story of the table

I was there in the 60's when
the tradition around the table
was rigid, precise,
and mournful.

The elders
(all men then)
marched in precision
up the middle aisle,
two by two,
wearing their black suits,
and well shined shoes.

Two of the elders,
when getting to the chancel,
removed the linen cloth
covering the stacks of
bread and juice trays.

The linen was removed and
folded the way an
American flag
is presented
to the family of a fallen patriot.

All the while the organ droned...
mournful, soft, slow
minor music
as people in the pews
pondered if they were
worthy enough to receive
the elements of this
holy meal.

It seems at our worst...
our Protestant story made
coming to the table
a matter of conditional love.

Tokens in the old days were passed out
to those who
had lived their faith
appropriately,
in the eyes
and opinions of others.
No token...
no partaking.

And yet the table
of our Lord is
a gift
of God's
unconditional love.

Is it not at the table
where our brokenness is met with
healing and hope?
And is this not an occasion for
joy and celebration?

Is it not at the table where we hear
God calling us to come?
"Let the children come!"

Let the hurting and the broken...
Let the doubting and the worrying...
Let the angry and the awnry...
Let the pious and the prejudice...
Let the righteous and the wronged...
Let them come!

Let them come to the Table.
For
this is sure...
no one leaves the table unchanged.

I give thanks that we are a church
wrestling with our past story,
struggling with our differences.

I give thanks that more and more
I witness evidence of joy
when gathering around the table.

I give thanks for God's
faithfullness to meet us
just the way we are...
and God's compassion
not to leave us the way we are.

Come to the Table...
for all is ready.