At a table with other sinners, the Eucharist unites

The first person who taught me eucharistic theology was my Lutheran grandmother. Although I have no memories of her ever uttering the words “eucharistic” or “theology,” she taught me in the way that the best teachers do: by being a living example. Grandma’s house usually smelled like freshly baked bread. Her counter was often dustedContinue reading “At a table with other sinners, the Eucharist unites”

Kneading Dough

The smell of bread baking wafts, stills her light as she enters bouncing, screen door clanging.               Show me, Grandma. I want to know. For the next batch, she is held firm between warm embrace and floured dough upon tan table. She’s stunned by the flowing union of grandma’sContinue reading “Kneading Dough”

Bread, art and a kindergarten heart

  “NO! I HATE this part of the bread! I won’t eat it!” My daughter had just realized that her peanut butter and honey toast was made with an “all-crust” heel piece. To a five-year-old who has never known true crisis, this realization is nothing short of devastating—on par with candy-less valentines and cake batter-scented (but NOT flavored)Continue reading “Bread, art and a kindergarten heart”

Poems For Corpus Christi

My Daily Bread   Will I grow old alone, a pitied spinster, the dried-up nun?   Can we grow young, Like the seaside, when your first Kiss taught me justice?   Elopement was never much of an option. A slow steady courtship has made me yours a thousand times.   My wine-soaked heart My lungsContinue reading “Poems For Corpus Christi”