape juice will almost certainly have corn syrup or at least added Vitamin C derived from corn.

"What am I going to do?" I thought, "I can't eat these."

I felt frozen to my chair.

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I might have risked eating them if it was only myself I was making sick. But I hardly thought it would honor God for me to knowingly do something that would likely harm my child. Each reaction (especially to soy, which we've been quite good about cutting out completely) raises Baby E's chances of having a life-threatening reaction the next time, given the severity and escalation of her reactions.

I don't think the blessing or consecration actually removes allergens from the food or changes the chemical structure of it. I thought that surely it's possible God might honor the intent of the person by allowing them to escape from a reaction. Unlikely, though, and I didn't think expecting God to confer immunity on Baby E for my choice to eat the forbidden food would honor God either--kind of like testing God by jumping off a cliff and expecting Him to protect me from falling. (Satan did suggest that idea to Jesus once, and He summarily rejected it. "Do not test the Lord your God . . . ")

As I sat there I wondered how celiacs or people severely allergic to wheat and grapes handle communion. I wished I hadn't taken the bread and wine, but now that it was in my hands what should I do?

I sat silently for a long time, listening with half an ear to the hymns playing softly in the background. I couldn't eat the bread and juice, but throwing them away seemed so disrespectful.

A little of the juice had spilled on the floor, so I went and found some paper napkins to wipe it up. I accidentally spilled a little more when I bent down to clean the floor. The purple juice looked so dark against the white napkins. Some juice had soaked into the little chunk of bread too. I hovered around the garbage can at the back of the sanctuary, but I couldn't bring myself to just pour the juice in.

Finally I sat down again, looked at the bread and juice in my hands, and prayed desperately. "I honor Your body and Your blood, Lord . . . I don't want to treat them disrespectfully. I want to share in them and remember Your sacrifice by taking communion. But I don't know what to do."

Slowly, I tilted the little cup and watched the dark stain soak into the napkin in my hand. It did look kind of like blood. I found myself in my mind's eye mopping up the blood from the Lord's side with a cloth, lovingly. I crushed the bread in my fingers and thought of His body--whipped, bruised, broken and crucified.

I thought and prayed. The service was over by then. People were starting to leave. The music played on, and I stood up with the others. Slowly, wrenchingly, I pried my fingers apart and let the napkin, the empty cup and the tiny piece of bread fall into the garbage can.

Then I wept.