When I looked at what virtually any contemporary church was doing to commemorate the last supper, I felt they’d completely missed the essence of what Jesus had tried to model and teach.

Everyone today was so busy attending to what seemed to be little more than an accounting system of personal afterlife credits and debits that they reduced what had originally been a warm gathering of people who were extremely close to one another to something utterly isolated and cold.

No one up at the communion rail even talked to anyone else—not even to say “pass the crackers.”

But I think what turned me off more than anything else was the often-praised eloquence of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer.  Here’s an example of something to be said by the priest toward the end of the communion service:
 

“Innumerable benefits procured unto us by the same?” 

Here, the clergy speak to God on our behalf in such ultra-elegant terms that they seem to be sending a message to us just-plain folks similar to the classic live-TV admonition, “Don’t try this at home, kids.  These are trained professionals!”
 
To me, they sounded like the kinds of honeyed words that skillful members of a royal court might use in addressing an irascible, iron-fisted king who might instantly chop off the head of anyone unwise enough to address him in terms insufficiently expressive of groveling adoration.

When AA told me that what I needed to get healthy was a close personal relationship with God, my instinctive reaction was to look for the exits. The kind of relationship Episcopal clergy exemplified was pretty much the same I’d had as a child with my father.