The pastor's words were always the same. Eventually I could predict the inflection of his words and every pause for emphasis. The table would be "fenced": Unbelievers were warned against partaking, with no explanation other than that they might eat and drink judgment on themselves. This was confusing to a child - What sort of wrath could be conveyed by such plain bread and sips of wine? We remained in our seats and waited while the trays were slowly passed around by solemn men in blue blazers. I always leaned in to smell the sweet wine as it passed. It was as alluring as anything one can't have. I watched the adults sip and chew slowly, keeping their heads down and their eyes closed. It was painfully silent. I was too young to understand why this meal was something to desire.
07 March, 2016
Every Monday night I huddle around a desk in the basement of a government building with 10 other people. We pour over sheets marked with complex guidelines and symbols. Our leader sits at the desk writing silently, and we hold our breath in anticipation, knowing that after her last pen stroke she will issue us a new challenge.
It’s calligraphy class.