A few nights ago we sat at our neighbor’s table, might I add, no ordinary table. It was an eight-foot single of slab of maple that he’d hand planed, sanded, and cured with love for their family to enjoy meals and fellowship for years to come. The beauty of the craftsmanship was secondary to the waves of stories marked by the wood’s flowing grain etched throughout the various hues of brown, black, tan and red waves. The piece of wood itself was an ancient work of history that likely stood in a forest for years. Can you imagine the many tall tales it has to share of woodland creatures, of treacherous and gentle seasons, weathering, wear and death to rebirth; a life reshaped and tastefully displayed in a humble home. Once a gathering place for birds, bugs and other creatures, now a gathering place for family and friends to break bread, laugh, fight, eat and be filled. A table, no doubt, that will continue to have endless stories to tell.
Then there is our dining table. Inherited when we bought the house; a 1700s styled-vintage pedestal table upscaled with shabby chic paint to meet with modern times. As lovely as it sounds, it’s seen better days with a broken leg giving it a slight slant toward the left, great for the shorter guests, and losing a bit of paint. It’s full of character no doubt, yet even in its brokenness it too has stories to tell. I don’t know when it was made or by whom, but it too has likely been around the block for ages, before the previous homeowners of our house, it was likely in various homes before, and before that it too may have stood tall in a wooded haven.
Two tables, two lives lived, both with memories to spare. These trees who died a death, either naturally or forcefully, sacrificed to an unknown repurposing. At some point the wood was taken and revisioned. What they would endure could not yet be imagined since their former life was untouched by man. Through pain they were cut, scraped, sanded, nailed and even glued to be refashioned into something entirely new, beyond the imagination of a tree. They would be made to serve a new purpose and live in a new home, yet doing exactly what they’d always done—Being.
A tree says and does nothing, yet creation, you and I included, linger before its beauty as the seasons reveal its changing nature. A table sits in one room in our home and never moves, yet we gather around its trunk and enjoy its bounty. It does literally nothing, yet we are invited, we come, we sit, and we are filled.
As I write this it is Palm Sunday. Sitting here and considering the life of a tree, my table, I am also preparing for another table; a sacramental table. A table also repurposed from a tree and sanctified. It is simple with a flat top and four legs like any other table, set with two candles, plates, cups, bread, wine and water—a sacred image, one that draws me in deeply through the image of sacrifice. On this table, there is a consecrated lamb broken ready to be received for the forgiveness of sin and inwardly digested for transformation. This particular table holds a power. A power to unite all nations, tribes and tongues across space and time—a time-traveling table of family past, present, and future. Empowered by divine humanity, this table, by merely Being, invites us to come so that we may inwardly be made new.
Reminiscent of the cross, also formed and shaped from a tree, is the heart of the Eucharistic table that welcomes all to come. In the depths of our soul, a part of us is hungry for what is offered at this table. It is an alter of broken bread and poured out wine—a mixture of blood, water and flesh and it invites us all to come and eat and be filled. In a unitive feast that never discriminates, it is where we die to self, are repurposed and begin to reclaim our divine wholeness. It is a vision of humanity being reunited and made one with the divine. The Eucharistic table is inviting you to come and sit, come and eat of my flesh and drink of my blood, it’s given for the life of the world, for you to be in me and me in you. (John 6:53-58)
As a tree given over to death to craft a table made for all to gather, so is Jesus. He has been given so that we may come, gather around him, be fed, and be repurposed by his craftsmanship. He is waiting for you to eat with him, fellowship with him, receive from him his flesh and blood to be made an indwelled and new creation, a new way of Being, a new life. The cycle of birth, death, sacrifice, repurposing all to be remade may sound like the table’s story, but it mirrors Jesus’ story; our story. At the table, we too are transformed to Be a place of sustenance, gathering, fellowship, life, and love who invite others to hear the simple, yet eternal story of a Great Love offered upon a simple wooden altar who died for our very intentional repurposing.
As you gather around the Eucharistic table Easter morning, I pray that you won’t just see a table and the elements. I pray you see Jesus offering you an invitation to dine with him, be filled by his love to the brim. I pray you see yourself reflected in the table’s story–that of being offered an opportunity to be recrafted by the gentle hands of Jesus so you may become like him; to Be broken bread and poured-out wine for those who gather around you.
If you haven’t joined along the wandering way, be sure to subscribe below.
