I was 12 years old, old enough to know better. My cousin Betty Lou and I were allowed to sit together during church as long as we remained in line of sight of our parents, and didn’t whisper, giggle, or pass notes. This particular Sunday was communion, what we Baptists called the “Lord’s Supper”, and was served from a table with the words, “This do in remembrance of Me” carved on it. We never knew what communion was going to look like from one First Sunday to the next. The Welches’ grape juice in the little cups was a standard, but the bread was never the same shape twice. Once, the bread was white paper-thin wafers with a cross and other symbols embossed on it. Shades of Episcopalia! I thought I was supposed to lick the back of it and stick it on my dress like a visitor’s button. This…
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