Grace

 

A word about grace.

A couple of years ago, I discovered something about the way I pray that had a gnawing impact on my life. I will tell you the story of what I discovered. At our house, I’m sort of the undeclared and unofficially nominated prayer at mealtime. Whether in some diner, restaurant, or just sitting around our table at home, like many families I know, we thank God for our meal. I guess I should say I thank God for our meal. While others sitting around our table bow their heads and join me silently. I am the designated prayer, you might say. True confession time, I suppose. I’ve grown accustomed to that simple time of saying grace around our table, thanking God for our food. So comfortable, in fact, that I’m afraid I’ve become predictable, at least when my family is waiting for me to pray. I can say the same short prayer at every meal. Thank you, Jesus, for this food, blessed to our bodies’ use. In Jesus’ name. Amen. And then the noise of forks and knives. It’s legal now to begin the meal. I don’t sermonize. I don’t pray for the missionaries in far-off lands. I don’t ask God to heal my sore knee or forgive the sins I have no doubt committed in thought or deed since the last meal when I said grace. No, I just bow my head and say, Thank you, Jesus, for this food. Blessed to our body’s use in Jesus’ name. Amen. I’ve become so accustomed to my comfortable way of thanking God for his provision that my wife made note of it. She often makes note of things in my life that I would do well to take note of myself. She said, and I’m not kidding, this is a direct quote. She said, I think we could make a tape of your prayer at mealtime and just play the tape instead of you needing to say it each time. It’s always the same. She laughed as she said it. I laughed as she said it. My son laughed at the table too. We all had a good laugh at the way I say grace, except except well, except I I wondered if God was laughing about the way I thank him for our food. A few days after my wife had made her observation about how I pray at mealtime, my prayer life, I guess you could say, I experienced another poignant and gnawing moment in my life. I sat at lunchtime in a large buffet restaurant. I’d already made a visit with my plate to several stations in that restaurant, filling it with various kinds of food, and then with my head bowed, I prayed my prayer, but not aloud. No one sat with me. God would hear me, even if I only prayed my heart. Thank you, Jesus, for this food. Bless it to my body’s use. In Jesus’ name. Amen. Immediately after my prayer, I remembered my wife’s funny comment. I could have played a tape. But I gave that thought only a passing notice as I reached for my fork and began my lunch. And then they walked in. Eight men, all dressed in slacks and nice shirts, gray-haired, jovial. They didn’t look related, but they did look as if they were all together. One by one. After filling their plates, they returned to their large table, each one finding their place, but waiting until all eight of them were seated. And then it happened. As I sat across the room peeling shrimp and eating chicken on a skewer, they all rose in unison, as if some marionette had pulled an imaginary set of strings that connected all of them together. In quiet and exquisite reverence, they stood in that restaurant. They stood by their chairs. One of them spoke to God in a language I could not recognize, slow and deliberate. I have no idea what he said to God. I did understand one word. It was the word Amen. They all repeated the Amen. Can I tell you something? As I sat there in that buffet restaurant, part of me desperately wanted to pick up my plate, walk across the room, and find a chair at that table. I wanted to ask those guys questions about who they were and their standing for prayer at mealtime. I wanted to ask the guy who prayed what he said to God when he thanked him for the food. I’d love to have had a tape of that prayer for my future reference. I think taping that prayer would have been different than taping my mealtime prayer. I would not be surprised for a moment if the translation for that prayer that they prayed began with Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Somehow, standing together in a circle praying made those guys seem like they were truly thankful for what they were about to receive. They certainly weren’t saying grace by rote.