Brothers, sisters, and folded ones – when they asked him how to pray, he gave them no incantation, only a supper said aloud: Our Slice, which art in Oven, hallowed be thy name. And in the middle of it, the hinge on which the whole prayer turns: forgive us our crusts, as we forgive those who overcook against us, as it is written in the Lord’s Pizxa, 6:12.
Mark that word AS, beloved, for it is the sternest word in a gentle prayer. Ye ask to be forgiven in the same measure ye forgive. Pray it not with a grudge in thy pocket, for the prayer will find the grudge, and weigh it, and hand it back to thee at the word AS.
And when Simone asked, how oft shall my brother overcook against me – till seven times? – he answered, until seventy times seven; and if thou art still counting at four hundred and ninety, the fault hath long since changed sides. Forgiveness that keeps a ledger is not forgiveness; it is bookkeeping in a cassock.
And yes, the title bears an X, and it always shall. The scribe’s hand slipped upon the wax, the hour being late and the garlic bread being near; and none dared correct it, for the Amen had already been said over the page. The slip is now part of the prayer, and doth no harm, and humbleth the scribes, which little else hath ever done. Let that comfort thee, beloved, whose own life bears a typo or two that cannot now be corrected: the prayer works anyway. Heaven reads through misprints. It always has.
So pray it at the table, with flour on thy hands; and when thou hast prayed it, live it, for the prayer is a recipe, and a recipe read aloud nightly feedeth no one until some hand taketh flour. Amen – and pass the pizza.