And as Jesus sat at dinner in the house, many tax collectors and sinners came and were sitting with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” ~ Matthew 9:10-11
Growing up, my family lived in a small red brick ranch style home in the country about forty miles north of Dallas. Crawdads built homes made of mud in our front yard, and Mom’s dogs and Dad’s cats lived in the back yard. Other than the Jehovah Witnesses who always knocked on our front door, everyone came into our house through the back sliding glass door which opened into our kitchen.
The center piece was a round wooden table with four wobbly chairs. Dad was constantly re-gluing the chairs or putting screws into them to keep them upright for one more meal. It never entered his mind to get new chairs. I think it had something to do with being born during the Great Depression.
In many ways our family’s life revolved around that old kitchen table. After our days spent at work or in school, Mom, Dad, and my sister and I would sit down to eat supper together. Dad always said a very short prayer, and then we shared stories about friends, teachers, and coaches while sharing a meal together. Mom and Dad just asked questions and listened.
My sister Becky and I typed all our high school research papers on that kitchen table. We spread our books and notes across the table along with a dictionary, a thesaurus, and a bottle of whiteout. Mom folded clothes on the table, and Dad did our taxes on it.
Sometimes on a Friday night, my parents would invite another young couple over to play bridge at the kitchen table. The cards and the stories would flow freely. Imagine my surprise when I took a big swig of my mom’s orange juice before she could stop me. It was awful and I spit it out all over the table. She explained a Screwdriver Cocktail to me and told me to ask first for a drink.
On very special occasions, we welcomed guests to share a meal at our kitchen table. Mom would say, “Craig, go get the table leaves, we’re having guests tonight.” Our table would magically grow, and Mom would bring out the good plates, bowls, and silverware.
Usually, Mom or Dad did not tell me or my sister anything about who was coming to dinner. But one time Dad told us a couple from India would be eating with us, and that the woman would probably have a red dot on her forehead. “They’re Hindus,” he said. “Don’t stare at her dot. Make them feel welcome.”
Of course, I could not keep my eyes off that exotic red dot all night long. When the woman, I wish I remembered her name, caught me staring, she would just smile at me. I did not know anything about the relationship between Hindus and Christians, but I did know that the two Hindu people eating with us were very kind and loving. I am thankful that dad and mom introduced me to the sacredness of the kitchen table for all people.
What do we learn or experience around the table throughout our lives? How inclusive or exclusive are our personal tables? Our church table? Our school tables? Our heads of state tables? Who is welcome and who is not? Who is present at our tables and who is absent?
The shared table, where Jesus invites everyone, is at the center of the Christian faith writes Brian Zahnd. As Rohr says, “By one side Jesus is criticized for eating with tax collectors and sinners (Matthew 9:10-11); by the other side, he’s judged for eating too much (Luke 7:34) or with Pharisees and lawyers (Luke 36:36-50, 11:37-54, 14:1). Nobody was happy with Jesus’ table manners and the guests he ate with.
“Jesus shared the table with all the wrong people,” writes Zahnd. “At the table the sacred is expressed in the practice of radical inclusion—receiving the outsider and unclean for whom Jesus always made room.” He extended grace for all and saw the dignity in people and the value of diverse cultures. This practice of hospitality upset the status quo (remember the images of African American students sitting at lunch counters (the table) in the early 1960s).
“Jesus transforms the world one life at a time at a shared table not through battlefields or voting booths,” reflects Zahnd. Who do we eat with and who do we not eat with? It matters.
My sister left our home to play basketball at Cooke County Community College. Late in the fall she called my parents to see if she could bring a friend home. They said yes but I could see the stress on their faces.
The three of us sat down on the wobbly chairs around the kitchen table that always spoke truthfully to us. Dad told me that Becky’s friend was from Houston, Texas, and played on the men’s basketball team. “How tall is he?” I asked. “6’ 5,” Dad said, “and his nickname is Bird, and he is Black.”
“Oh…” I said. This was the late 1970s in Central Texas. Most things were left unspoken in our culture, but I knew what was taboo.
When Bird and Becky arrived, everyone was very uncomfortable; the conversation was awkward to say the least. We sat down together at the old kitchen table for lunch, and Dad said grace, “Thank you for this food and everyone gathered at this table.” It was a start.
A shared meal can begin the process of breaking down barriers and prejudice, and we can build relationships rooted in love and truth. Like Christ, may our tables be sacramental, and may we help bring heaven on earth through the meals we share with one another.
Blessings and peace,
Craig