I was next in line for communion this Christmas morning.
As I bowed and stepped forward, the Eucharistic Minister pulled the host back, looked down, frowned, and shook her head three times.
Being more than a bit flummoxed, I assumed that she was signaling me to kneel before her. I could have sworn that her frown morphed into a scowl as these artificial knees hit the carpet.
Needing to serve a long line of parishioners, she at last relented and placed the host into my hand.
Thankfully, there was a burly congregant next in line who, when seeing me struggling to arise, offered a much needed hand.
Returning to my pew, the woman next to me had a look of consternation as she too looked at my knees.
I was certain then that I’d be searching for a more welcoming church next weekend.
Only then did I bow my head to pray while discovering that my zipper was down.
What You’re Saying