What to Do When You’re Invited to the Table

We’ve messed up. Someone (or lots of people) told us we’re less-than, unworthy or  disgraceful. Most likely, we believe them, given the pile of evidence they have against us.

Communion beckons, but sometimes I feel a little like a dirty beggar invited to a feast at Downton Abbey. Meeting Jesus at that place, especially this time of year when we’re focused on His suffering and sacrifice, reminds me of my failings that put Him on the cross.

For most of my life, I’ve gone to the communion table with a little bit of fear and trepidation. And a whole lot of shame.

I’ll never forget the Palm Sunday I spent in the beautiful California redwoods at  Mount Hermon. Two hundred writers crammed into polished wooden pews for a traditional Sunday service.

As the last refrain from the organ faded, I prepared my heart for God to speak.

When the chaplain stood behind the communion table, he invited worshipers from all denominations to partake together.

He continued, “The table is not for perfect people. It is for people who want to come to Jesus. This table is for those who hear His voice saying, ‘Do this in remembrance of me.’ Come down when you’re ready.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman dashing down the right aisle. I would have been right behind her, except that my path was blocked. I joined the throng, inching down to the front, but in my heart, I was leaping over the pews.

She jogged down in front of the cross to be first in line at the bowl and the cup. As I eased down the aisle, she came up through the middle of two lines, grasping a juice-soaked cracker, tears welling up in her eyes.

I don’t know what she left behind in the back of that church. It must have been a heavy load for her to be so ready to meet Jesus at the cross. I was awed by this beautiful moment of communion between a beloved child of God and her Savior.

Tears welled up in my eyes too, as I reached for my cracker. “This is my body, broken for you.”

I dipped it into the cup. “This is my blood, shed for you.”

In remembrance of Me. Back in my pew, I thanked Jesus for all He’d done for me, even sacrificing His life. I didn’t need to have it all together. I only needed to remember Him because His death and resurrection means I’m invited to sit at His feet anytime.

He wants to commune with me. Me!

God showed me that day what He sees when we gather to “Do This in Remembrance of Me.” He doesn’t see a depraved group of people who will never get their act together.

He sees a community of believers learning to shed our shame and live like the heirs of the Kingdom we are—what other created being is invited to commune with Jesus?

There’s plenty of room around the table. It’s not a place where you’ll be scolded for using the wrong fork or given the side-eye for laughing too loudly. It’s a place for the love-starved and the hungry beggar-in-need-of-a-wash to come and be filled, to give exuberant thanks, and to remember the Reason we gather to break the bread and drink from the cup.