Today was a communion Sunday, and my communion steward was out of town. She asked me to get the bread, so I baked some housel this morning. Housel is an old-fashioned word for the communion host, and I use it for the communion bread recipe I got from St. Meinrad Archabbey years ago when I was in seminary. It's a soda bread with a touch of molasses. It tears well, and tastes yummy. One woman said afterwards she was tempted to go back for seconds.
Bible study is Wednesday. I was supposed to do dessert for last week, but we canceled due to one person's surgery and another family's funeral. That puts me on for this Wednesday. I had thought I would be baking a cake for Walter, whose birthday was last week; as it turns out, I'll be making dessert for my own birthday. Oh, the ironies of ministry.
Speaking of which, I found myself standing behind the Table this morning, reciting the Great Thanksgiving, thinking to myself, "Who am I to be saying these huge, magnificent words?" But such is the grace and courtesy of God that I, who need to hear them as much or more as anybody there, is given pride of place to say them to other sinners. Wow.
