"In the 1970s, as huge, gleaming cathedrals of televangelism were sweeping across Texas, the Catholic Church faced an existential dilemma. There were, at the time, two things to do in Texas on Sunday morning: Pay $5.99 for an all-you-can-eat buffet of brisket and sausage, or go to church and have a dry, stale, and utterly tasteless wafer placed on your tongue. There might be some Welch's to wash it down with, although depending on the progress of appeals of altar-boy lawsuits, Kool-Aid was often substituted. The Church would go out of business unless it found a more visceral appeal to substantial numbers of people."@en . "In the 1970s, as huge, gleaming cathedrals of televangelism were sweeping across Texas, the Catholic Church faced an existential dilemma. There were, at the time, two things to do in Texas on Sunday morning: Pay $5.99 for an all-you-can-eat buffet of brisket and sausage, or go to church and have a dry, stale, and utterly tasteless wafer placed on your tongue. There might be some Welch's to wash it down with, although depending on the progress of appeals of altar-boy lawsuits, Kool-Aid was often substituted. The Church would go out of business unless it found a more visceral appeal to substantial numbers of people. The solution was to devise tastier sacrificial condiments. The Host was replaced by a large slab of thick-cut, hot-out-of-the-oven \"Texas toast\" slathered with butter and Jam Jesus. Since offering a snack that is supposed to represent eating a human body doesn't affect anyone's appetite down there, slabs of steak with ketchup were available on the side. Bright pink in the middle, just the way they like it."@en . . . "Jam Jesus"@en . . . .