You, custodian of the clouds
You, shaper of starlight
You, curator of creation’s bounty
We praise you.
You, who breathed life into dust
You, who fell in love with earth so deeply that all we see and know and experience is an echo of your love
You, who pierces our hearts with arrows of convection to nurture every splendor that you’ve made.
We praise you.
The farmers say there are two things money can’t buy: love and homegrown tomatoes and so we praise you for both: the delight and nourishment of love and bright harvest of equal weight in the mystery of our lives. Our gratitude then, bends in every direction, sustenance ever on our minds.
Today, flour, sugar, salt meld
to create sweet treats that point us toward thanks. The hot oven, the casserole dish,
the colander, spatula and butter knife
laboring alongside the hands of
father, grandfather, son, grandson,
mother, grandmother, daughter, granddaughter
kneading the dough,
chopping the onions,
reading the recipes from generations past,
a feast prepared to foster gratitude,
an avalanche of praise.
But praise does not stop at the table where we eat,
there is a storm of song and psalm for
the farmer who planted the seeds,
the farm worker who gathered the crops.
the packers who prepared it for the journey,
the truckers who delivered the food,
the grocer who tended the shelves.
Every way we turn, another thanksgiving,
another murmur of devotion.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, God.
For this day, for this season,
for this tender moment,
your presence shimmers through
even the hushed beauty of the day.
For the delight of children.
For the possibility of table grace.
For the fierce love of those who are
just beyond the veil,
gone but not forgotten,
saints of light who guide the way.
For the tables that are hushed and heavy,
God, lost and unsettled.
Where life is just fitful enough,
just unresolved enough,
just enough in limbo that praise is hard to grasp,
where gratitude collapses
under the weight of unresolved heartache.
When we break bread in this place,
all this unfolds, and more.
Your good gaze over us keeps track of our hidden sorrows and the world’s deepest needs.
Your hawkeye looks after the least, the lost, the lonely, the refugee, the orphan, the war-widowed.
And, for the sake of all this, you gathered your disciples at the table.
You said to them, this is the feast of love.
You promised a new path.
A transformation.
A turning.
And so, we ask now that your spirit be poured out upon this table of love.
May this bread and this cup be for us a revival of hope and a renewal of courage as we encounter your presence among the ordinary gifts of life. Through the grace of your sustenance, be with us Christ. And hear us as we pray together the prayer Jesus teaches us…. Our Father…