Terry Mattingly

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Autism and the mysteries of the Mass: Holy Communion is not 'home food'

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Autism and the mysteries of the Mass: Holy Communion is not 'home food'

Ever since the Last Supper, Catholics have pondered what happens during the Mass when they believe the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Jesus.

"Because Christ our Redeemer said that it was truly his body that he was offering … it has always been the conviction of the Church … that by the consecration of the bread and wine there takes place a change of the whole substance of the bread into the substance of the body of Christ our Lord and of the whole substance of the wine into the substance of his blood," proclaimed the Council of Trent, after the Protestant Reformation.

"This change the holy Catholic Church has fittingly and properly called transubstantiation. The Eucharistic presence of Christ begins at the moment of the consecration and endures as long as the Eucharistic species subsist."

Believers approach this mystery with the greatest care and respect. This may be hard for children to grasp as they prepare for First Communion.

Now imagine trying to teach this core Catholic doctrine to persons -- young and old -- who have mental and physical disabilities that make it hard, or impossible, for them to acknowledge what is happening in the Mass.

"Because we believe Holy Communion is the Body and Blood or our Lord, we want to be very careful about this," said Father Matthew Schneider, who is known to his Twitter followers as @AutisticPriest.

"This isn't a theology test. No one needs a theology degree to take Holy Communion. We simply need to make sure that they know this is an act in a church rite -- that they are not eating ordinary food like at home. We're trying to find out if they have a basic understanding of what's happening."

Under Catholic canon law, children can be given Holy Communion "if they can distinguish the body of Christ from ordinary food and receive communion reverently."


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Faith in quarantine: Why are some people praying at home while others flock to pews?

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To state the matter bluntly, the question of the day is: Who went to church-temple-mosque this past weekend and who did not?

The related question: “Why?” Why did believers make the decisions that they made?

This is one of those cases in which it is impossible to write a story that captures the whole picture, since we are talking about one of the ultimate local, regional, state, national and international stories of our news lifetimes.

Journalists can try to produce a news-you-can-use list that hints at the whole. Check out this Religion News Service feature: “Coronavirus shutdowns disrupt America’s soul, closing houses of worship.” That list of bullets is so limited, because producing a representative national list would be impossible.

Thus, others will focus on the larger story by looking at the symbolic details. With the resources of The New York Times, that looks like this: “A Sunday Without Church: In Crisis, a Nation Asks, ‘What is Community?’ “ This is a fine story, although, yes, its anecdotes and examples seem mainline and limited. But, again, the true picture is too big to capture.

Journalists do what they can do. Here is the thesis statement, in magisterial Times voice, free of attributions:

This week, as the coronavirus has spread, one American ritual after another has vanished. March Madness is gone. No more morning gym workouts or lunches with co-workers. No more visits to grandparents in nursing homes. The Boston Marathon, held through war and weather since 1897, was postponed.

And now it was a Sunday without church. Governors from Kentucky to Maryland to North Carolina moved to shut down services, hoping to slow the disease’s spread. Catholic dioceses stopped public Mass, and some parishes limited attendance at funerals and weddings to immediate family. On Sunday morning the Vatican closed the coming Holy Week services to the public.

The number of Americans who regularly attend a church service has been steadily declining in recent years. Many have left the traditions of their childhood, finding solace and identity in new ways. But for the one in three adults who attend religious services weekly, the cancellations have meant a life rhythm disrupted. And for the broader country, canceled services were another symbol of a lost chance to be still, to breathe and to gather together in one of the oldest ways humans know, just when such things were needed most.

For a similar take from a smaller newsroom, consult this multi-source National Catholic Reporter piece: “Worshippers go online, those at services keep a distance.”

My friend Rod “Benedict Option” Dreher stayed home (as I did) and watched a live stream of the Divine Liturgy from his Orthodox Church in America parish in urban Baton Rouge, La. In other words, one computer screen stands for legions of screens elsewhere. See: “View From Your Pandemic Online Church.”

But I was haunted by one passage in one story — another example of how The Age of Donald Trump has infected everything, when it comes to news. The fact that the story was valid only made it worse.


