

Lord God, Heavenly Father, bless us and these Thy gifts which we receive from Thy bountiful goodness, through Jesus Christ, our Lord.

Latin Catholic (after eating) – "We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for all thy benefits, Who live and reign for ever and ever.Amen." (Preceded and followed by the Sign of the Cross. Latin Catholic (before eating) – "Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty.May we occasionally forget ourselves long enough to remember each other.Saying Grace by Dutch painter Adriaen van Ostade, 1653 May we release ourselves from the need to fit every truth neatly into our own language. I still don’t pray to any God as others might define it, but I no longer run from prayer. My love of religion, my commitment to religious community, and my personal atheism exist side-by-side, deep and unforced. I never intended to be a praying atheist, but here I am. Every prayer, even an atheist’s prayer, is an articulation of connection, a willingness to invest ourselves deeply in the lives and beliefs of our fellow human beings. The prayer is theirs, and I am just the conduit for their deep need. When I’m praying for a congregant or a patient in the hospital, it’s not about me.

Whether I believe in the existence of any divine ear listening to us simply isn’t the point, because when I open my mouth to pray on someone else’s behalf, the particulars of my own beliefs become enormously unimportant.

But ever since that night at Ernesto’s deathbed, I have surprised myself by offering many sincere prayers for healing, and for God’s presence in the lives of those who desperately need to feel it. I had assumed that my own theology would get between us and turn my prayers into lies. A powerful connection formed when that family reached for me, the chaplain, and asked me to put their sadness and their hopes into words, and to tell their God what they needed. Together, we prayed the Hail Mary, the Our Father, and prayed that whatever came next would come with peace and overwhelming love. Won’t the words come out meaningless? Won’t they feel like a lie on my tongue?īut a dozen pairs of teary eyes turned to me what else could I do? I invited everyone to gather close. Won’t a prayer from me be empty? I worried. I was prepared to hold their grief and anger, but I couldn’t imagine how I was going to pray. Until I prayed for Ernesto.ĭuring one of my very first shifts training as a hospital chaplain, a nurse called to say that a Catholic man was nearing the end of his life, and his family wanted someone to say some prayers.The small hospital room was crowded with Ernesto’s wife, his children and cousins and brothers, his grandchildren. Prayer isn’t for atheists like me – at least, that’s what I used to think. “Is not prayer a study of truth? A venture of the soul into the unfound infinite? No one ever prayed heartily without learning something.”
