Come & Eat
I want to see the body learn true communion, koinonia, and not just this formless thing we call community. What does that even mean? All these buzzwords flying around our heads, stinging our hearts, our hands, our eyes, ears, lips, minds. We repeat them because we’ve been told them so many times, stung by them so many moments when our souls were searching for the ointment of truth and mercy, but instead got the bite of a shallow, meaningless answer. The blind leading the blind and where is the man with eyes wide open? These things sting us whether we know it or not, because they rob us from truth, from intimacy, from the original design for communion.
You can’t stop the sting of the hurried, side-stepping words of “encouragement” without the slow and weighty brokenness of hard truth. “Hard truth makes you soft, and soft truth makes you hard.” Truth is like the yeast that makes bread rise. From dry cracker to spongy sweetness. But that bread was meant to be broken, ripped into pieces and shared. Truth shared is flesh broken. You can’t have the communion of sharing hearts and showing scars without the brokenness of bread and body.
We have to crucify our pride and self-righteousness and self-gratification. Communion has to be shared, has to be sacrificed, has to be taken in surrender and given in death. We have to die again and again and again to live life in full, grafted in to One Body.
So let’s shake our “community” out like the dirt on a rug and see who returns. Let’s wipe away our social status and projected images and set our tables with the Word. Let’s scrap our worthless idols and worship God by preparing the very best and sharing it with everyone we can. I want to cultivate nourishment and delight, choose the ripest fruit for harvest at the perfect time, cook slow and long using all kinds of ingredients and spices, lay out the best china and pick pretty flowers for the table. I want to light the candles and turn off the fluorescent light of this busy world and instead serve living water and everlasting love. I want to sip slow the wine of God’s grace shared with arms open and hearts broken. I want to savor and not gorge, share and not stuff, surrender and not demand, gratefully enjoy and not selfishly take. I want to dine on God’s very own Words, His very own Body, amongst His very own People -- as a part of His very own Bride myself. I want the Bible open at every table, in every room, in every place you might find us: those with His Words written on our hearts.
So come and eat. Come and be filled.
“Our homes are to be hospitals -- refuges of healing radiating the light of heaven. And our dinner tables are to be operating tables -- the place where broken souls are made whole again. In our churches people should find rest from their battle for acceptance and release from the lie that they are nothing more than the good they possess.” ~The Divine Commodity