The New Mealtime

As I began this Lenten blog series, I asked the question: what does newness look like? Call me crazy, but I wanted to see (and hear and taste) a more peaceful dinnertime in our home. Until this week, the dinnertime at the Baker-Trinity household went something like this.

We’d gather, pulling kids away from their Legos or books. Sometimes they’d help set the table. We’d sing our table grace and begin to pass the food and eat. You can imagine the reaching over brothers and sisters, the occasional “please” mixed in with the “give me that.” The three-year old has the wrong spoon and then spills her milk. Non-food related dinner conversation gets interrupted by “Did you eat any of your broccoli?” “Can I have more milk?” “Why does he get the last piece of garlic bread; I want it.” Then, at different times, each child asks to be excused and leaves the table. Yes, this leaves Nathan and I time for conversation but we are also stuck with the entire cleanup. That had to end.

Sunday we called a family meeting. As of Monday, we now wait until everyone has finished before leaving the table. The adults have agreed to eat more quickly; the kids agree to sit and wait. We clear the table together and only then go our separate ways.

What makes this transition really new, however, is one very important element: the end of meal prayer. Praying as meals conclude is nothing new to religious traditions, but I am ashamed to admit our family had never considered it. We’ve begun using the prayer from Luther’s Small Catechism, an excerpt of Psalm 147:

Give thanks to the Lord, for the Lord is good, for God’s mercy endures forever.

God provides food for the cattle and for the young ravens when they cry. God is not impressed by the might of a horse, and finds no pleasure in the speed of a runner, but finds pleasure in those who fear the Lord, in those who await God’s steadfast love

Mealtime with three children will have its share of chaos and mess, but I’m hoping our little new prayer will, like good ritual does, shape us in ways we can’t yet see. In the meantime, we can rejoice in many hands making light work.