To table or to rail we're led,
Or sit and wait until we're fed
A bland and tasteless wafer thing,
Or pinched-off piece of homemade bread.
Is this a meal? Fit for a king?
A chalice shared, with too sweet wine,
Or tiny glass of grape juice: sign.
But thanked-for—something greater still:
A foretaste of the feast divine,
An appetizer, if you will.
Like grape or wheat we come from mud,
But “this my body, this my blood.”—
Our common bond through time and space.
We share the wedding feast of God!
Regardless of the day or place.