The Holy Brunch

[Leafstorm]

A story in honor of the Pope’s recent visit

One Sunday morning I felt a craving in my soul for something ineffable, with perhaps some maple syrup on top, so I set out in search of something spiritual for breakfast. I entered a nearby cathedral just when the miracle of the Eucharist was about to happen. I was in luck: it was a very progressive church that recognized the necessity of adapting to modern times in order to maintain a healthy flock.

The altar was a brunch buffet, and there was also a salad bar, a sushi bar, and a grill. I ordered a tofu scramble and a mineral water, and I then spoke to the priest, who was using a censer to drain and bless some french fries.

“Do you use the firm or the soft tofu in your tofu scramble?” I asked him.

He turned and smiled benevolently. “My son, the tofu of Christ is soft like lamb’s flesh.”

“Oh, well, I’d like to cancel that order then. It’ll be too mushy and insubstantial.”

“Would you care for an immaculately conceived omelette, instead?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

“If firmitas is what you seek,” he said with a sweet smile, “I’d be happy to personally show you the relic for which this church is famous.”

“Relic?”

“The Rod of Aaron,” said the priest with a wink. “Who knows, perhaps we shall be fortunate to witness the miracle of its flowering. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“And, let me guess, your name is Aaron?”

He nodded enthusiastically and I quickly retreated to a small chapel off to one side, where I found a confessional vending machine. I dropped a quarter in and pressed a button.

“My God! What have you done?” the machine screamed at me.

“None of your business!” I yelled back.

It must have been the correct answer, because an Easter egg painted with the face of the Pope popped out at me, along with my change: thirty silver coins. I fed a couple back into the machine and got two more eggs. One depicted Moses with his tablets, the other the head of John the Baptist.

I sat on the steps of the church and took a moment to ponder questions that many might think easy, but to me were koan-like conundrums. For example: “Is a wild bear Catholic?”, and its corollary.

I was about to enjoy my breakfast – a trinity of hard boiled eggs and a bottle of holy mineral water – when I noticed a boy on the sidewalk, looking uncomfortable and somewhat morose in a fine Sunday suit.

I joined him and started juggling the eggs. This seemed to cheer him up a little. I told him to lose the straight jacket and I’d teach him to juggle. He glanced around for his parents, then peeled off his suit jacket and tossed it on the sidewalk.

The kid was fairly dexterous and was starting to get the hang of it when his parents returned with boxes of blesséd brunch-to-go. They sternly reminded him about not talking with strangers, atheists, heretics, Saracens, Sandinistas, or Samzidatistes. To me they made hostile lip and ear movements – no doubt conflicted between wanting to do me bodily harm and wanting to avoid a theological-oophilogical debate.

As I watched them depart I had to chuckle. The boy skipped along between his parents, and despite their firm grip on his hands, he began to levitate, and was soon prancing above their heads. His chagrinned parents tugged at the boy to bring him down, but still he floated like a happy cloud.

But the best part was when the seraphim and cherubim showed up: they laughed and capered in the air around the boy. Lesser known members of the celestial hierarchy joined the fun: elohim, ophanim, orphans, vagrants, drunkards, addicts, prostitutes, refugees, gauchos, lunatics, poets, seers, street urchins, hedgehogs, and flamingoes gamboled alongside the delighted boy.

I felt a little sorry for the parents, who apparently could neither see nor hear the angelic troupe, and thought their poor son’s conversing with the air was a sign of madness, which perhaps it was.

[sd gross]

Very artfully assembled and delivered. Keep up the excellent work. A few years ago I thought it might be cool to bake eucharist crackers in the form of Jesus, and marketing them under the name "Corpus Crispies".
stephen

A story in honor of the Pope’s recent visit

One Sunday morning I felt a craving in my soul for something ineffable, with perhaps some maple syrup on top, and so I set out in search of something spiritual for breakfast. I entered a nearby cathedral just when the miracle of the Eucharist was about to happen. I was in luck: it was a very progressive church that recognized the necessity of adapting to modern times in order to maintain a healthy flock.

The altar was a brunch buffet, and there was also a salad bar, a sushi bar, and a grill. I ordered a tofu scramble and a mineral water, and I then spoke to the priest, who was using a censer to drain and bless some french fries.

“Do you use the firm or the soft tofu in your tofu scramble?” I asked him.

He turned and smiled benevolently. “My son, the tofu of Christ is soft like lamb’s flesh.”

“Oh, well, I’d like to cancel that order then. It’ll be too mushy and insubstantial.”

“Would you care for an immaculately conceived omelette, instead?” he asked me.

I shook my head.

“If firmitas is what you seek,” he said with a sweet smile, “I’d be happy to personally show you the relic for which this church is famous.”

“Relic?”

“The Rod of Aaron,” said the priest with a wink. “Who knows, perhaps we shall be fortunate to witness the miracle of its flowering. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“And, let me guess, your name is Aaron?”

He nodded enthusiastically and I quickly retreated to a small chapel off to one side, where I found a confessional vending machine. I dropped a quarter in and pressed a button.

“My God! What have you done?” the machine screamed at me.

“None of your business!” I yelled back.

It must have been the correct answer, because an Easter egg painted with the face of the Pope popped out at me, along with my change: thirty silver coins. I fed a couple back into the machine and got two more eggs. One depicted Moses with his tablets, the other the head of John the Baptist.

I sat on the steps of the church and took a moment to ponder questions that many might think easy, but to me were koan-like conundrums. For example: “Is a wild bear Catholic?”, and its corollary.

I was about to enjoy my breakfast – a trinity of hard boiled eggs and a bottle of holy mineral water – when I noticed a boy on the sidewalk, looking uncomfortable and somewhat morose in a fine Sunday suit.

I joined him and started juggling the eggs. This seemed to cheer him up a little. I told him to lose the straight jacket and that I’d teach him to juggle. He glanced around for his parents, then peeled off his suit jacket and tossed it on the sidewalk.

The kid was fairly dexterous and was starting to get the hang of it when his parents returned with boxes of blesséd brunch-to-go. They sternly reminded him about not talking with strangers, atheists, heretics, Saracens, Sandinistas, or Samzidatistes. To me they made hostile lip and ear movements – no doubt conflicted between wanting to do me bodily harm and wanting to avoid a theological-oophilogical debate.

As I watched them depart I had to chuckle. The boy skipped along between his parents, and despite their firm grip on his hands, he began to levitate, and was soon prancing above their heads. His chagrinned parents tugged at the boy to bring him down, but still he floated like a happy cloud.

But the best part was when the seraphim and cherubim showed up: they laughed and capered in the air around the boy. Lesser known members of the celestial hierarchy joined the fun: elohim, ophanim, orphans, vagrants, drunkards, addicts, prostitutes, refugees, gauchos, lunatics, poets, seers, street urchins, hedgehogs, and flamingoes gamboled alongside the delighted boy.

I felt a little sorry for the parents, who apparently could neither see nor hear the angelic troupe, and thought their poor son’s conversing with the air was a sign of madness, which perhaps it was.

[Leafstorm]

Very artfully assembled and delivered. Keep up the excellent work. A few years ago I thought it might be cool to bake eucharist crackers in the form of Jesus, and marketing them under the name "Corpus Crispies".
stephen

Thanks, Stephen. I'm glad you liked it. Those crackers sound like a good start for another potluck. I'll bring a bottle of Two Buck Chuck Blood of Christ, and someone else can bring some loaves and fishes - not enough for everyone, of course, but we'll make them stretch. It'll be a pool party, and instead of swimming we'll all just walk around.