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Woke up the other morning fuzzy and a little confused about where I was since I’d been out of town a couple of nights before. But clearly through the haze two words came to me: church chocolate. In that order. Related. Unexpected yet it all made sense. Not chocolate church–that’s a different dream. I love alliteration even when I’m asleep. To my mind, especially at 6 a.m., church chocolate combines religion with all that is holy. If only pain au chocolate were the bread that gets broken at church, I might make an appearance now and again.

A chocolate for my thoughts?

16 apostles here

Of course, Jesus didn’t say, “I am the chocolate of life,” but perhaps he’s regretting his turn of phrase. With so many people avoiding wheat and going gluten free, bread is getting stale.

I’ve long had a theory that the whole Last Supper thing was a game of telephone gone awry. Jesus is at the table and says, “The bread tastes fresh.” And around and around the table his comment gets repeated, until it comes out, “the bread made flesh” and transubstantiation had to fill in the blanks. I think my version is every bit as believable.

Saw a banner outside a church the other day–a photo of a bewildered guy wondering something like–“Isn’t there more to life?” That is not the question I pose. Isn’t there less to life would be more like it. There’s too much noise, too much clamor, too much media after our attention, and not enough space between our ears. I want less in front of my eyes and less rattling around inside my head. Last night after sitting through a workshop at a public library, I walked outside just before closing time and had a bit of a deja vu. Something about the air and the bare trees and the high school kids rushing inside to pick up whatever they needed for tomorrow’s homework, made me feel like I was somehow in every library parking lot I’ve ever been in on a winter’s night: Wheaton, White Oak, Bon Air, Tuckahoe, etc. etc. I didn’t have any homework due or children with projects hanging over our heads. AHHHH. This was Plato’s ideal world perhaps. Why I couldn’t find the ideal world on a tropical beach rather than a suburban parking lot, I’ll never know, but I had a few moments of space in my head that I appreciated after getting it filled up with banal workshop terminology the previous 2 hours. Empty-headedness gets a bad rap. Another case of less is more.

I’m back!