ImageWhat was your first experience at a church or social club like? Did people gently caution you about indiscretions or did they bawl you out? I wrote about one of many tongue-lashings I received in How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity. Below is an example of how not to reprimand a congregant.


Following the end of the service, I joined the congregants as they headed toward the stairs. Sister Roberta stepped in front of me and frowned. “Bruce, I want to speak to you.”

I tensed, hearing the threat of a reprimand in her voice.

While the rest of the congregation filed upstairs, she admonished, “You must never turn your back on the person who serves you communion. Walk backwards to your seat instead.”

“What for?”

“Because, Bruce, whoever serves the elements stands in the place of Christ. When you turn your back and walk away, you show disrespect. Whenever people meet royalty, they must always back away from the throne.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I was showing Christ disrespect.”

“See that you never, ever do that again. He’s the king of kings and you dare not offend him.”

“How come I see some others here turn their backs?”

“The children can’t help it because they know no better. As for the adults, it’s not your business. You just mind what you do.”

From the next Sunday onwards, I did as Sister Roberta directed. Whenever I forgot, I apologized profusely under my breath to Jesus.


I wrote more about how that legalistic woman chided me and how the Lord lead me to a proper understanding of himself and his Word in How I Was Razed. Read more about my newly-published memoir by searching for it on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Virtual Bookworm. Please also check out my previous books at the Bruce Atchison’s books link.


Author: bruce Atchison - author

I'm a legally-blind freelance writer as well as the author of three memoirs and scores of articles. Contact me for details.

One thought on “MY COMMUNION FAUX PAS”

  1. The only mistake I remember making during communion at the Presbyterian church here in Sheridan, Wyoming, when I was about twelve, was drinking my little glass of grape juice immediately after taking it from the tray instead of waiting until everyone else had been served, and the minister gave a signal. Fortunately, my mother was not as stern about it as Sister Roberta, especially since she made the same mistake. She only told me afterward that we both goofed, and that was that.

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