I walked forward to take communion last Sunday and was faced with something I didn’t emotionally prepare myself for. In front of me was a cup of wine, a cup of juice, a broken loaf of bread, and a small bowl of gluten free “bread.” I was doing a simple act I’ve been doing for as long as I can remember, but I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what to take.
I’ve been on this restrictive diet, trying to figure out what is wrong with my body. My issues are nothing serious, nothing debilitating. Yet. But I know the potential is there and if I can find a simple solution in the way I care for my body, then that’s what I’m going to pursue. It’s been more complicated than I thought for reasons I didn’t anticipate.
My typical diet is healthy by food pyramid standards (although I know the pyramid is now a plate and the formula has been tweaked—you get what I’m saying). But this diet required me to cut out dairy, gluten, caffeine, sugar, soy, nuts, nightshades (I did not even know what these were, but it turns out I eat them almost daily), certain vegetables and for a short time, all fruit. I spent the first week constantly hungry because I was so confused about what I could eat. I was frustrated. And I felt so isolated within this weird broken body.
For a long time I’ve been able to mostly ignore my body. It has been the tool that allows me to do the things I want to do. And when it fails me, I punish it or ignore it more. Infertility made me angry with my body and I’m not sure that we’ve spoken much since that diagnosis 15 years ago. I think somewhere deep in my heart I started to believe my body was the enemy and I had to keep it from standing in my way.
My current situation hasn’t allowed me to continue treating my body in the same way. My body is requiring me to pay attention to it. And I resent that.
I want to be strong. I want to be independent and mostly I find that I want to be normal. . . whatever that may mean in a given situation. I don’t want to be defined by my body and I REALLY don’t want to be defined by what my body can’t do. I take pride in being a low-maintenance person, but now I’m finding myself with a body that requires much more maintenance than I prefer.
I was talking to a friend the other day about my current frustrations and ended it by saying, “This just isn’t me.” This high-maintenance body. These new restrictions. Feeling like an unwell person who appears totally healthy on the outside. This isn’t me. She pushed back on me (as all good friends should) and reminded me that for today, for right now, this actually IS me. I need to make some peace with that.
There was something about actually reaching out and taking that gluten free communion bread that broke me. I cried on the way back to my pew. It felt so humbling. It felt persnickety and silly to have to take the fancy bread. I felt embarrassed. I felt embarrassed to come before God and explain to him that I can’t have his regular Body. I need something special for me. That’s never been who I am. I don’t like to ask for the special. I want to be easy to please. A cheap date. A simple girl.
It hurt me to come before God as the woman I actually am today. Broken in some odd way. Needy. With a special request for grace. The longer I sat in those feelings, the more obvious my own hypocrisy became.
I know that table is for all who believe. I feel confident that it is precisely where the broken belong. We come not in our strength, but in our deep need of healing and comfort and redemption. None of us comes there easy to please, as a cheap date. That grace was incredibly costly. A price had to be paid. A body had to be broken.
Too many times I’ve almost been a casual observer as I’ve participated. I’ve been thankful from a place of ease and privilege. While I don’t want these problems in my body, I see how the humbling of my heart is good. Being someone who struggles with their health requires me to take stock of where my value lies. It can’t be in my physical ability to do it all and be everything. My value has to be in something deeper.
I hope this season of sickness won’t be long. I have hope for healing. I pray for a time when I will take the regular bread and not be worried about the sugar content of the juice or alcohol content of the wine. I don’t want to have a broken body. But while I do, I pray I can learn to suffer well, even in the small inconveniences and little humiliations. I pray the gluten free communion bread will remind me of what truly sustains my soul.