When I was younger (just a wee toddler), seeing me sitting up straight, alert, and attentive during the church sermon was a rare sight. While the pastor spoke, my short attention span would often wander to my mother’s purse, where I could always be sure to find some blank paper and crayons. Kneeling on the brown, rusty-colored carpet and bending over the pew like a hunchback, I would spill out my brains onto those wonderful sheets of blank paper. Dinosaurs, spaceships and faraway made-up worlds inspired from my collection of NES video games were the usual fodder projected from the deep, inner recesses of my mind. I didn’t have to entertain my boredom this way every Sabbath though. Every once in a while, this thing called Communion would occur. As a six year-old, all I knew was that Communion was the time when they handed out those delicious, bite-sized, crunchy squares that you could never buy in a grocery store. The enigmatical ritual of elderly men praying over bread and juice was enough of a display to keep my racing, curious mind occupied. Unfortunately, the chance to eat during church came with a drawback: I was allowed only one puny square.
However, my luck changed one Sabbath when Communion lined up on the same day as potluck. After lunch, my cronies and I would run around the dark sanctuary like it was some sort of celestial playground. Except this time, to our amazement, the leftover Communion bread was left out in all of its splendor. At last, I would have the chance to eat Communion bread to my heart’s content! We giggled maniacally as we gobbled down square after sqaure. But just then, all of a sudden, she entered. You know, the scary, old “madventist” of a lady that is out to get little boys and girls for running around God’s house. We were doomed. She had been after us before, and this was the last straw. After telling us how she was going to sic the pastor on us, and make sure that we were not only spanked by our parents, but everyone else’s parents, she trundled out of the sanctuary. For the next hour or so, I remember hiding under the pews in holy terror, just waiting to see what would become of my behind. But deep inside, I knew I was the victor. I had succeeded. I had eaten not one, but three entire trays of Communion bread.
However, my luck changed one Sabbath when Communion lined up on the same day as potluck. After lunch, my cronies and I would run around the dark sanctuary like it was some sort of celestial playground. Except this time, to our amazement, the leftover Communion bread was left out in all of its splendor. At last, I would have the chance to eat Communion bread to my heart’s content! We giggled maniacally as we gobbled down square after sqaure. But just then, all of a sudden, she entered. You know, the scary, old “madventist” of a lady that is out to get little boys and girls for running around God’s house. We were doomed. She had been after us before, and this was the last straw. After telling us how she was going to sic the pastor on us, and make sure that we were not only spanked by our parents, but everyone else’s parents, she trundled out of the sanctuary. For the next hour or so, I remember hiding under the pews in holy terror, just waiting to see what would become of my behind. But deep inside, I knew I was the victor. I had succeeded. I had eaten not one, but three entire trays of Communion bread.
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