08/06/2026
From the start of had not been an ordinary Sunday. Mac had carried the bread maker and several bags of flour down the road from the vicarage. For a moment he’d stood by the side door of the church, trying to balance the bread maker on his knee while struggling to open the door, but had eventually admitted defeat and placed it on the ground. Once the door was opened and the alarm had been unset, he’d carried the bread maker into the church and set it up in one corner.
The musicians had arrived next, bringing husbands and small children and filling the church with noise, some of which was joyful. Then came Kev to set up the sound system, along with Jen, and a granddaughter.
By the time Mac had finished starting the bread maker going, both his churchwardens had arrived. They had a mini conference about how to give out the Communion wine.
“We can’t dip the bread in, because it’s real bread, and it will get pretty yucky,” said Mac. “But if people just have bread and no wine that’s still Communion.”
“We could do lots of small cups, one for each table?” suggested Sophie.
“I think if people are worried, then they can just not drink it,” said Reuben, practically.
“Ok, so just two cups then,” said Mac, trying to work out how much wine to bless.
There was still a lot of setting up to do, so the discussion broke up, as each dashed off to organise some other part of the the service. People were arriving and there were conversations to be had, catching up on how the week (or month or year) had gone since they’d last been around.
Colouring was put into bags, mustard seeds into bowls, and strange chemicals were stashed by the altar. Christine got the dance ribbons out, and the older girls had a go. “Mac wants them to concentrate for the service, so I’m letting them burn some energy off now,” said Christine sagely, watching Kev’s granddaughter do a one-armed cartwheel.
Once the service began properly, which was more of a gentle suggestion from Mac that it would be nice if people could start to listen to him and not focus quite so much on the croissants and coffee, the children did seem to be enjoying themselves. They gathered round Reuben as he made an explosive mixture with yeast and a variety of household chemicals.
“It was more impressive on the video,” murmured Mac, “perhaps they used more of the chemicals?”
But in amongst the chaos and community, something shifted. The atmosphere was filled with a certain, unmistakable feeling that this wasn’t just about making dough and getting messy, but something bigger. And when Mac finally got the loaf, steaming, out of the bread maker and placed it on the Holy Table, it was clear that the table, and the bread, really were holy.
Mac said the communion prayer crouched by a small table surrounded by toddlers, blessing the loaf as it was watched over by several hungry pairs of eyes and a toy dinosaur, which was a first, he had to admit to himself.
The congregation passed the bread between themselves, from students to recovering addicts, from mothers to grandparents, all saying “The body of Christ”. And in that moment, Mac, and everyone there, knew that the Holy Spirit was with them.
