By Rev. Julia Burkley (she/her/hers)
When I was 20, I spent five months studying and researching interfaith relationships in the Himalayan mountains of Nepal and Ladakh, India. Part of that time, I spent in high mountain villages with families learning about their faith practices. Usually, English was only spoken by one or two family members who would be out working during the day, and I spoke maybe three words of Ladakhi and Tibetan, so I spent a lot of time finding really unique ways of communicating.
One of my favorite of these experiences was in a small mountain village by the Indus river. I was there talking to the family about their Buddhist practices, but during the day it would be just me and the sweet grandma. Every day I was with them, she and I would gather around the low wooden table around 3:00 pm, sitting on the ground on cushions. We had a big bowl of shredded sweet carrots, earthy red cabbage, and sharp grated onion, all mixed with curry powder, salt, and fennel seeds. We couldn’t talk through words, but every day, we would gather around the table and have a conversation.
It would go: Grab a piece of dough she made earlier in the day. Flatten it out with the palm of your hand. Fill it with as much filling as you could, and do your best to crimp the edges in a way that was somehow beautiful and would keep the filling in. Abi-la was clearly much better at it than me. I inevitably mess up the crimps and grandma would laugh, grab my hand, and guide my fingers to somehow make it beautiful.
Then we would pile these little dumplings, these mo-mos, high up in the steamer to enjoy when everyone was home. The conversation would be finished when all of us were stuffing our faces with dumplings, and the only noise was the appreciative sound of a dinner that satisfied.
These hours spent around this kitchen table changed me. All of a sudden, God’s expansive table made sense. Abi-la invited me, the outsider, to partake in her own beautiful ritual, one that was taught by her own abi-la, and maternal generations back and back and back. Our communion was little dumplings dipped in spicy ketchup and washed down with creamy milk tea.
That table has come with me, because it was a visceral time where God’s love transformed across all boundaries just because of the place where we gathered. God was there, transcending language, age, context, to center us in a spot where we could simply eat and be connected in the love we had of community.
The table connected us, just as the table has connected us as a church across time and place and will continue to do that from generation to generation. The table is our center.
As Luke shares in Luke 14:7-14 (NRSVUE), the table is not supposed to be closed off. The table of God is for everyone, especially those who are different from us. In fact, Jesus makes it a command: “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers and sisters or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. 13 But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. 14 And you will be blessed because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
The table is a commanded invitation to welcome all who are different from us. Be loud about inviting all and loving all, not just for those who are already in our circle, but those who may not know that we are open and loving and safe for them here. Serve those around us, and invite others to serve.
Imagine the difference of my experience in Ladakh if Abi-la didn’t invite me to join her at her table. Imagine the difference you can make in someone’s life if you simply extend the invitation. God’s table isn’t about creating boundaries. All are welcome.
What would that look like for your church or your context? I wonder, who do you want to invite to come and join you at the fellowship hall tables, or the tables in the break room? Who would you invite to your dining room table? Who does God want you to extend an invitation to?
When all are invited, especially those who wouldn’t normally be, God’s kingdom is realized, and Jesus’ call is answered. That is our challenge as faith leaders: to invite with boldness and empower our flock to do the same.
Rev. Julia is about to be serving as Pastor of Concord Presbyterian Church in Wilmington, DE. She enjoys hiking, kayaking and reading fantasy books in her spare time.
