This Table

Living Stones

The world begins at a kitchen table. No matter what, we must eat to live.

The gifts of earth are brought and prepared, set on the table. So it has been since creation, and it will go on.

We chase chickens or dogs away from it. Babies teethe at the corners. They scrape their knees under it.

It is here that children are given instructions on what it means to be human. We make men at it, we make women.

At this table we gossip, recall enemies and the ghosts of lovers.

Our dreams drink coffee with us as they put their arms around our children. They laugh with us at our poor falling-down selves and as we put ourselves back together once again at the table.

This table has been a house in the rain, an umbrella in the sun.

Wars have begun and ended at this table. It is a place to hide in the shadow of terror. A place to celebrate the terrible victory.

We have given birth on this table, and have prepared our parents for burial here.

At this table we sing with joy, with sorrow. We pray of suffering and remorse. We give thanks.

Perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table, while we are laughing and crying, eating of the last sweet bite.                       

—“Perhaps the World Ends Here” by Joy Harjo

What tables do you remember sitting around?  What were the tables that formed you? Those tables that drew you to them again and again?  What tables do you miss?  And perhaps just as importantly, what tables are you creating today?  What do they look like?  Who joins you there?  What makes them special?

During this season of thanksgiving and gratitude, I invite you to remember and celebrate the love that waits for you—and the love you create—around tables.  I look forward to sharing the Table with you!

See you in church,

Christy