Raised on the Eucharist

The following is a journal post I had to write for my Ethics and Food Class last week. The topic was "Holy Meals." 

    The question of whether food is sacred makes one think of the symbolism behind the food, rather than the food itself. While religion may be nourishment to the soul for some, food is indeed nourishment to the body.
    I have been raised on the holy Eucharist. My mother’s side of the family came from Chile, a country that proclaims Catholicism in every crack, like most Latin American countries. While our family did not attend church frequently, every child and grandchild was baptized as a baby and had their first holy communion.
    While Catholicism proclaims transfiguration, my mother has never been in agreement with it, nor did she ever tell me that the stale cracker I was consuming, but not chewing, was the flesh of Jesus Christ. Nor do I remember them teaching it this way in CCD classes, probably because they didn’t want us to think cannibalism was okay. I also remember having to practice consuming the Eucharist, only to be yelled at by my CCD teacher each time my eight-year-old lips pursed in disgust.
    I can still remember when I partook in my first holy communion. We did indeed have to attend our first confession before this. You may wonder what an eight-year-old has to confess, and I would say not much. At my first Holy Communion ceremony, the priest called me to the front of the church and asked that I proclaim Catholicism as my religion of choice. I did so with an expression of horrified confusion. I had neither expected to be singled out, nor did I have any clue what was going on. (I was a child who would lose spelling bees on purpose in order to avoid public attention). My parents were unaware of this facet of the ceremony as well, not realizing that telling the priest I was baptized in a Baptist church warranted this kind of action. Catholics do not believe that the Eucharist is for all, and this is something that has always troubled me.
    As a college sophomore I began attending a Methodist church on campus. Here, they took weekly communion, open to all. I loved this aspect of the church because I had always thought that the body and blood were not just for proclaimed Catholics. At this church, the body was pita bread and the blood grape juice. While this was a tastier Eucharist, I craved Greek food after every service. One friend of mine complained, having been taught by her mother not to “chew Jesus.” In retrospect, I can see why this troubled her. Perhaps we should not find the body of Christ “tasty,” perhaps we should not “chew Jesus,” and perhaps pita bread is not sacred. But what makes an item of food sacred? The symbolism? The tradition? The taste?
    There is one communion moment that has stood out to me in my life. Last year, I attended a retreat with the Methodist church on campus. During one evening of this retreat, about two-hundred students gathered around a fire in the chilly mountains of Mentone, Alabama. We were instructed to offer and serve our neighbors communion. While we did this, some began to sing. There were no instruments, just voices. I remember that when I served my neighbor the communion and they took it from my hands, it felt more real than it ever had. I may have shed a tear or two. Perhaps this tearful was response was due to an overwhelming sense of community, which may be the true meaning of the holy Eucharist.
    While pita bread may make me crave feta cheese and spanakopita, I believe it is the action, intention, and emotion behind it that truly matters. The food itself cannot be sacred, without the aspects of what it stands for, but more than the symbolism behind it, it cannot be sacred, unless it is communal.