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Thinking about faith during a plague: Input from Singapore on dealing with coronavirus crisis

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This is not a normal Sunday morning — anywhere.

I’m typing this after spending the morning doing something I have never done before — watching an Internet live stream of the the Divine Liturgy of my home parish, St. Anne Orthodox Church in Oak Ridge, Tenn. I am, to be blunt, an at-risk individual since I am (a) 60something, (b) someone with asthma and chronic sinus issues and (c) someone who had a sore throat and low fever six days ago (both gone).

But I was not the only person who was not present in the service. Under the extraordinary (and I believe very wise) instructions of our Archbishop Alexander of Dallas and the Diocese of the South the rite was being celebrated by our clergy and a few chanters — while everyone else stayed home as a form of “social distancing.” Priests will take the Sacraments to the sick and hospitalized as needed, of course.

Our archbishop’s instructions (.pdf document here) represented a crisp, clear statement of one of the major COVID-19 news stories taking place in our world, this morning. In part, he wrote:

Everyone in the parish or mission, other than the priest (and deacon), a reader, a server, and no more than two (2) chanters or singers (all of whom are physically strong and at low risk for COVID-19), should remain at home, even at the time of the Divine Liturgy. The holy body and precious blood of our Lord can never be a source of disease, it is after all for the healing of soul and body, but the COVID-19 virus can still be passed through the congregation. Out of love for our neighbor, we must do everything we can to protect the vulnerable by slowing the rate of infection not only in our parishes, but in the greater community, and thereby allowing the hospitals and medical community to more adequately care for those most at risk. All who are “at risk” — the elderly, those with pre-existing conditions, any who are actively sick or exhibiting signs of illness — should absolutely absent themselves from the services. ...

If possible, the service should be webcast on the internet so that the faithful may participate in the prayers, which are themselves a source of grace and consolation.

The liturgy was followed by special prayers in our ancient tradition, the Molieben in Times of Pestilence. When it comes to plagues and disasters, ancient faiths offer ancient rites — because the faithful have been through all of this many times before.

This leads me to this weekend’s think piece, an essay by Edric Sng that ran on March 11 (that seems like an eternity ago) at Christianity Today.


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New podcast: Autism and Holy Communion -- Like it or not, doctrine is part of this story

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This was the rare week in which my national “On Religion” column for the Universal syndicate grew directly out of a recent GetReligion post, the one with this headline: “Autism and Communion: Textbook social-media clash between parents, press and church.” The syndicated column then provided the hook for this week’s “Crossroads” podcast (click here to tune that in).

That’s a lot of material to take in. Why did I think that this issue was worthy of all that attention?

Basically, it was a four-step process and I have to admit that I had a personal reason for taking this on.

(1) Let’s start with the USA Today story, which ran with this headline: “Boy with autism denied First Communion at Catholic church: 'That is discrimination,' mom says.”

That story offered a classic news-coverage clash between “discrimination” language that is so popular with journalists and the efforts of church leaders to, perhaps imperfectly, minister to people with special needs while also honoring 2,000 years of Catholic doctrine about Holy Communion.

(2) Doctrine vs. discrimination? What could go wrong? This USA Today piece was a classic example of a larger issue that your GetReligionistas have encountered over and over during the past 17 years.

Simply stated, journalists (especially reporters without religion-beat experience) have a tendency to frame religion news in images and language drawn from political conflicts. Who needs to dig into the details of Catholic tradition and canon law — including statements about Holy Communion and people with autism — when you can write a headline that shouts “Discrimination!”

Once again, there’s that doctrine found in way too many newsrooms: The world of politics is real. Faith and doctrine? Not so much.


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Ryan Burge on unique coronavirus fears in pews of America's aging 'mainline' churches

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Anyone who has worked in a newsroom knows that journalists often have to study the equation 1+1+X=3 and then find the missing X factor that produces “what comes next.”

