**We conclude our series “In the Classroom” with this thoughtful selection written by Lars Gren in “Ramblings from the Cove”, the newsletters that followed the Elisabeth Elliot Newsletters. We pray that you are blessed and encouraged as Lars teaches us about grace and gratitude from this special remembrance with Elisabeth.
She sure nailed me. No, we don’t remember to pray before our meal 100 percent of the time. The mind slips. Still, it is not often we miss doing it, whether at home or out for a meal. I can’t remember where it happened—at home at the kitchen table or at a one-fork restaurant (as opposed to a two- or three-fork type with real napkins). Suffice it to say, I had already sampled the food when Elisabeth said, “Aren’t we going to pray?” “Sure, just forgot.” I put my fork down, closed my eyes, said a few words, then “amen,” and picked up my fork again, whereupon Elisabeth said, “Did you mean that?” I was nailed—real good—by the truth of her statement. To whom and for whom did I pray?
That happened fairly recently. It reminded me of a vivid memory from the distant past, forty years ago or so, a different prayer for a different meal. It was on one of my trips home to see Far (my grandfather) in Norway. We had walked to town from his apartment and it was about lunch time. Near the town square was a very small shop called melkemeieriet. Far asked if I would care for a plate of flatbrödsoll. It is sour milk, or we might say buttermilk, with the cream still in it. On top of the skin of cream you crunch up flatbröt (a very thin, flat cracker) and sprinkle sugar on it. Delicious. The little place was crowded with workmen who had come to get something “to go” or to sit down to eat. It wasn’t long before the waitress placed the two dishes before us.
Have you ever seen the print of the old man sitting at a wooden table with a knife and a loaf of bread on it, his head on his folded hands resting on the table? That was Far that noon in Kristiansand. He pushed his plate toward me to make room for his folded hands and bowed for an audible prayer, a visible sign of an invisible reality. No haste, no sense of obligation, no selfconsciousness, just gratitude to the One who had filled his every need for over eighty years. A sense of presence, a short interval of communion.
What’s the difference, one might say? It’s hard to brush off the difference when one reads Jesus’ word, “This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching as doctrines the precepts of men.” Or, “Do not heap up empty phrases.”
Whether I heard it or read it somewhere, I recall the thought that animals give thanks to their Creator in their sigh of contentment when they lie down and are at peace. A meaningful sigh in response to Elisabeth’s “aren’t we going to pray?” may have been truer than my few words spoken in haste. I should add some thought to the next time I thank God for our daily bread.
That’s it from the Cove.
**Excerpt originally published in Lar’s “Ramblings From the Cove”, September/October 2003.