15
Bobby grew anxious as he stold on the line, waiting to take communion. He knew his liturgy. It may start out as a wafer and a gulp of wine, but it would become—literally—the blood and body of Christ. Was he really prepared to ingest that?
Why do we do this? Why would He allow us to do this? Bobby considered what the experience looked like from the perspective of Jesus.
Oh, Heavenly Father! Not this, again! Can’t we do this symbolically?
Gotta brace myself. I can’t believe I’m Jesus Christ and I’m jealous of a Saltine. Because Saltines aren’t aware of what’s going on when they get consumed. They don’t have hearts and minds. They feel no pain.
Yeah, I know from experience that I’ll be back in three days, more than enough time for the next communion. That doesn’t provide much comfort. It’s like Sisyphus. Never friggin stops.
Father doesn’t have to go through this. The Holy Ghost gets a free pass, too. This is just for me. Lucky me.
I suppose it’s because of my temperament. I’m usually calm. I did get a little annoyed with the money lenders, but overall I’m a lover, not a fighter. Dad, on the other hand, is a jealous God. Getting eaten and drowned in His own blood would really tick Him off.
Ok. Here goes!
Bobby shuddered. This was going on millions of times all over the world, every Sunday. He looked for a phrase to describe this horrible act. “Cannibalism.” Something like that.
He took a breath. Maybe the Church was wrong. They also told him that the Father, Son and Holy Ghost were one, that three was one. That made no sense to Bobby either. But if it was nonsense, then there was nothing to worry about. Eat the wafer. Drink the wine.
Bobby was now at the front of the line. “The body and blood of Christ,” said the priest and Bobby consumed.
Instead of swallowing, he chewed. He felt the crunching of bones. He tasted blood. He screamed, or something—someone?—inside of him did. Bobby ran outside.
He threw up in the park. He looked around. He considered the lilies of the field. And Bobby neither toiled nor spun.