What am I talking about? Journalists look at one set of facts in the news. Then they study another set of facts that we tend to take for granted or that we have pushed onto the news back burner. When you pay attention to where the two sets of facts overlap — #BOOM — you can see potential headlines.

Right now, the coronavirus crisis is creating all kinds of overlapping sets of facts and many are life-and-death matters. This is shaping the headlines and this trend will only increase.

However, after all of the COVID-19 stories I’ve read in the past week (while 66-year-old me has faced my usual spring sinus woes), none has hit me harder than a Religion News Service essay — “Why mainline Protestants might fear COVID-19 the most” — by political scientist Ryan Burge (also a contributor here at GetReligion). It’s crucial that he is also the Rev. Ryan Burge. He teaches at Eastern Illinois University, but he also a minister in the American Baptist Churches USA. Here is the overture:

I walked through the doors of First Baptist Church of Mount Vernon, Illinois, a congregation that I’ve pastored for the last 13 years, and shook hands with the 91-year-old greeter. Afterward, she said to me, “I didn’t know if we should shake hands today.”

I hadn’t even thought about it, but I know that she had.

COVID-19 has now infected more than 100,000 people, killing 4,000 of them across the globe. But, one of the real curiosities is that the mortality rate is dramatically different based on age. The disease takes the life of nearly 15% of the people that it infects over the age of 80.

I find that to be incredibly cruel, especially for my mainline church that has been dwindling in size and increasing in age at a stunning rate. Of our 20 or so active members, four of them are over the age of 90. Another 10 are in their 80s. If COVID-19 becomes a true global pandemic, my church would likely not fare well.


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Did I shake hands with the rector? COVID-19 hits a highly symbolic altar inside DC Beltway

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I know, I know. I couldn’t believe it either.

In terms of shock value in the Twitter-verse, the Washington Post team buried the lede in a timely news piece that ran with this headline: “For Georgetown churchgoers, a coronavirus self-quarantine is embraced as necessary.”

This is an Inside. The. Beltway. Story and I am perfectly OK with that. So see if you can spot the shocking symbolic detail in this overture:

The longtime friends were looking forward to their regular game of bridge at Washington’s posh Metropolitan Club on Monday afternoon, a bit of welcome routine in a world slowly spinning out of control.

The three prominent lawyers, C. Boyden Gray, William Nitze and Edwin D. Williamson, were well aware that the novel coronavirus was spreading, and that it had just made an appearance in Maryland with the announcement of the state’s first three cases last week. They never imagined, however, that the District’s first confirmed case of covid-19 would arrive at their doorstep: the 203-year-old Christ Church Georgetown, an affluent Episcopal congregation co-founded by Francis Scott Key and attended by a bipartisan collection of well-known Washingtonians, among them Fox News host Tucker Carlson.

You can just hear the gasps from readers across America who do not understand the role that Georgetown plays in the DC political ecosphere.

Yes, Tucker Carlson and his family attend an Episcopal parish. If I remember correctly, they have been members of this parish for quite some time.

It’s a Washington thing. Lambs and lions (who is who depends on the biases of the observer) may occupy the same pews. It’s all about location, location, location. And as any editor inside the Beltway will tell you, the Episcopal Church retains its clout, serving as a kind of “NPR at prayer” (a label created by my Orthodox priest, a former Episcopal tall-steeple clergyman).


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During times of panic and plague, priests take risks to do the work they are called to do

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During times of panic and plague, priests take risks to do the work they are called to do

The second wave of influenza in the fall of 1918 was the worst yet and, by the time Father Nicola Yanney reached Wichita, Kansas, a citywide quarantine was in effect.

A 16-year-old girl had already died, creating a sense of panic. The missionary priest -- his territory reached from Missouri to Colorado and from Oklahoma to North Dakota -- couldn't even hold her funeral in the city's new Orthodox sanctuary. As he traveled back to his home church in Kearney, Neb., he kept anointing the sick, hearing confessions and taking Holy Communion to those stricken by the infamous "Spanish flu."

After days of door-to-door ministry in the snow, Yanney collapsed and called his sons to his bedside. Struggling to breathe, he whispered: "Keep your hands and your heart clean." He was one of an estimated 50 million victims worldwide.

