Sacramental Snack

“Get your hand out of there for God’s sake!” is all I ever seem to hear these days. Well, if it didn’t fit, it wouldn’t be there now would it? Just one more…I can’t help it; I know it’s too much, but we weren’t put here to leave anything behind. So, you’ll have to pry it, “From my cold, dead hands.”

What’s that you say? These are the body of Christ? Thee Christ? He won’t mind, all is forgiven in the end, or so they say. We’ll call it a ”sacramental snack” for His well being; maybe he’ll look the other way.

There’s cookies to eat and pry from the "cold, dead hands" of those who tread too carefully into their descent into the cookie jar. They dance around aimlessly with the cookie just out of reach of the rotting flesh of their lashing tongues. Their loss, our gain. Excess is the only way to find the limit, so take every spoil of war available. You can’t push a limit you can’t see, or in this case feel; a sugary and sacrilegious hangover reserved for the truest believers.

When the hangover ends, that’s the end of the game. So, “stay thirsty my friends,” I surely can’t take this all on myself. It’s much too much.