The room is mostly quiet, except for the occasional whisper, and the children. Toddlers talk softly and babies cry or make other noises. A wave of coughs and throat-clearing passes through the congregation, a single hack jumping from one person to the next until it has run its course. The organist silently practices the next hymn by touching the keys, without depressing them. A husband whispers to his wife. A high priest falls asleep. A twenty-something woman is lost in thought about her job.

One middle-aged woman weeps quietly. She’s watching a sacred drama as it is played out around her. Symbolically, God the Father kneels beside an altar. He says a prayer, consecrating the offering covered in linen laying upon the altar. The words do not consecrate the body for burial, but for the sake of all mankind. Upon finishing, he rises, pulls back the covering, and gathers the collected blood from the ritually sacrificed offering, passing it to the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit then goes about the room, offering the blood of the sacrifice to the whole church, just as it had done with pieces of the flesh moments before. He passes this token of the great sacrifice to each person, if they receive it.

Some accept it, others do not. Of those who accept, most are oblivious to their part in the drama. They partake mechanically, out of habit, and pass the sacred blood on to others, quickly returning to their whisperings, thoughts, and sleeping. Unlike the middle-aged woman, who fully realizes her part in the ritual drama, they see only a quiet opportunity to think, sleep, or practice the rest hymn. The flesh and blood offered them is only bread and water, an interruption.