A Meal Blessing. . . and a Blessing for Those without a Meal

At the corner of Ashland and 45th there resides Davis Square Park, the neighborhood is Hispanic. Fairly nice park actually – there’s a merry-go-round, a soccer field (however the goals are missing their nets), and a city pool. Every summer day at one-thirty Port Ministries’ “bread truck” rolls up. There’s a fat, jolly friar painted on its side, and out the back come four Young Neighbors and their adult leader. Before the rumbling of this beat up ol’ truck stops the neighborhood kids are already running over and lining up.

The Port, as it is known, carries out a number of services, and this traveling soup kitchen is the most well known. The “bread truck” serves lunch to any child age twelve and under, and they vary with whatever donations they can muster. This day it’s a simple ham & cheese sandwich with a paper cup of water. Later this week YNIA will donate left over Jimmy John’s subs as a slight improvement, and Friday they’ll serve hotdogs which I’ll hear are a hit.

To be honest I can’t remember any of the kids names (fortunately the Young Neighbors got to know them well), but I do know they were pretty standard like José and Maria. So picture this: little J. & M. come racing up, our kids greet them and ask if they want lunch, and of course they do. With their plastic sandwich bag in one hand and water in the other they walk back to the park. Concentrating oh so hard Jose tries to drink and walk back to the park at the same time, but his shaking hand just spills the water every which way. Maria, the big sis’, gives him a look, they turn around to get a refill, and they’ll be back again for the same reason. Eventually, they’ll enjoy a lunch that otherwise would not have come.

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The first two prayers I learned were grace at dinner, and bedtime prayer. Grace went like this, “Bless us O’Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.” In college these words started sounding incomplete, so I began saying impromptu prayers at meals. These however had little to do with giving thanks, and said more about what was going on in the day. Both prayers began feeling incomplete.

This continued until one dinner with a friend when he added a sentence to the same blessing, they were, “And bless those who go without food this evening.” Today, for me, its that simple – I’m praying a meal blessing, and a blessing for those without a meal. Not only are the words a blessing, but a reminder that I need to do something about the world's problems. So bless the Port, bless José as he spills cup after cup of water, bless Maria for not losing patience, bless all those without food this evening, and please bless me, God, with a conviction to bring them food more often.