Grandma Priest, by Jesse Cox

Now I realize in these years after her death,

that my grandmother’s homemade rolls

were the body of Christ.

The iced tea she served

in large green bubble glasses

was Christ’s Blood.

Our conversation,

our laughter, her advice and inquires

are the Eucharistic Prayer.

And the ritual of everyday eating

is transformed into a sacramental moment.

The smells from her kitchen rise like incense to heaven.

And as the smoke clears,

an ordinary kitchen

becomes a majestic cathedral,

where Christ sits with us

and leads us in grace before our simple meal.