Just as we were getting ready to leave, a Good Samaritan waved to us from inside and made us welcome.

"I’m having some trouble," he confided and smiled as if we were old friends of his and could understand and sympathize. "Too many waiters are football fans. They didn’t show up. There are plenty of tables still vacant, though, if you don’t mind waiting."

He was a warm, charitable, hospitable man. He seemed sincere, so we said we’d stay and wait. He thought that was wonderful of us and sent some cocktails to our table "on the house."

Some of the glow faded when we looked at the prices on the menu. We wanted to get up and go, but charity trapped us, held us. We could not be discourteous.

There was but one thing to do. That was to order the specialty, which seemed to be the only bargain on the printed bill of fare.

It would have been a bargain at any price, for it brought God close to me.

"Relax," Gene said. "It seems to me we were brought here for some good reason. I have enough money. We have plenty of time. And we have something to celebrate, just like these football fans. God wants us to enjoy this."

It was a sort of nightclub. The tables were close to each other. We could hear what everybody around us was saying.

They were young. They looked prosperous and happy. They were loud and drank more than they ate. Their drinks were of all colors. There was a jazz orchestra and a blonde singer with a pleasant voice. We sipped and waited and ordered.

Lord, you know we have some wonderful cooks at Madonna House. You also know that we seldom eat anything rich or expensive.

You know how I felt about those hors d’oeuvres, particularly the anchovies, those lovely morsels that put such bitter salt joy in my mouth. You know my stand in regard to mushrooms and filet mignon and wine in my soup. (I am for it!)

The atmosphere of the place changed with the coming of the hors d’oeuvres. It was almost like being in a cathedral. I became aware of you, God.

I became aware that you had always loved me, even when I was far away from you.

Strange! The man with his back to us, who kept ordering a double rye with ginger ale every few minutes, talked to himself aloud. He had won $100 on the game and was going to drink it all down. "Waiter—another double rye—where’s the waiter?"

The thin young man on our left introduced his girl to everybody. "Mr. Horwitz, my future wife, Anna."

One man said, "Anna! May you be happy always, Anna."

The singer sang. The musicians played. The diners dined and sipped and talked and shouted and flirted. I heard and saw everything and everyone.

I was absorbed in talking to you, God, yet aware of all that was happening around me. I became aware, too, that this was not the first extraordinary dinner you had arranged for me. On the contrary!

I realized, for the first time, that you had been feeding me all my life; even when my nourishment was but the rich, warm milk of my mother.

Day after day, wherever I was, whatever I had done, you had attended me, watched over me, provided for me. No matter whether I was good or bad, you loved me!

Your Son taught us to pray to you: "Our Father, who art in heaven." You had been a good Father to me—but what scant attention I had paid to you!

Often I had said grace before and after meals. But usually I said the words mechanically, with no more fervor than a busy man dictating letters. "Dear sir,… in regard to your shipment of the nineteenth, it was gratefully received. Yours very sincerely,… "

Until that moment I had never been quite conscious that you gave me every meal of my life. I had never really thanked you. Yet, you kept showering me with your love.

How amazing that you love us, God! And how tragic that so few of us have any idea of your love for us!

Many of us were brought up in the belief that you are a miser, a tyrant, a God of anger and jealousy and vengeance, a greedy Deity who wants everything we have and who will send us to hell if we hold back anything at all. You are pictured as Infinite Selfishness, when all you want for yourself is our poor human love!

I felt very close to you, God, dining on filet mignon and mushrooms. How is it that I seldom feel close to you in church, yet I felt love for you in a noisy dining room? I guess that’s how we’re made.

Feelings are not important. Intentions are. My intentions are good, Lord. Make them better.

In that overcrowded, boisterous nightclub restaurant, surrounded by people seeking to be happy, I tried to make up to you—with a few minutes of pure love—for my long lifetime of ingratitude and neglect and sin. But I gave you only a few minutes, against a lifetime of your unceasing love and care.

Let me spend all year loving you, God. Let me love you, Lord, from now on, not in my usual tepid, phlegmatic, stupid way, but fervently, as the saints love you.

Happy New Year, God.

—From Getting to Know God, pp. 15-18 (1998), available from MH Publications.