Act One - The Table
Act One.
The scenes that shaped me.
The Table.
The Table. A defined place that you have to decide to come to. A place where legs are stilled and feet are tucked. A place where nutrition is consumed to the body, the soul, the heart, the mind. Stillness is mandatory at the table. Relationship is woven at the table, one word, one glance, one gesture at a time.
Our tables tell our story. Is the table isolated in a dustless, perfect, but lonely room? Is the table isolated beneath piles of junk mail, forgotten projects, and the unnecessary? Is the table covered in crumbs and coffee cups, a forgotten napkin or two beside the salt and the pepper shaker?
The table with the jelly smear is my favorite table. Although I will grab a wet sponge and tidy that table up, I will also linger in that room where the fullness is still echoing and I will remember Jesus and I will tell him, “We did it Jesus. Thank you.”
Oh boy, I really think we have missed the whole point Jesus was trying to make when he said, “Whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, remember me.” What makes Communion Holy is the communion part- the One we are in community with. I know it is HOLY HOLY HOLY- and we stumble around with that idea on earth and so we carve scenes into pretty tables and then we won’t allow little children to touch them. We get all dressed up and move ceremoniously around the carved table and wear long robes, or make long boring speeches, and bow our heads with extra gravity- and I know it is because we are trying to say that this meal is above us, set apart from us, and the making of us. I understand that, but I don’t like it all—at all. I feel Jesus loving the table that night, the last night with his friends and family. I feel him loving the room, the smells, the sights, the sounds- I feel him reaching for that Cup, the most important cup- and I hear him taking a deep breath knowing he wouldn’t have this version of earth joy again, and with tears in his eyes and palatable love soaking every word saying, “when you do this again, remember me.” He is love. He is the one who is before all things and in whom all things hold together. I believe Jesus also prefers the table covered in jelly smears, coffee cups, and bread crumbs. I believe he loves the table crowded with elbows and plates, and the side splitting joke, and the story that brought a tear, and the delicious dessert, and the achy legs after sitting longer than you meant to. I believe this is how we remember him and his Father who sent him to a world that he so loved, and how we honor him and that unspeakably sacrificial mission.
My Grandpa Murl worked at a factory all of his career. He and Grandma Rachel lived in a small house with a table nearly taking up the whole kitchen. Once a week Grandma Rachel cooked up a modest meal and Grandpa invited his coworkers to dinner, they would eat and then Grandpa would teach them about God. I never sat at that table, but my Dad told me the story.
My Dad was a School Teacher and a Pastor, we were always the lower middle class. My Mom was a full time mom and caregiver for....well, for the whole world. They loved deeply. My Mom made biscuits that would melt in your mouth, and tuna casserole with potato chips on top. My favorite memory throughout my life was waking up at Mom’s house in the morning to the smell of coffee and bacon- the voices at the table were more motivating than any alarm clock ever made. I would leap from the bed and get to the kitchen, before I even knew “Fear Of Missing Out’ was a thing. Many mornings I would sit there in my jammies listening- listening to the passions, burdens, perspectives, missions, and longings of my family and friends. I was shaped there.
The love for the table was mine before I could walk, I spent hours on my Dad’s lap listening to the conversations and smelling the coffee.
My husband Shannon and I have had many tables, in the beginning it was a card table, then a table bought from a yard sale, then a fancy one that had fancy chairs that were broken by many guests, then a small corner booth table, a couple years with a table in an RV, then a large oval table that can seat 10 and 12 if you really crowd in. We have worn out all of those tables, and as much as I love the table, the cooking part was an uphill climb for me. The food was an excuse to get everyone to the table where I coined the phrase, “It’s not fancy, but it’s food,” and then the magic came to my own table.
As our children grew we had dinner together at the table most every night, it was a value tucked deep into my heart. I knew where the treasure was and my husband and I wanted to show them the way. I internally growled at the ‘too many’ moments; too many games, practices, homework, busy’s. We had those seasons too, but we noticed that after too many days away that we were beginning to lose relational strength. We started “Family Night’- a protected time for everyone to ‘be there’ and to share what they were learning from life and from God.
Priceless.
This night became the place where we found each other, carried each other, celebrated together, cried together and journeyed together through all of the adventures of life. The table was our ship and our anchor was Jesus himself.
Our kids are grown, and our grandchildren are coming now. We still have family night, and Pizza Movie Night, and Sunday dinner, and linger longer breakfast chats and many new sweet faces are now placing their feet under my table and crowding in with all the elbows and plates.
Thank you Grandpa Murl. I never met you, but you are a hero to me. And Jesus, remembering you is the anchor that holds me to everything that matters most. Thank you for lifting The Cup that night and creating a moment that we would talk about and study and puzzle after for the rest of time. Thank you for drinking that cup and then setting that cup back down onto the table.
