This week, I was reminded of a story. I have told it a few times. It's one of those stories that unfolded in slow motion, and in which the main characters, we, Greasy and Grubby, were a little bit clueless. Our group was at the Bishop's church for worship with the pastors and a pretty good crowd. First Mondays usually bring a bigger crowd because the service includes Holy Communion. Before worship, the Bishop asked the two of us to help serve the meal. "OK," we said. Worship went along as usual, and the time came for Communion. We walked to the front, up the steps, stood by the altar. We were a little nervous, not exactly sure how we were supposed to "help." Hand washing. Words of institution. Greasy was handed the small plate of wafers, and I was given the cup. The Bishop showed us where to stand, and then he got in line to receive Communion. Greasy's hands were shaking a little bit as she dipped each wafer into the cup and served all who ...