He always prided himself for
praying before meals. It was
the way it was when he was
a kid and then he got away
from it in college.

He doesn’t remember ever bowing
before the first sip of beer and
crack of the shell of the green,
pickled egg at the bar two blocks
from campus.

He picked it back up again in
seminary. It was what was done.
Everybody prayed before the meager
meals prepared in the basement
of the dorm. You might bow in
silence if eating by yourself,
(out of sincerity or someone
might walk in) but everybody
took a turn where two or three
were gathered.

And at the coffee hours after
chapel, faculty and staff
would be obliged to pray.
He would go to coffee to
socialize though often
missing chapel itself
to play pool in the bowels
of the building.

Praying at meals was the
thing to do when he married
and had children. He wanted
to raise the kids with a sense
of reverence and gratitude.

In parishes, he became the
designated pray-er. It was
obligatory for him to pray at
social gatherings like church
suppers; he was the pastor
after all; and with friends, he
was the only minister in the
group. He was the professional
religious person having had
hands laid on and no one else
seemed particularly comfortable
offering grace.

Then the kids left, his first
wife died, he’s been remarried
for twenty years. He reads daily
meditations by theologians, two
priests actually, interesting
for a protestant, which come
his way via the internet.

Often, he shares these with
his wife along with the poems
of the day that also come his
way before he and his wife
sit down to breakfast.

Then they just start eating or
sometimes have a moment of
silence. The silence is good.
The old words just don’t
seem up to the mystery.