Today I went to church with Stant, which ended up being us and a friend of his having a deep theological conversation in the cafe area while the church service happened in the sanctuary. We did pause so we could take communion, though.
In case you’re not familiar with it, communion, also known as the Lord’s Supper, is a thing where people eat a bit of bread and drink a bit of wine or grape juice in rememberance of Jesus’ crucifixion. It’s a thing because, the night before Jesus was arrested, he had supper with his disciples and, after the meal, broke some bread, likened it to his body being broken for them, and gave it to them to eat. Then he poured wine for them, likened it to his blood being poured out for them, and gave to them to drink. Some Christian denominations believe that, when you take communion, you’re ingesting the literal body and blood of Christ, while others believe it’s a metaphor.
For the most part, I’ve had communion with grape juice instead of wine and, since I don’t drink, I’ve never actually had wine. So, when I went up and saw that there were two cups for me to dip my bread in, it didn’t occur to me why that might be.
“Oh,” I thought, “Maybe it’s in case they run out.”
I dipped my bread in the same cup the lady before me had and, as I walked away, I ate it.
Let me tell you, that was not grape juice.
For the evening, Stant and David got a bunch of writers together at a pizza place that had figured out how to make the crust rise properly at Denver’s altitude (a mile, thus the “Mile High City” moniker). The pizza was delightful, as were the authors, and the waiter was nice enough to get a picture of us all with the Vegemite :)