Ben's Bread

I am a regular church-goer. Most Sundays, in fact, I can be seen on one of the first rows in the chapel trying desperately to stay awake, drawing, and feeling more than a little embarrassed by how loud some of my friends can be, even in that setting.

Every Sunday a priest blesses the sacramental bread and water and then the congregation partakes. A little while ago I was sitting by my friend Ben during the sacrament service. As I passed the tray to Ben, he tried to take a piece of bread and dropped it.

"Gosh dang it," he muttered.

It was all I could do not to laugh out loud into the silence of two-hundred people contemplating their relationship with the almighty: not five minutes ago the priest had asked God to bless the bread. Now Ben was asking God to damn it.