At the Table

After my paternal grandmother’s funeral, people from her small country church prepared a meal for my family and me. It was waiting for us at my aunt’s house when we got back from the cemetery. This was a wonderful gesture in many ways, not the least of which was that my grandmother had been an excellent cook and had probably fed most of the town on similar occasions in her ninety-five years. The amount of food those church people brought us astonished me. And I say this as a child of the South, where covered dishes lined up one after the other for several tables isn’t an uncommon sight at social gatherings. They brought an unbelievable amount of food. 

The people who cooked that food belong to the church I grew up in. I know them all well and see them around town. They’re good, solid folks, and they are faithful Christians. But I don’t always read scripture the same way they do, and my understanding of who God is and how God works in the world doesn’t always align with theirs. For years I’ve struggled to hold these differences with a gracious and compassionate spirit. And then they showed up with casseroles and salads and pies and breads on a day when I was sad and hungry. Through the gift of that food all I could see was their love. It was good theology. 

Throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus sharing meals with others. In fact, some of the most memorable moments of his ministry involve food — the feeding of the five thousand, the story of Martha and Mary, the Last Supper, the disciples’ recognition of Jesus after his resurrection. The table is a place of mercy and grace, welcome and belonging. Jesus gathered people together despite — or maybe because of — their differences. And when people ate with Jesus, they were never the same. Just ask Zacchaeus. 

Jesus understood the power of a shared meal to effect change in the lives of those he invited to the table and the table’s unique ability to transform the relationship between host and guest and to change the relationships among the guests. I think that’s why we find him eating with such diverse groups of people — groups that included society’s outcasts and rejects, tax collectors and sinners. It’s difficult to continue to feel antipathy toward someone you’ve broken bread with. The “other” becomes more human over a meal. I assume this is why in Luke 14 Jesus tells us to invite to our own tables those whom the world casts aside, not our friends and those who think, look, and act like us. 

When I go forward to receive Communion at my church, I imagine Jesus inviting me to his Table with mercy and grace. It’s hard for me to ignore the reconciliation that I encounter at the altar rail and the love that starts to fill the spaces inside of me where I’m holding on to bitterness, grudges, and all sorts of other unpleasant stuff. I feel myself opening up to my neighbor — the one kneeling next to me, the one just down the road, and the one on the other side of the world. I eat the bread and drink the cup and walk back to my pew a changed person, my heart a little wider than it was before.

Questions for Reflection:

1. Think of a meal that stands out in your memory. Why is this meal so memorable? What did you eat? Who was at the table with you?
2. What are some other meals mentioned in the Bible beyond those we see in the gospels? What do you notice about these meals? What do these stories teach us about sharing a meal with others?
3. When has someone shown you an act of mercy or compassion? How did they show you? To whom can you extend an act of mercy or compassion today?