So Alex, Jon, Chelsea, and I are having Sunday brunch at a Mexican restaurant with family friends. Our waiter drops off a round of waters and as soon as he walks away, Alex points out that, according to the server's name tag, we are being waited on by Jesus Himself. Much discussion ensues about whether that makes the water we're now sipping holy water, if the lemon wedges in the glasses of water are also holy, and if the tortillas Jesus will eventually bring to the table are an acceptable substitute for Communion wafers. We also discuss whether being served holy food by none other than Jesus means that we can all skip church for a very long time to come, or if this conversation means we're all incredibly damned and need to get to church posthaste.
Eventually Jesus comes back to our table and, after telling us the specials, asks if we'd like to order or if we'd prefer the buffet. Our friend Jeff leans back in his seat, crosses his arms, fixes Jesus with a very serious look and says, "I don't know. What would you do?"
A whole tableful of people almost snarfed their holy water at that one.
(No, Jesus did not pick up on that particular turn of phrase. And yes, we tipped him very, very well when we left.)
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