Prayer Panic

My plate resembled a feudal landscape: a field of turkey flowing away from cranberry castle, a battle tower of creamed onions, the mashed potato shores of lake gravy, a forest of cornbread stuffing and turnips. No portion of the plate was visible on this estate.

It was Thanksgiving, a day off. I had nothing scheduled and no intention of performing. All I wanted was to gorge myself, then fall asleep in an alcohol and sweet potato stupor. I nestled into my chair and waited for our host to bless the meal.

“Robert, would you lead us in prayer?”

I froze. What did he just say? Lead the table in prayer? I was unprepared and fresh out of new material. I would have liked to improvise, but nothing came to mind. I wanted to say, I’m sorry, but I can’t go on after a vegetable dip. Or, I can’t follow olives and feta. That’s too much hors d’oeuvre for any performer. I need time to prepare. You can’t expect me to inspire piety on short notice like this. I wanted to say all that, and more. But I didn’t. The rest of the table was waiting. I kept my reservations to myself. Without batting an eye, I intoned the traditional mealtime prayer:

“Bless us, oh Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive, from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

No one moved. The air went out of the prayer. This was a deflated crowd. They had expected a custom benediction, one with some flair and a dash of pizzazz, and I had disappointed them. Our hands unclasped. We ate in silence.

What could I do? The moment had passed. No more ad hoc prayer requests, I decided. From now on, I’d need a week’s notice, or maybe ten minutes. I might cut my wife and daughter some slack, but even they were going to have to get holiday clearance. Christmas was on its way and I’d have a chance to redeem myself. Good thing. Any requests?