The Table

I walk in the kitchen and ask the same question, “What can I help with?” She points to the vegetables and tells me I can start chopping. The smells, flavors and our conversation fill the small room. Every day the topics and recipes are different but the routine is the same. After an hour of stirring, baking, and mixing it’s time to take our seats.

Place mats and candles are set and after filling our plates we all sit with an unspoken seating chart. A prayer for the meal but it feels as if Jesus is sitting next to us in the open chair. After “Amen” I say that heaven touched down at that table. We talked about anything and everything. Nothing was off limits. Politics, family drama, funny stories, theology and the gospel. Sometimes we solved the world’s problems and sometimes we left with more questions. Sometimes we laughed until we cried and sometimes we left our seats for a dance party. But these were our family meals. Every day. Lunch and dinner.

I remember the first day I moved in, I asked what they would like to do for food. I knew it could be such a divisive issue in my own experience: Who ate my food? That was for dinner! You didn’t pay me for the meal. - I wanted to avoid all of this, so I asked what they wanted.

Her response. “Well I do lunch and we do dinner every night around 6pm, you’re welcome to join.” And that was it. I was welcome at the table.

But it wasn’t just the table. It was an invitation into their family. They opened up their home to me and my two friends for an entire summer. A living example that the gospel really does come with a house key. And yes I had my own key to the apartment. Free to come and go as I pleased.

Around that table we became a family. Roman parents with three adopted daughters. We were called the “Sorelle Poco Poco.” That table was a physical example of what they did for us. That table says, “You are welcome here. There’s a place for you. Come as you are. You are known. You are loved. Let’s break bread together.”

And here’s the thing, it was all grace. Dinner ended and we brought our dishes to the sink. I offered to clean every day. And every day I heard the same thing. “You don’t have to do that, but thank you!”

What a picture of God’s grace. He pours out love on us. He paid the price so we could have a seat at the table. And so often our response is to try and earn it. Let me do the dishes and clean up. I need to earn my place. I need to earn my keep. And Jesus says the same thing to us. “You don’t have to do that.” Your family. There’s nothing you could ever do to earn it. This adds nothing to my love for you. But thank you for your offering.

So as I scrubbed sometimes tears fell. And in our last meal together I looked at these two people and told them, “You’ll never know how much I am changed from this summer with you.”