The family that prays together
I went home to see the family this weekend. My dad was preaching in church (as opposed to the preaching he does at home, which is mainly a 20 minute diatribe about the importance of unplugging the iron after each use). He hasn't preached in church in several years. All the pastors and several of the more verbose elders were out of town, so the Internal Revenue Service Officer/part-time volunteer church co-treasurer was up to bat. Imagine the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development becoming President after the 12 guys in front of him get shot--it was kind of like that. Anyway, my dad did a fabulous job. He is a great public speaker--charming, funny, loosely follows an outline.
My brother, son of a preacher man, did not do so well. He was asked to serve communion (again, because everyone else was either out of town or had been shot). We are now calling it The Last Supper for a reason--he screwed it up so badly all future remembrances have been canceled. At some point, he was holding eight plates and stacking those he couldn't carry in the pews. No one in the last four rows got the Welch's Grape blood of Christ--it just never quite made it back there. It wasn't really all his fault. The other server guys kept throwing plates in his general direction. He's almost seven feet tall, though. So, standing there with bread plates stacked up both arms like a waiter, he looked like the Jolly Green Giant of communion debacles.
And the rest of the weekend...well, it was sort of uneventful compared to church.
7 comments:
Oh dear. I remember the little cups of grape juice. I was always afraid that they were going to get all over me.
We had the grape juice too at my dad's church. My dad and brother apparently serve communion pretty frequently and I'm always astounded that something doesn't go terribly wrong.
I was raised Catholic. None of that grape juice stuff for us. We get us the REAL thing: Mogan David.
My mother served Mogan David at holiday meals too. I thought it was sooo cool. I had NO knowledge of wine whatsover other than...well, Mogan David. So, at my first college party, held at a frat house, I was asked what kind of wine I wanted and of course you know what I said...
I think I got Boone's Farm instead. Another great one....
So, were you a good girl in church? No falling asleep or kicking the pews or writing in the song books? C'mon, fess up.
Did the church go-ers enjoy the show/performance? It must have been a nice change for them. If they had a sense of humor.
omg flashback to growing up in a evangelical protestant church (un-afiliated to any denomination). hmm. grape juice. dad was an engineer, he coordinated people and electronics... he would always sneeze and blow his nose really loud in the middle of the sermon.
Sassy~ I've been known to spill
Susan~ Maybe they could teach my brother. Hot new pic, by the way ;>
Maria~ I was a perfect fricking angel. I actually paid attention to most of it...had to make sure he wasn't up there talking about me.
Cheryl~ They enjoyed my dad, but I think the communion debacle made em a little nervous.
Ms. Avarice~ Grew up evangelical protestant here as well...I appreciate some of it, roll my eyes at some of it, and some of it just plain scares me.
That's so funny, to this day the smell of grape juice reminds me of sitting in church and wondering why we kids couldn't have grape juice and crackers...and how flippin' cool the silver chingadera with the little cups of juice looked.
Later, when my cousin and I were able to sneak a taste of the crackers, we decided they sucked & couldn't figure out what the big deal was.
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