Homecoming ham hits the spot
After my aunt stopped being a teacher at Mt. Zion, my closest connection to the church was watching the congregation drive past my house every second and fourth Sunday as I reclined on the porch.
That is except for Homecoming, of course. I always made sure to visit the church on that Sunday each year, and I will confess that my mind was on more than the message — namely on the honey-glazed ham, fried chicken, etc. I knew was even then being placed on long, folding tables outside under the shade of nearby trees.