One of my favorite people told me about a small drama that occurred near the back of our church while we were celebrating communion this past Sunday morning.
A sort of rough-looking visitor got excited as the little cups full of burgundy-colored juice came his way. "Now, I like this church!" he exclaimed as he reached out for a drink. Alas, it turned out to be grape juice.
Someone with whom I shared the story suggested that we should have sent him down the street to the Catholics or the Lutherans -- where they serve real wine like what Jesus drank.
But our visitor came to our table. And though he might not have gotten what he wanted or expected, he got what he needed. I'm hoping he comes back next Sunday.