There are few activities that appear more idyllic in theory than eating outdoors.
The advertisements make it look effortless.
A family sits around a picturesque picnic table.
The sun shines gently.
A light breeze stirs the leaves.
Everyone smiles.
The food looks magnificent.
No insects are visible.
No drinks are spilled.
No one is chasing a paper plate across a field.
It is all very convincing.
Reality, however, is somewhat different.
Now, I should confess that I love eating outdoors.
A meal on a deck, beside a lake, under a tree, or around a picnic table somehow tastes better than the identical meal consumed indoors.
I cannot explain this scientifically.
I simply know it to be true.
Yet outdoor dining also introduces a variety of challenges.
The wind immediately develops an unhealthy interest in napkins.
Ants discover the location before half the guests have sat down.
Someone invariably says, “I think it’s starting to rain.”
And if hamburgers are involved, there is always the possibility that gravity will suddenly remind us of its continued existence.
Grace abounds.
Now, perhaps that is why I enjoy outdoor meals so much.
They are wonderfully imperfect.
Nobody expects perfection at a picnic table.
Things spill.
Children run about.
The conversation wanders.
People linger longer than planned.
And somehow those very imperfections become part of the joy.
The meal becomes less about the food and more about the people.
Less about efficiency and more about presence.
Less about presentation and more about relationship.
And I suspect there is something deeply holy about that.
After all, when we read the Gospels, Jesus seems remarkably fond of meals.
He taught around tables.
He gathered friends around tables.
He welcomed strangers around tables.
Again and again, important moments unfolded while people were eating together.
One begins to suspect that sharing a meal may be one of God’s preferred methods of building community.
Now, I realize that modern life has become remarkably busy.
Meals are often squeezed between appointments.
Sometimes they happen in cars.
Sometimes standing at kitchen counters.
Occasionally while staring at screens.
Yet summer offers a different possibility.
The pace slows slightly.
The evenings lengthen.
The weather invites us outside.
And suddenly there is time to sit.
To talk.
To linger.
To enjoy one another.
These things matter.
Because relationships rarely grow through efficiency.
They grow through presence.
Friendships deepen through conversations that take longer than necessary.
Families are strengthened by meals that linger.
Communities are built one shared table at a time.
Now, perhaps that is why picnics feel so restorative.
Not because the sandwiches are better.
Though they may be.
Not because the mosquitoes are fewer.
They certainly are not.
But because picnics remind us of something we often forget.
People matter more than schedules.
Conversation matters more than productivity.
And joy grows best when we make room for one another.
I think this is one of the hidden gifts of Ordinary Time.
The season invites us to notice grace in ordinary places.
Not only in churches.
Not only in prayer books.
But around picnic tables.
On decks.
Beside barbecues.
At family reunions.
In all those moments when people gather simply because they enjoy being together.
Now, none of this means that every outdoor meal will proceed smoothly.
The rain may arrive.
The flies may outnumber the guests.
The potato salad may spend slightly too much time in the sun.
Such things happen.
But even imperfect meals can become beautiful memories.
In fact, they usually do.
So if this July presents an opportunity to gather around a picnic table, accept it.
Bring a lawn chair.
Bring a dessert.
Bring a story.
Stay a little longer than planned.
Laugh a little louder than necessary.
And give thanks.
Because some of life’s richest blessings arrive not through grand events, but through simple meals shared with people we love.
Even if the ants arrive first.
Alleluia.
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Companion Prayer
Gracious God,
Thank you for the gift of shared meals.
For family and friends,
for conversation and laughter,
for picnics and barbecues,
for all the simple ways we gather together.
Help us to cherish one another,
to make room for joy,
and to recognize your presence in ordinary moments.
And when life becomes busy,
remind us to slow down long enough to share a table.
Through Christ our Lord.
Amen.