Featuring Rory McKenna, a musician and songwriter with the band Tekoa, based in Melbourne, Australia.
Pen and watercolour on paper
The invitation is simple. Come, set the table. Come, be in eager expectation of what God can accomplish at this table setting. Jesus says that in loving our neighbour, we are loving God. So maybe, in reaching for each other – we are reaching for God.
Oh child, I’ve been trying to tell you that there is a place for everyone. I know there’s acidity – please, just leave it at the door, and take your seat at the table.
– At The Table, Tekoa
When I think about why we cling to the ‘acidity’ – why we hover in the doorway instead of taking our seat – I realise Jesus was naming that very thing when he told the story of the prodigal, while eating at the Pharisee’s house. He’s sitting at their table, right in the middle of their questions about who deserves to belong. He’s been eating with tax collectors and sinners, and now he’s here with the Pharisees, and it’s like he’s saying, “Let me show you what the Father is like.” Suppose the son squanders everything and comes back – the Father still rejoices. And you can almost hear the Pharisees: “Look what we’re doing for the Lord. How can you sit with them?” Jesus rebukes that spirit gently but firmly, and there’s a seed there for everyone. Are you going to receive it, or be so angry, so proud, that you miss the feast?
For me that’s the doorway: pride and comfort. It’s easier to stay in your circle, avoiding uncomfortable tables and awkward conversations. As you get older, you know who you want to be around, and you get rigid. But my 3 year old son isn’t like that – he wants to hang out with everyone. Christ says, “Observe the children, for they will inherit the kingdom.” It’s such a counter-adult thing.
The acidity is not wanting to be wrong, not wanting to stoop, not wanting to sit beside someone you’ve judged. But the Father wants the older brother – the Pharisee, me, all of us – inside the celebration. So we let go of our agendas, our need to be right, our expectations of gratitude or reciprocation. Communion reminds us: the table is grace, all grace.
Welcoming Father, I confess my pride and lay it aside, that I might enter in and join the table you have set. I yield assumption, judgement, entitlement and disappointment to sit alongside my sisters and brothers – all those invited, celebrated and loved by you. I ask your grace to wash over all of my efforts towards justice and righteousness, that I might become a true guest, and giver, of grace. Amen.
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