The Invitation of the Table
Hungry for Communion in the Absence of Feasting
Spring is here. In all her glory and her gloom. Sun rays taunt us with hope only to be betrayed by grey dismal clouds once again. It has been a long, dark winter marked by absence, grief, and emptiness — and yet hope is in the air. This week, as we marked another Easter apart from the feast of community, I am aware of our collective hunger.
My dining room holds a big, beautiful, live-edge table. I walked past it this morning as I do countless times a day, but this time, a deep longing welled up sudden and unbidden. This big, beautiful empty table, now representing immeasurable losses.
Where once were beloved faces of neighbors and strangers alike, church members, family and friends, now sit empty chairs. In a time not very long ago, huge vats of soups and curries were shared over candlelight with laughter, boisterous conversation, and the ruckus of children. We shared home-cooked dishes, stories of our day, and ultimately, our lives. There were also sweet times of worship around the table. Colored pencils and clay, coffee and banana bread, prayers and songs, wine and bread — communion.
God, I miss this.
This table holds a story — one that has profoundly marked our community. It is not my table. It is our table. It was an extravagant gift (far beyond what we could afford) hand-crafted by a dear community member. A discarded piece of wood, deemed as unusable in the workshop, was rescued and painstakingly restored. A dedicated craftsman patiently worked the wood again and again, filling in the broken places, strengthening what was weak, sanding what was rough, layer upon layer restoring it to beauty. Not every scar and knot were erased. Some were transformed into beauty, telling the unique story of this particular tree.
The night of its dedication is burned into memory. Our beloved artisan described the process of redemption as a picture of God’s patient work in our lives, who chooses us from the discarded and abandoned places, who patiently tends to our cracked and weakened frames, and who transforms our wounds into stunning beauty. That night, he invited us to come to the table, to bring our brokenness and our wounds, and to break bread in the sacrament of communion with our wounded and glorious Christ. This table would forever be an invitation to communion, to community, and to the beautiful story of redemption in the world.
And even now, as it sits in the emptiness of all this season holds, it is a prophetic symbol of what we as humans are created for — welcome, community, communion, laughter and tears, healing, restoration, and redemption.
This is what Easter is all about — for it is the greatest story of redemption that the world has ever known. So let us practice resurrection knowing that the darkness will give way to the dawn. For we are people of the resurrection and alleluia is our song! And soon we will gather around the table once more and we will feast and we will dance and we will hunger no more.
