Ohhhh, the Lord’s been good to me, and so I thank the Lord, for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed, the Lord’s been good to me. Amen.

The Johnny Appleseed Blessing

In New England,MacIntosh Apples are everywhere. They are small, sweet and tart, good for eating raw as well as cooked into applesauce or baked goods. Stored properly, they last all winter; stored poorly, they bruise and become soft – still okay for cooking, but not so good raw. Up until about thirty years ago, Macs were one of the few fresh fruits available in a New England winter. I often found one in my school lunch – my mother making sure I had a daily dose of vitamin C and fiber with my PBJ.

These days, I pack lunches for my sons, sending them to school with figs, cranberries, kiwis, and occasionally pomegranate seeds. They eat apples, but prefer to have them at home. Macs aren’t their only choice these days; Honey Crisps, Galas, and Fujis can be found at the local market. There are so many options for nutritional essentials these days. While I enjoy the variety, I sometimes wonder if a basic truth has gone into hiding among so many choices: having even the basic essentials of sustaining food, clean clothing, and protective shelter is a blessing and gift. If I were born elsewhere or elsewhen, I might not have such necessities.

When I pack lunch tomorrow, I’m going to sing the Johnny Appleseed song. Perhaps I will see in the bread and fruit the blessing of the Lord. I hope so.

God is great, God is good,

Let us thank God for this food.

Amen.

It’s the first prayer I memorized, and maybe the first one you did, too. It’s prayed in a singsong way more times than not. It’s nothing fancy, but it opens the door to a life of gratitude for all ages. I hope I never forget it. More than once, I’ve heard it said that a person can be great or a person can be good, but not both. Being great in the usual sense means fame, fortune, or some kind of accomplishment that sets a person apart. Being good often means opening doors, telling the truth, and saying prayers at night. The two don’t seem to go together very comfortably. How many times has bad behavior been tolerated by those considered great? How often is goodness mistaken for not upsetting anyone or swearing?

I think this prayer is about something else entirely: scale.

God is great, the creator of this whole universe. Such vastness is beyond my understanding.

God is good, bringing hope and communion out of even the biggest messes. Second chances are real, and each of us is a delight to God.

Thanking God for this food – God is in everything that nourishes, right down to the chemicals and calories that our bodies need. And God is in us when you and I share the essentials.

There is no scale or reality without God, and I live this truth every time I pass you the potatoes and you pour me a glass of water.

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the Bread.
(Eucharistic Prayer C, Book of Common Prayer)

I know Bread is communion bread, with all the meaning it holds, but this grace works for any bread on any table: rye, pumpernickel, sandwich white, and honey whole wheat are all Bread. The bread’s not really the point; anything that sustains body and soul will do.

These twelve words are an extraordinary request when I pray them. I’m asking God for the miracle of recognizing eternal love in the simple act of sharing my meal and my life. All I have to do is ask – and be willing to live with the holiness of your life, my life, and everybody else’s life.

God, we thank you for this food,

For rest and home and all things good;

For wind and rain and sun above,

But most of all for those we love.

Maryleona Frost

From Poems and Prayers for the Very Young (Martha Alexander, illustrator, Random House, New York, 1973)

My friend Cheri tucked this little paperback into a box of baby presents when my younger son was born. She had one for her two girls and thought I’d like one, too. These four lines are just one of the treasures in it.

This little table blessing doesn’t put conditions on thanks. There is no escape clause if peas are served rather than corn on the cob. Home can be an apartment or a mansion, and rest had in a tent or on a sofa. Wind and sun and rain reign above for rich and poor, friend and stranger. Thanks are included for those we love with no distinction.

When we leave childhood behind, we make distinctions. We separate the foods we like and the ones we don’t, saving our approval and our thanks for what we want. Our homes become places moving toward an imagined ideal, not a place where we can live interesting lives. The elements are welcome when they don’t interfere with the daily commute or vacation plans. Even love can be doled out according to merit and convenience.

I’m old enough now to leave that kind of adulthood behind for a second kind of childhood – not simplistic, but simple. I am thankful for whatever is on my plate. I am grateful for the means to eat when many will not. When I welcome friends and family with kindness, care, and attention, my home is good enough. I trust they come to visit me and my family, not my furniture. And for those I love? Imperfect just like I am, and God’s sure grace in my life.

For all these, God, may I always be thankful.