COLUMN: Don’t Mind the Mess – Saying grace

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 07/02/2024 (530 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Like many others, I grew up in a family that always said a prayer before we dug into a meal. This was referred to as, “saying grace”.

I’m not sure if this was just my clan, or if other Mennonite families did this, but we usually added an extra thank you prayer at the end of the feast. As a kid, I didn’t really understand the need for the second grace. I surmised that perhaps it was letting God know now that we had actually tasted the food, we were sincerely grateful, and indicating to my mom, my aunts, or any other servers waiting on the sidelines that it was finally time to step in and clear the table.

Saying grace didn’t always involve a banquet. Often, it was warranted by just a piece of pie and a coffee. Although the ice cream and other treats we snuck out of the freezer generally flew under the radar.

Nostalgia aside, I do see the need for saying grace. It acknowledges the source of this bounty set before us, and it also encourages gratitude; something that the maker of the meal often doesn’t receive. Although many prayers would include, “And God bless the hands that prepared it.”

Praying out loud was also something we never did around my parents’ table, or at my grandparents’ table for that matter. I’m not sure why, since many of my friends’ families were quite verbal in their show of gratitude. Did my relatives consider it a private practice and disrespectful to add audio, or did it simply boil down to, “It’s just the way we’ve always done it.”

In my family, there were simple guidelines to saying grace. We’d clasp our hands, bow our heads, close our eyes, and think grateful thoughts, or silently mouth the words. The main thing was the recipient above would accept whatever humble and sincere show of praise we had to offer. As my parents said. “God sees the heart and doesn’t care if it’s not fancy.”

Since there was no vocal “Amen” for closure, the timing of the silent prayer depended on the spirit of the group. As kids, we kept one eye half open to see if anyone had raised their head and was reaching for a fork. Then, we could follow. Usually, it was an elder who dictated the length, and we dared not be the first to end it.

And heaven help me if I glanced over at a sibling or certain cousin whose head was bowed, but was wildly grinning at me, daring me not to laugh. Of course – I laughed – which led to a whole lot of conversations later about disobedience and lack of respect.

Later, as my family circle grew, I got to know some folks who didn’t think a simple thank you was enough, and always added a few opening remarks to the prayer. Many times, this often-lengthy preamble included appeals for someone’s provision or healing, or petitions for a few souls who had lost their way. It was informative, to say the least, and there were a few of us who squirmed from time to time.

At the end of the day, I’m glad that my parents carried on the tradition of saying grace. It’s a simple acknowledgement that this tasty dish created by loving hands isn’t something to be taken for granted. That it didn’t just materialize out of nowhere. Someone paved the way for it to appear on our table, and He deserves the credit. That humble prayer puts things into perspective.

Although, I’ll never really understand the one about Johnny Appleseed.