A Crowded Table
Last Sunday night, I waited my turn to be patted down in the gatehouse at the Western Correctional Center for Women in Swannanoa. As a member of a team of volunteers from First Baptist Church of Asheville, I looked forward to our bimonthly opportunity to lead worship at WCCW. One of the highlights of these worship experiences is hearing the women’s choir sing. On this evening, 22 incarcerated women joyfully and wistfully sang The Highwomen’s song “Crowded Table.” The lyrics get me every time: “I want a house with a crowded table, and a place by the fire for everyone . . .”
As they sang, I thought about the table that had been set in our our sanctuary earlier that day for communion. As they sang, I also thought about the most moving service of communion I have experienced - a crowded table on a hockey rink in Denver.
In October 2019, I embarked upon a solo, cross-country road trip from Tennessee to Colorado to attend Evolving Faith. This was the second year for Evolving Faith, a conference birthed by Rachel Held Evans and Sarah Bessey to create a safe space for spiritual wanderers to ask questions, deconstruct harmful religious beliefs, and reorient their faith journeys.
Having resigned from my position as associate pastor two months prior, I recognized that I was at a transition point vocationally and a liminal space spiritually. The list of speakers was impressive, with only one white, cisgender man on the program. I was eager to hear a diversity of voices, to learn from a diversity of faith experiences. I wanted to expand my theological and spiritual horizons.
While the speakers exceeded my high expectations, I would be hard-pressed today to share a quote from a session or even recount the themes for the plenary sessions. What I do remember – what I will never forget – was the communion experience during the final session. I can still see the drama unfolding around the table in my mind’s eye from my viewpoint on the second level of the hockey arena where the event was held.
Rev. Nadia Bolz-Weber presided over the table. She preached on Luke 7:11-17, the story of Jesus’ encounter with the widow of Nain. Moved by compassion for the grieving mother, Jesus spoke to the shrouded body on funeral bier: “Young man, I say to you, rise.” Witnessing the man’s resurrection, the people recognized the presence of the divine in their mist. Nadia’s prayer was powerful: “Lord of compassion, touch us as you did the widow's son who lay dead and speak those same words to us: ‘Young man, arise.’ ‘Little girl, get up.’ What I'm saying is, create a holy uprising here today, Jesus.”
After concluding her sermon, Nadia issued an invitation to come to the table. As we reenacted this 2,000-year-old ritual, Nadia notably did not encourage us to remember a bloody sacrifice made necessary by our sinfulness. This table was set because of Jesus’ compassion. The bread and the cup were reminders that we all belong to God. We could rise up and approach the table because we are loved and accepted just as we are, regardless of our doubts, in spite of exclusionary teachings. Each one of us was welcome at the table, no questions asked, no membership required. Rise up.
Because I was sitting on the upper level of the arena, I received my elements from a server stationed a few rows behind my seat. Afterwards, I turned my attention to the drama unfolding on the floor. Hundreds of people approached the servers offering the bread and the cup. Tears flowed. Hugs were exchanged.
I remember watching a particular couple – two men with their arms gently resting on one another’s waists. I realized I had never before seen a same-sex couple receive communion in a church. I wondered how many people that day were approaching the table for the first time in years, how many had been turned away from the tables in the churches where they were raised, how many had been told they were unworthy to partake of the bread and cup. I hoped that this was a moment of healing for anyone who had ever been excluded from God’s table of love.
I want a house with a crowded table. I want a church with a crowded table. What about you?
Invitation to wonder: Have you ever been excluded from a table? When has the table been a place of healing for you?