Is there room at the banquet table?

I’ve been to many conferences in churches, para church organizations, and in the business field. Getting together with people of like passions can be inspiring while sometimes it can be deflating. I’ve been in that uncertain place of wondering if I’m really accepted at the banquet table. Haven’t you? I think it happens more than we think; or rather more often than we speak up about. Whispers in the hallway, in the parking lot, or in the coffee shop… “I felt left out.” The self doubt creeps in, “I don’t feel good enough for them.” It’s that unwanted rejection that haunts me, has it ever haunted you?

Maybe we don’t realize how often this happens, because we’re often accused of gossip. The shut down. We’re not supposed to talk about it. How does one express their hurt, their brokenness, especially when it’s among the family of God? Among the sisterhood? I think we’re in denial if we try to hide the shattered pieces of someone’s heart. Are they confident they can trust us with their pain? Will we listen or shut them down?

The first step to recovery is admitting there’s a problem. Our sisterhood (and the brothers) have a problem and many of them are in denial. I’ve been in denial. Denial about others and denial about myself.

The glass house is shattered by the rocks thrown around. Yet we don’t want to admit that it’s happening. We don’t want to confess how cold it’s getting. The elements of the world are creeping in. We’re shivering, but acting like everything’s okay. Most people won’t even put a coat on, yet our fingers are so frigid that we can’t lend a hand for anything anymore.

We’re either going to freeze to death or we can rally together to find warmth.

We need to stop throwing rocks, but first we need to admit that we’re throwing them.

Sisters huddle in corners, breathing into their own hands; tears freezing up like snowflakes on their cheekbones. No one has helped them pick up the pieces of shattered glass. No one wanted to admit it’s been happening. Their own hands are bloody from trying to clean up the mess on their own. They’re cut, sliced, freezing, and numb.

Yet we pride ourselves in which church we belong to. We boast of our self proclaimed Christianity and put forth our Sunday best when people are watching. Those broken sisters know what a facade this all is.

People who throw stones shouldn’t live in glass houses.

We’ve put ourselves into bondage. The bondage of silence while abuse continues. Who are we kidding?

The world watches as we keep throwing rocks and every glass wall is crumbling down.

We require a price at the banquet table when Christ already paid it in full. What have we become when we require a price to a free meal?

We gorge ourselves on the delicacies while our broken and freezing sisters are starving for the bread of life. The table isn’t as small and exclusive as we thought for so long. The beam in our eyes has limited our vision.

There’s plenty of room at the table.

No single sister is in charge of everything. She can’t cook all the dishes on her own, set the table, and shine the serving dishes. The banquet table is where everyone gives their special dishes. Who are we to decide if a meal is good enough? In Christ every dish is good enough, because he’s the main ingredient. In Christ every bit of serving utensils are useful and needed even if it’s made of wood or clay.

Vegetarian dishes, meat and potatoes, bread, and even desserts. All are enjoyable even if not all sisters sit near our favorite dishes.

There’s plenty of room at the banquet table. Pull up a chair. I have a cloth for your hands. Some water too. Lets bandage you up and fill your hungry soul. Lets get in close and warm one another up. I don’t mind a little blood. In fact, his blood was shed too. Once and for all.

We’re a family, a fellowship, a sisterhood.