O sacred banquet, wherein Christ is received;
the memorial of his passion is renewed;
the soul is filled with grace;
and a pledge of future glory is given to us.
It is harvest time in Indiana; traffic on the back roads is becoming tied up as lumbering combines move from field to field. Semi-trucks laden with this year’s harvest roll down the National Road just as their horse driven counterparts did 170 years ago. As I take in this dramatic spectacle marking the changing of seasons, I can’t help but feel a tinge of sadness that none these bushels of corn will be consumed as something recognizable as corn. Instead, this corn – field corn – is destined to become one of three things: cattle feed, high fructose corn syrup, or ethanol. Some will also be made into booze and Captain Crunch.
[also posted at IntheAgora]