There are few things I love more than setting a table. The sight of chairs and charger, forks and napkins, beautiful flowers and flickering votives always moves me. With places prepared, I step back and drink it in, letting it wash over me, taking a moment to remember and reflect.
The feelings come in like a flood, a torrent of emotions, and I am stirred. I feel eager anticipation to welcome and be with the people who will fill the space I have prepared. I feel tender sorrow in places where I feel lonely, left, alone.
The table always speaks.
I breathe in the belonging…
A picture of love and acceptance, of delightful details and shared experiences. The table is a place of joy and laughter, the birthplace of memories that linger, imprinting on the deep parts of my soul. The table is where a chair waits with my name on it, and a feast is spread out for me to enjoy. It is a place of prepared expectation, personalized anticipation, and meaningful connection.
I acknowledge the longing…
A gnawing awareness of places left vacant by abandonment or abuse, the places where I ran expectantly toward love only to find emptiness waiting. The places where death or divides or dysfunction left me feeling like an orphan on the outskirts, watching others partake in a bounty of belonging, wishing for just a whisper of inclusion. Even when my cup is full, my life joyful, my heart open, the table can remind me of what I lack and bring to the surface a longing for home.
I welcome the hope…
The table promises what will be. Brokenness healed, the wrong made right, the orphan home. The table anticipates a day where tears are wiped away, fears quieted, and longings fulfilled. The table can shine a light on sorrow, but then sing me home, promising, beckoning, wooing.
This Easter Sunday, as we set tables and welcome others, as we gather and cook and feast, as we dress up and laugh, sing songs and say prayers, may we revel in the joy of a risen Savior and celebrate well. May we also recall it was at a table where Jesus, alone with his closest friends, created space to break bread, pour wine and declare to those seated with Him, “Every time you do this, remember me.”
May the table speak to each of us. May the good fill us with gratitude and the longing fill us with hope. May we remember His sacrifice, His love for us while we were still afar, and the space the Savior creates for anyone longing for home.
