Holy Communion

The Methodist Church we're attending here in NoVA celebrates the sacrament of Holy Communion every Sunday.

I have always loved Communion.  As an adult, I love the reflective nature of the exercise - especially on a weekly basis - and probably as a child, I loved what could only be described as a snack break during church.  Is that sacrilegious to say that?  If so, then it's probably even more sacrilegious to admit that I used to "play" Communion.  I vividly remember flattening and cutting white bread so it would look like those little Communion wafers of unleavened bread and eating that with grape juice.  I am confident I even did the whole "take, eat, this is my body" routine.  (Father, forgive me for I have sinned.)

What can I say except you had to make your own fun, living in the country.

So fast forward to my having a 10 year-old remarkably less picky eater, but one who is still very conscious of all textures he puts in his mouth.

Sunday before last, Mac took Communion with no hesitation, but probably only because of the relative novelty that it is to him.  That Sunday the church used a loaf bread from which the preacher pulled off a chunk (and I mean a nice-sized chunk) and passed it to each person who dunked it in the grape juice.  The texture and size of the bread was hearty enough to stand up to the grape juice bath, but Mac chewed on that bread until we got back to the pew.

Last Sunday, in church, a mere 20 seconds before it was our turn to exit the pew to head up the aisle to receive Communion, Mac told me he didn't want to take Communion.  Now there are a lot of reasons one may decide not to take Communion but not liking the texture of the bread is probably not legit in the eyes of the Lord.  So I told him in my best authoritative yet quiet church voice that he most certainly was taking Communion so get up and start walking.

This week they used what looked like whole wheat tortillas.  It was definitely not the squished white bread-like wafers of my childhood church and it was definitely not the chunky bread from the week before. After dipping it in the grape juice, I'll admit it was a little wet to get down.  Mac did not want to swallow and he looked like a cow chewing its cud for about 10 minutes, trying to get that mushy tortilla bite down.  The bread ultimately must have just disintegrated in his mouth.

I foresee Communion protests in my future.  I may be the only mother in America who has Communion food issues with her child...