It seems like everywhere I go The more I see The less I know

 Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, thou art very great; thou art clothed with honour and majesty.

He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, and herb for the service of man: that He may bring forth food out of the earth;

And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, and oil to make his face to shine, and bread which strengtheneth man's heart.

That thou givest them they gather: Thou openest thine hand, they are filled with good.

So dinner on Friday night with a few friends spun out into a full-bore event with flapping tissue flags, candled branches, a kiddie coloring table under sweeping tapestries and an invitation posted on Facebook.  And how very sweet it was.  

We kept squishing in just more around the curving table until at last a reinforcement table and chairs had to be brought in from next door, but it was just fine.  We really didn’t need a fire in the mirror-crusted fireplace on such a balmy night, but who could resist its crackle and spark? And as the handheld circle of thankfulness finished, Alan of course did an official welcome and introduced the dinnertime discussion question: What do you value best about yourself, of yourself? (crossing out the easy answers of “friends & family & Jesus”).

And after we could eat no more and the water pitchers and bowls of beans and rice and salsa and tortillas and ropa vieja and more French fries than you could imagine had been passed around and around with bottles and bowls of ketchup, we encircled the stage in chairs and mostly blankets on the ground, and reflected on bringing this best to the table of the Lord All-Powerful, because "from the east to the west I will be honored among the nations.” And after communion with fresh-after-five Safeway loaves and a jug of Gallo wine or for those who prefer, Welch’s grape juice, the beat went on.  Between Cameron’s “Here is the church, here is the steeple, we are all God’s chosen people” to Giovanni’s “Say hey I love you,” everything beautiful and soaring billowed out to the night sky. How could every single person at the Upper Room be an amazing musician but it’s true. Percussion instruments were distributed all around while conversations of poetry and dance nestled under the twinkly lemon trees, and yet another table of chocolate cheesecakes with whipped cream and raspberries and shaved chocolate and cookies and sweet breads was set up in the cleared space under the arch, and I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live: I will sing praise to my God while I have my being.

My meditation of Him shall be sweet: I will be glad in the Lord. Psalm 104