A century later, many Orthodox Christians in America -- especially those of Syrian and Lebanese descent -- believe Yanney should be recognized as a saint. And now, as churches face fears unleashed by the coronavirus, many details of his final days of his ministry are highly symbolic.

"Father Nicola got the flu because he insisted on ministering to people who had the flu," said Father Andrew Stephen Damick, creator of "The Equal of Martyrdom," an audio documentary about the man known as "The Apostle to the Plains."

"For priests, there are risks. But you cannot turn away when people are suffering and they need the sacraments of the church. You go to your people and minister to them. This is what priests do."

Few acts in ministry are as intimate as a priest huddled with a seriously ill believer, hearing what could be his or her final confession of sins.


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'Soothing sounds meet church liturgy' -- AP needed more facts about 'sound bath' prayers

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There are few liturgical rites used in the global Anglican Communion that are more beautiful then the service known as “Compline,” “Vespers,” “Evensong” or simply “Evening Prayer.” Similar services are common in Eastern Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism.

The blending of music, prayers and biblical texts in the Compline rites at Magdalen College, Oxford, are world famous. The historic Trinity Episcopal Church on Wall Street offers a variety of Evening Prayer rites, including its well-known Sunday evening “Compline by Candlelight” service.

Worshipers who attend these rites are used to hearing texts such as this one from Psalm 74: “Yours is the day, O God, yours also the night; you established the moon and the sun. You fixed all the boundaries of the
earth; you made both summer and winter.” Psalm 141 includes this poetic image: “Let my prayer be set forth in your sight as incense, the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacrifice."

As believers move from the trials of daily life into the evening hours, these rites almost always include some kind of confession of sins, such as this “Book of Common Prayer” text:

“Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.”

According to a long, fascinating Associated Press report — which combines text and video — something rather different is taking place in an Episcopal sanctuary in Park Slope, one of New York City’s trendy neighborhoods.

Readers are given quite a bit of information about some of the contents of an evening prayer rite at this parish. At the same, readers learn next to nothing — other than a few strategic hints — about what has been edited out of this liturgy or added to it. Both halves of that equation could be news. Let’s start with the overture:

NEW YORK (AP) — Meditation and immersion in soothing sounds meet church liturgy at All Saints Episcopal Church in Brooklyn. The combination takes on stress — and self-examination. Welcome to sound bath Evensong.

The first time Alexis Dixon attended a sound bath Evensong at the church, she cried.


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Do it yourself tradition: Many Millennials are creating individualistic versions of Lent

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Headline writers love short words.

If you were a copy-desk pro, which of the following two terms would you prefer to use in a bold one-column headline when describing one of the biggest and most complex trends in American religion today (hello omnipresent Pew Research Center folks)?

Would you prefer to call people linked to this trend “religiously unaffiliated Americans” or “nones”?

You see my point, right?

Now, one of the problems associated with the term “nones” is that many people seem to think that this word means that these Americans have no religious beliefs.

That’s inaccurate and misses the main point, which is that the “religiously unaffiliated” are just that — people who have cut their ties of affiliation to organized religious groups. Instead of religious traditions, they have their own personal approaches to religion and ultimate issues. Does the term “Sheilaism” mean anything to you? It should. It’s a term linked to the work of the late sociologist Robert Bellah, author of the landmark book, “Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life.”

This brings us back to the season of Lent and to this weekend’s think piece, care of The Lily website operated by The Washington Post. The key is that large numbers of Millennials, many of them “nones,” have not given up on Lent. Instead, they have — this is America — created their own versions of the season, using the “give up one thing” motif as an opportunity to express themselves. Here is a key section of this breezy feature:

Millennials are leaving religion in greater numbers than ever before, but they are more likely to observe Lent than baby boomers, according to 2014 research from Barna Group, an evangelical Christian polling group. Twenty percent of millennials (those born between 1981 and 1996) responded that they were planning to fast, compared with 10 percent of boomers (those born between 1957 and 1964).


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