It’s the place we long to linger when life makes our insides grumble in need.
It’s the place we come to because our humanity won’t allow us to be anywhere else.
We come empty and ravenous, longing to be filled.
And so we come to the only place we know to get what we need to satisfy the hunger.
We come broken down and used up, our mortality showing in our faces and on our hands.
We’re worn and weary and weak.
We’ve come with our masks and our hurts and our ugliness.
But we’ve come and that’s enough.
The table fills, but is never full.
We make space for every one who trudges through the door, moving chairs and setting places.
We invite them in and make a name card because once you’ve come, you belong. And so we write each name, with grace.
We pass the basket of bread round and round, the basket never emptying and it’s this bread that fills us, it’s why we’ve come.
We eat the bread and as we eat, we share our stories. We cast off our masks and we put on humility.
There is no room for pride or arrogance or judgment at the table.
We come clean and from clean hearts come pure honey, words dripping with love and grace and truth. Faces turn upward, no longer downcast, heavy laden with sin.
The world has no hold on us and when we push back our chairs and we leave the table, we leave the sin there, like the crumbs we leave around our plate.
Mourning turns to laughing and we’re free.
Free and full.
So I invite you, the one worn and weary and weak, come to the table.
Just as you are.
We’ll write your name in grace and set a place just for you.