“If you are in need of a very, very low percentage gluten host, please see me in my Communion line.” I remember (with chagrin now) how I laughed internally the first time I heard those words uttered by a priest at a Catholic Mass. Wow, I thought, even Communion can be gluten free and trendy now.
I was a freshman starting college at the time, and had never had any dietary or allergy issues myself. Little did I know that seven years later, I would be diagnosed with celiac disease, and my world—and worship—would be turned upside down.
The diagnosis was as overwhelming as it was unexpected. Attending Mass on Holy Thursday a few weeks after I was diagnosed, I approached the Communion line of the priest who had previously had a low-gluten host ready for me at every Mass. When I got to the front, his face twisted in a mix of concern and annoyance.
I forgot your hosts today, he whispered, Is it O.K. if I just give you a very tiny piece? He plucked off a corner of the host and held it out. I was overwhelmed with a mix of emotions: guilt from not wanting to disappoint or inconvenience the priest, a true desire to receive Communion, fear about what that crumb might mean for my immune system and urgency from the confused shuffling of the communicants behind me in line. I accepted the piece and moved forward.
For the record, a tiny piece was not O.K., as my doctor made very clear afterward. In fact, for me and theroughly three million other Americans with celiac disease, consuming food containing more than 20 parts per million of gluten triggers an autoimmune reaction in our gut that causes our immune system to begin attacking the lining of the small intestine, over time impairing our bodies’ ability to digest and absorb nutrients. (For context, an average slice of whole wheat bread is about 10 percent gluten, or 100,000 parts per million.)
Herein lies the challenge: Church teaching holds that for bread to be valid matter for the Eucharist, it must “contain enough gluten to affect the confection of bread” but there is no strict minimum amount. The workaround for American celiacs? The U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops has approved the use of ultra-low gluten hosts, which contain less than 20 p.p.m.
In the years since my diagnosis, I’ve become much more confident advocating for myself. I’ve also become painfully aware of the significant gap between theU.S.C.C.B.’s clear guidelines on what parishes should provide to congregants with celiac disease and the reality on the ground. So what does it look like to be a Catholic with celiac disease?
Patience. I once spent 15 minutes talking with a priest at a parish I was visiting trying to convince him that I wasn’t trying to scam him and that the box of low gluten hosts I was offering—labeled “U.S.C.C.B. approved”—was, in fact, U.S.C.C.B. approved.
Frustration.I attended Mass after a week-long backpacking trip and realized I didn’t have a low-gluten host with me; I met early with the priest, explained the situation and asked if he could provide a separate chalice for me as an alternative. He refused.
Fatigue. My home parish ran out of hosts just a few weeks after I gave birth and told me that I would need to be responsible for providing my own replacement hosts. Suffice it to say that it was several months before I received Communion again because I didn’t have the mental capacity to remember to place an order. (The parish, after many nudges, now purchases and provides low-gluten hosts as an option for their parishioners.)
Gratitude. A priest at the University of Texas at Austin shared with me that they kept a small supply of consecrated, low-gluten hosts in the tabernacle at all times, allowing me to receive Communion in a time of spiritual desolation. (I had just attended Mass but hadn’t been able to speak with the priest ahead of time, so feared I had missed my chance.)
Last year, as I watched the movement of the pilgrims on their way to the National Eucharistic Congress in Indianapolis, I reflected on how the experience of having to fight for my right to safely receive Communion since my diagnosis has shaped my understanding of the power of the sacrament. While I would never wish this disease on anyone, it has prompted a personal eucharistic revival of sorts within my own spiritual life. I had never realized how deeply and viscerally my soul could yearn for the true presence of Jesus until I shed silent tears watching fellow parishioners receive when I could not. Similarly, I had never realized how much I took for granted my sense of belonging within my parish until I felt excluded from it. Entering the Communion line, surrounded in community by other parishioners, and receiving the body of Christ is now something I feel grateful for each and every time it happens.
As we pray for the National Eucharistic Revival to sweep the country, I pray that more parishes will be as “trendy” as my college was and will begin providing “very, very low percentage gluten” hosts. It is worth striving for all Catholics to share in the real presence.
[Read next: I encountered the real presence of the American church at the Eucharistic Congress.]
