"We were water and now we are changed into wine!" we cried two thousand years ago. Where has our cry gone? The lip of the cup circles and circles forever into infinity; surely there is enough room for a thousand lips and more to drink the drink of life well into the evening. Demons do not need to appear each and every time we dare to come to the table. And all waiting will cease as we bring the chalice to our mouths and allow the juice of forever to wet our tongues. This is our prayer, we pray. To be drenched in the love of one another.
Holy Vine, Maker and Pourer, declaring, This, this is my blood, dazzle our palate with a vintage never before tasted, for the sneerers are sneering at all that makes life holy, pointing to create doubt in the fantastic idea that a way can be The Way; for the magic grape buyers and drinkers of hope need a sip from the Grail once again. Amen.
Grape-maker, Grape-grower, whose vines trellis the world, the grape-drinkers thirst for fine vintages that dance on the tongue and gambol the heart. Amen.