Let me take you back to Christmas Eve 1989. It is my senior year in high school in Ocala, Florida. I'm at a very fancy Presbyterian Church and I'm way out of my comfort zone.
You see, I grew up going to Mammy and Pappy's Southern Baptist Church in Oxford, Florida just south of Ocala. At the First Baptist Church of Oxford, Florida; where Mammy played the organ for over 63 years, we did things a little less fancy than other churches. As I remember it, and this may not be 100% accurate, we took "communion" a few times a year. A big plastic or styrofoam bowl of chili crackers were passed around and you took some. You didn't say anything...you just took it and passed it on. Soon after, a tupperware platter of grape juice was passed around in plastic shot cups and you took some of those too, again, without saying anything to your neighbors in the pew. Depending on how many chili crackers you had, and I was known to take a good sized handful, you might wash it down with 3-4 plastic shot glasses of grape juice.
That was the "communion" I was used to. So, here I am on Christmas Eve 1989 sitting in between the Presbyterian preacher's daughter and his wife in the front row. Talk about a fish out of water.
As the service worked towards closure, it was time for communion. All of a sudden, these beautiful and shiny gold and silver laced platters were being passed around. There were perfectly cut bread cubes all the same size that people were taking one of and placing into their mouth in a very solemn and careful manner. I was scanning the pews intently. As the platter made it's way to my hands, the Preacher's daughter said something to me in a matter-of-fact tone. This really took me by surprise. As she said these words, the lady behind me coughed or sneezed and I was fully unaware of the words I heard and was supposed to say as I moved the platter to my left.
This whole thing probably only took 5-seconds but it seemed like an eternity. I began to panic. Because of the cough/sneeze behind me and the words coming in from my right, my brain processed that I heard, "this is broken leg of Jesus Christ for your sins." I began to sweat.
I reluctantly turned to the Preacher's wife with sheer panic in my eyes. I held out the heavy and golden platter with alligator arms afraid to fully extend and hand them over. I said, "here is the broken leg of Jesus Christ for your sins." The look she gave me in that moment will never be forgotten. I was horrified, embarrassed, and ashamed. I messed up and offended a Preacher's wife on Christmas Eve in their church! What kind of heathen was I?
Of course, what was said to me, and what I should have said, was "The body of Christ broken for you." Being unprepared and then getting an earful of sneeze/cough at the perfect time sent me into a tailspin. I should have whispered to the Preacher's daughter what I was supposed to say. I could have found out ahead of time. I could have shut my mouth and not said anything!
I often think back to this story, now that I can laugh at it, and think about leaders not being afraid to ask questions, to seek help, to pursue clarification. Saying "I don't know" is ok, even for leaders. That sure would have helped me out on December 24, 1989.
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