The monthly communion service at Widelake House had a great sense of peace about it today. A gentleman I'd never seen before was there, taking a very full part in proceedings and even crossing himself at proper points.
That doesn't mean it was entirely without its slips. When Arthur, who plays the piano, returned the hymn sheets to me, there were the pulpy remains of two hosts, rejected by their recipients, adhering to the paper. I popped them in my pocket for later ...
Consecrated elements can only be disposed of in certain ways. Bread, now the Body of Christ, has to be eaten, burned or buried. Most of the soil in my garden is dry and hard at the moment, but the recent works have exposed a little bare patch to the east of the house and that was where the Lord, on this occasion, was put to rest.
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