Come to the table...

Sunday, May 5, 2019


Tonight I sat in a small church somewhere in the middle of Guatemala.  There I set under the tin roof, and between the cinderblock walls.   With the cars steps outside door, and the sounds of children running down the street-- I sat.   Surrounded by the church, while taking in the moment that we are in fact the church.

I had just served communion to the fifty plus men and women sitting in those white plastic chairs.  As I walked to the front carrying the remaining of the bread, walking alongside my husband and two church elders.  All of sudden, I got that choke and I had to swallow quick and hard, you know those out of the blue, almost too emotional moments.  I felt this overwhelming thanks of gratitude, humility.  Because I, a woman-- was standing here, and I heard the words of my God say, "Come to the table..."



I graciously walked to my chair and held that tiny little piece of bread, balancing that glass grape juice.  I heard it again, "Come to my table..."  and my head went down in prayer.  How incredible is that we get to come to the table, it doesn't matter who we are: man, woman, white, black brown.  We can be Latino, European, African, Asian, Australian.  God invites us all to the table. John says this in Revelations, "After this I looked up and there before was a great multitude  that no one could count, from every nation, tribe, people, and language, standing before the throne and in front of the lamb (7:19)"

Have you ever processed what Heaven is really going to look like; the piercings, the braided hair, the buns,  blue eyes, brown eyes, and green,  red hair, curly hair, freckled faced and tattooed.   The global body of Christ, has all kinds of kinds- and I get to be there in the middle of that great multitude.

I know I've sat and stared at that bread hundreds of times, but tonight his words, his invitation just burned in my heart... God is here and he is inviting.  He is inviting me, he is inviting you to just come.  His death- his blood, his body is crying out "Come to the table, come eat in remembrance."

In a word with so much separation, so much passive segregation I see my savior across the table, saying, "Sit."  He places no limitations on me because of who I am, because I am his beloved and he is mine.  He says "Come."  He doesn't care that I'm a woman.  He doesn't care that I'm white, and He doesn't care about who I was.  He just cares that I'm there- ready to worship him.  He says, "Come to the table."

Tonight, I gave thanks for a place that I can come just as I am-- forever His and partake at His table.  I gave thanks for the millions who sit with me- all colors, all cultures, all languages, all children of God- who come to the table to remember the King.

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