Some prayers you say so often you can skate over the depths of their meaning without much cause for reflection. How often have you said “The Lord’s Prayer?” I’m sure I’ve prayed it thousands of times. It’s a beautiful prayer, covering all bases. No wonder Christ gave it to us to pray. But I can forget how profound it is sometimes. And I need to step out of my comfort zone every once in a while to hear the wisdom of its prayerful words. For instance, that phrase, “Give us this day our daily bread.” I will pray it a little differently after my recent Fourth of July.
Daily bread on the Fourth? That would normally be, for me, burgers, corn, hot dogs, and yes, some blueberries and raspberries on my ice cream to make it red, white and blue. But this past Fourth, before the pre-requisite barbecue, my son, Tim, and I served at our church’s soup kitchen.
Tim is a regular. He cooks every Friday for the guests and then serves up their meal on Saturdays. I confess I haven’t helped out at the Saturday kitchen in decades; haven’t met with the good people who need the hot meal every week.
READ MORE: GRATITUDE IS A PRAYER
“Dad, we’re going to be a little short of volunteers this Saturday,” Tim said. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll join you.”
I got up early–or at least earlier than I normally get up on a holiday Saturday–and we headed to church. “What should I do?” I asked as soon as we arrived. Marilyn, the woman in charge, put me to work cutting up desserts and then when the guests arrived, she had me spooning out salad for them. Salad for 200.
Give us this day our daily bread? Us, not just me, not just you, but all of us. I got to meet, my tongs in hand, the good people who live in New York, who depend on this hearty meal. This is their daily bread.
“Would you like some salad?” I asked. “Yes,” said most people. “No,” said some. Others wanted lots of tomatoes. “Could you give me more tomatoes?” I heard often enough.
“Be generous,” Marilyn had urged, and I was happy to pile salad on their plates, on top of the franks and beans and mounds of rice. We even got to give them seconds until there was nothing left.
My feet were tired from all that standing. My fingers were cramped from wielding the tongs. But I was glad to give someone else their daily bread, glad that God gives me mine.
Tim and I cleaned up in the kitchen, sang “God bless America” (Happy Fourth!) in the kitchen, then we headed to our barbecue, grateful, very grateful.
Give us this day our daily bread? I find myself praying it, thinking of those for whom their daily bread is not to be taken for granted. It’s not just me and mind, it’s ours. How wonderful to have the chance to work hand-in-hand with a church, with all those volunteers, with those donors, to give someone else their daily bread.
