“I want a house with a crowded table and a place by the fire for everyone.” -The Highwomen, “Crowded Table”
“I need to tell you something,” he said, pulling me aside on a busy Sunday morning for a moment’s privacy. “You know how I’m on that committee with Frank1?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’ve never been comfortable around him. You know we don’t see eye to eye politically, so when I found out he was going to be in the meetings with me, I just dreaded it. But it’s the strangest thing…” he paused, collecting his words, “I’ve discovered that I really like him. We don’t agree on some important things, but we get along fine. Better than fine, really.”
He shrugged at this strange turn of events and I smiled, picturing the unlikely pair as friends, thick as thieves. Yep, in God’s strange economy of love, it added up. The longer I pastor, the more I find myself marveling at the surprising work of the Holy Spirit, weaving together the most unexpected of people.
“I can’t explain why we’re friends now,” he said, “but I thought you’d like to know.”
I often wonder if Jesus had similar conversations with his followers. The disciples, after all, were a diverse bunch. Within the ranks of the Twelve were former working-class fisherman,2 raised to dutifully operate within the constraints of the world’s economic and political systems, raised to lead an honest, quiet life. Then there was the reformed tax collector,3 trained to exploit the world’s economic and political systems in order to accumulate wealth at the expense of his working class neighbors. If that combination of disciples wasn’t enough of a recipe for conflict, add in a Zealot or two,4 who were of the mindset that the world’s systems needed to be imploded, the government and its economic power upended and replaced by a system of their own making. Whew! Jesus didn’t collect a merry band of likeminded men. Jesus intentionally chose a blend of personalities and worldviews that, if carelessly mixed, would inevitably explode.
Hmmm. Doesn’t this sound familiar?
Sometimes on a Sunday morning when I look out at the gathered body, I am astounded that we are able to operate as well as we do. I notice her talking with him about the next mission project they are looking forward to accomplishing together, and I marvel at their camaraderie, knowing how vehemently they disagree on matters of theology. I see those two serving communion side by side, offering Christ’s body and blood together, even though they despise the other’s political champion. I see those four leaving the Sanctuary together on the way to their Sunday School class where they will inevitably argue over Scriptural interpretation, but here they are discussing their plan to team up and provide meals for one of their sick classmates.
We’re an eclectic bunch, this Church that Christ has called together. We are a blend of personalities and worldviews that, if carelessly mixed, has the potential to explode.
I’ve seen it happen, unfortunately - that ecclesial boom. Chances are, you have too. Over the centuries there have been schisms and church splits and disaffiliations and congregations torn asunder. Words do not adequately express how deeply I grieve the collateral damage of these ecclesial explosions.
Still, I cannot give up on the messy blend of people that God gathers around one big, crowded Table, into one big, messy Body. Because, at its best, it’s a beautiful sight to behold. When we are mixed together by careful hands of love and kindness and mutual respect, we are a rich tapestry, an arresting blend of bright, bold colors, a rare work of art, a masterpiece of love.
Some would argue that it’s better to avoid the cross-contamination of potentially explosive worldviews. Some argue for uniformity in the Church, for a version of Church that isn’t as messy and argumentative and crowded with the tension of competing politics and Scriptural perspectives.
But that’s not what Jesus did. Jesus embraced the wide spectrum of Jewish thought and theology of the day and crowded it all together around one big table. His Table, where everyone was welcome, where everyone belonged.
I can imagine the Twelve’s first meal together, once Jesus assembled this surprising mix of men and they were settling in together as a new kind of community. It surely felt really crowded around that first dining table, and not in the good way. Tense silences. Awkward interactions. Avoiding eye contact and physical touch. Staying in their lanes. Refusing to be the one who starts a fight in front of Jesus.
Over time, however, the energy around the table shifted. Sure, they had their arguments and fights and squabbles as any group of people do. But more often than not, I bet there was laughter. I bet there was a fair amount of good nature jabbing at each other’s differing views. There was definitely earnest conversation about the Kingdom and Scripture and God’s unfolding plan. And surely there were shared confidences in hushed whispers over late night fires about family and love, regrets and rebounds, hopes and dreams.
Soon the table became crowded in the most comforting of ways. It was crowded with the warmth of love and the blend of familiar voices. It was crowded with the presence of God, filling every ideological chasm between the disciples, drawing them into a unified whole. It was crowded with an unshakable sense of belonging, that here these men were home.
It’s what the Spirit does when two or three are gathered, creating a new kind of community, crowding the Table with grace.
As more people came into the room for Bible study, a couple of us dashed off to collect more chairs from down the hall. We squished together around a disheveled arrangement of differently sized tables in the room plastered with AA posters outlining the 12 Steps, reminding us of others who gather around these same tables on other nights. On this particular evening we were studying Luke, getting to know one another as we tentatively shared our thoughts on the passage at hand.
It was a crowded table, both with bodies and with ideas, yet our differing interpretations did not make the room feel smaller. Rather, the room seemed to grow, accommodating us all, as if giving us breathing room to stretch our imaginations and expand our narrow judgements of each other.
A few weeks later I sat around that same table, leading a retreat for women who were survivors of human trafficking. I listened as they told their stories and shared their views of God and Scripture, opening up to one another in that vulnerably healing way that only the Holy Spirit can facilitate. It was a crowded table, in the best kind of way. We sat shoulder to shoulder, and the respect and support and love in the room created a cozy atmosphere, a sense of safety, a feeling of home.
I imagine these moments felt similar to Jesus’ dinner parties, the ones he threw in the homes of tax collectors or Pharisees. The ones in which he invited all the people on the margins of society, the so-called sinners and outcasts, who were never welcomed as the guests of honor anywhere. I can picture Jesus, the consummate host, pulling up chair after chair around hastily arranged tables, starting conversations between guests who usually lived worlds apart, who now suddenly found themselves shoulder to shoulder with people they never thought they’d talk with, let alone like. Can’t you see it? There, in the glow of Jesus’ unconditional love, this motley crew of misfits and millionaires talked and laughed and defied all social and religious customs to become the most unlikely of friends.
This is what Jesus does through his Holy Spirit in his holy Church. Jesus creates community between disparate people, weaving them together with star-flecked strands of love. It’s not just for our sake, for the sake of the Church, that he does this. Rather, Jesus knits the Church together so the world might see our love in all its messiness and glimpse the surprising, miraculous, and chasm-crossing love of God.5
I want a Church with a crowded table and a place by the fire for everyone. There are some days, and these are best days, when a parishioner pulls me aside and tells me how the Table of Grace got a little bit bigger for them, a little bit more crowded, a little bit more like the expansive Kingdom of God.
You see, with all its failures, scandals, and political schemes, it is still a beautiful Church. Be hopeful. God is still here.
In order to protect privacy, I completely made up this name. Nobody has ever confided in me of disliking any Frank, anytime, anywhere. Deep breaths, Frank.
Most famously, these would be Peter, Andrew, James, and John. See Matthew 4:18-22.
This would be Matthew. See Matthew 9:9.
Simon (not Simon Peter, the other one) was specifically named as a Zealot (see Luke 6:15) and it’s possible Judas Iscariot identified as a Zealot too.
See John 17:20-24.
I think the crowed table means acceptance of all and then let the Holy Spirit make it "right".
This is beautiful, Laura! I especially love this: “When we are mixed together by careful hands of love and kindness and mutual respect, we are a rich tapestry, an arresting blend of bright, bold colors, a rare work of art, a masterpiece of love.”