No Bread for Henry, or Me

by Troy Foster

Bread – as in body of Christ, that is.  Don’t worry, I’m not going too deep here.  Just a self-realization that I came to a few weeks ago.

As a family, we attend church each Sunday.  While each of us has our own dilemmas with faith, from time to time, we’re no different than anyone else in that respect.  And we enjoy going to service, and our church community.  The kids have great friendships there, are learning about tenants of our religion, and are in a place where they can ask us questions and begin to form the foundation of their personal relationship with God.

But, there is one thing that I do not enjoy.  And that’s communion.  It used to be my favorite part of the service, and I really looked forward to it each week.  Before attending our current church, I was a faithful Roman Catholic – so, I worked hard to be able to receive communion.  Communion was a spiritual experience, a time that I felt truly closer to God.  At peace and happy.

Communion is a little different for me now.  And, it’s completely my fault.  Though communion is an open table at our church, I remain planted in the pew.  Others seem to be experiencing what I once enjoyed so much.  I just sit and watch.  Watch, as if in protest.

You see, Henry’s mitochondrial disease and eosinophilic disorders prevent him from taking communion.  He is allergic to the bread and the juice.  Yet another thing that Henry is excluded from.  Something else to be different about.  And, it would seem that communion, of all things, should be something that the little guy should be able to partake in – if things were fair.

But they aren’t.  And mind you, Henry does not care.  He barely knows what communion is.  And, I don’t think that my “protest” is some misdirected anger at God.  I know that there is no spiritual soup Nazi that is doing this to Henry.  I think that I stay seated because I want to publicly (though silently) cry out for Henry; as I join his team in not eating the bread, I am one less person that makes him different.  It’s definitely not a choice between Henry and God.  In fact, I have felt closer to God since Henry was diagnosed than I had in years.

And in keeping my seat, I don’t forget what the time is about.  I’m very mindful that it is the time that we thank God for his sacrifice, and I do thank him for it – just without the bread and juice.  But also during communion, I’m saying a prayer for my little Henry.  Hoping that God will find his own special way for Henry to give the same thanks.  I’m sure that he will.  Because even though life, and the world, aren’t always fair.  God is.

Though I know my protest is a meaningless symbol of my love for Henry, I won’t judge myself for being a little childish in dealing with my feelings on this.  I know, with every fiber in my being, that God understands.