During the Eucharist we pass the peace. I am next to the ancient monk today, bent up double in his chair. I reach for his hand to shake it and he pulls me down, just beaming through all his wrinkles – then KISSES me, smack, smack, on each cheek.
“Christ is in our midst,”
“He is and always will be.”
I hold on to how old and silky smooth and thin his cheek felt for the rest of Eucharist. Christ is in our midst.
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