H. Michael Brewer
Crescent Springs Presbyterian
4 February 2007
TABLE TALK
Isaiah 6:1-8
Isaiah was never the same after that day. What happened in the Temple, it marked him. It changed the
course of his life. And no wonder. He met God. Isaiah stood right there stuttering and shuddering in the
presence of the Creator of the universe. Can you imagine?
But then, you don’t have to imagine it. You can experience it. What? Because the floor isn’t shaking, you think
this isn’t the real deal? Because the walls aren’t trembling and the smoke alarms aren’t clanging, you think God
isn’t here in person? You may not feel a draft from angelic wings, but the heavenly honor guard is here, eyes
averted from the glory of the Most High who is coming into our midst.
All right, maybe it is hard to believe. We don’t expect brushes with greatness. I know a local comic artist who
has had some national success. He was telling me that one day the phone got him out of bed. When he picked
up, the voice on the other end said, “This is Paul McCartney. I’d like to talk to you about illustrating a project for
me.” My friend hung up on him, because you don’t get phone calls from Beatles. Except it really was Paul
McCartney. We don’t expect the rich and famous to come poking into our daily existence.
My daughter Rachel was telling me about a reception for board members and donors at the museum where
she works. She said, “Dad, there were four billionaires there.” I could hear the awe in her voice. I’d probably be
awed, too. Most of us are unaccustomed to hobnobbing with billionaires. A billion dollars represents a lot of
money, a lot of influence, a lot of power.
But Beatles and billionaires are small fry compared to what we’re talking about, which is the living Lord, the
King of kings, present here and waiting to break bread with us.
Now, the whole thing is much quieter than Isaiah’s experience and less frightening. Maybe God hired a PR
firm to warm up the divine image. I can picture it, can’t you? Some PR pro with a briefcase spreading flowcharts
on the table. “Lord, you come on too strong. I know that fire and thunder thing worked in Egypt and you wowed
them at Sinai, but in our surveys 74% of respondents think you are unapproachable and 87% feel you are too
big to notice the ordinary Joe. You need a new image, a kinder, gentler God, a deity you could bring home for
dinner without worrying about brimstone or locust plagues.”
Maybe it was like that. Or maybe it’s just that God will go to any lengths to spend time with us. You see, we
Christians not only claim that Christ meets us at this Table, but he wants to be here. He looks forward to it.
The Christ who is Alpha and Omega shows up here not from obligation, not because he slipped and made a
regrettable promise about two or three “gathered in my name.” The One who holds the universe together meets
us at this Table because he loves us, he enjoys our company, and he looks forward to this. He looks forward to
this the way my parents look forward to their annual Christmas brunch when the whole family gets together for a
while.
And like that brunch, all you really have to do to get to the table is be part of the family. You don’t have to
dress up, you don’t need a successful year behind you, you don’t even have to be in a festive mood. If you want
to be there, that’s enough.
I admit there’s more than one school of thought about getting ready for this meal with Jesus. A couple of
years ago, Jan and I went to Plains, Georgia, so we could sit in Jimmy Carter’s Sunday School class at the
Maranatha Baptist Church. It takes a little doing to get into the class. We arrived early and waited outdoors quite
a while before the Secret Service ran us through metal detectors and let us in the building. Then someone
prepped us on protocol: how to address Mr. Carter, what was appropriate, what wasn’t, how to get a photo, and
don’t ask for an autograph. Only when were all properly screened and briefed did Jimmy Carter enter the room.
In my opinion, it was worth all the rigmarole. But it makes you wonder: If one has to go to so much trouble
getting ready to meet a one-term former President, maybe we should be more diligent about getting ready to
meet Jesus at the Table. That was certainly the practice of our Presbyterian forebears who went to great lengths
to be sure they were examined, approved and polished before coming to the Table. An elder dropped by the
house to examine you and your family, make sure you knew the creed and the catechism, and to inquire about
your lifestyle. If you passed, you got a ticket that admitted you to the Table.
I’m not about to make fun of those days because there is great value in preparing ourselves for a meeting
with Christ at his Table. I believe we will come with a better appetite and leave better filled if we come to this
meal in the knowledge of Scripture, in the power of prayer, in the humility of self-examination.
I’m all for spiritual preparation before Communion as long as we remember one crucial thing: all our
praying and confessing and repenting do not make us one bit worthier to join Christ at the Table. We are
welcome here because we are invited, and we are invited not because we are good but because God is good.
Isaiah knew that. One glimpse of God and the poor man cries, “Woe is me! I am a man of unclean lips and I
dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips.” Isaiah knows he has no right to stand there face to face with God.
Nor do we. The surest way to come into Christ’s presence in an unworthy manner is to convince ourselves
that we are worthy, that we don’t need any cleaning up, that we deserve our place at the Table. Try as we might,
we simply cannot lift ourselves high enough. Instead, we trust Christ to stoop down. We trust our Lord to meet
us where we are. We trust our Savior to make allowance for our rough edges.
There’s a wonderful story about Queen Victoria was attending a diplomatic reception in London where the
guest of honor was an African chieftain. Big crowd, fancy table, lots of servants scurrying back and forth with
different courses. Everything was going fine until the servers brought out fingerbowls, which are used, of course,
to daintily clean one’s fingertips. Apparently, the African guest of honor had never seen a British fingerbowl, and
no one had briefed him beforehand about its purpose, so he took the finger bowl in both hands, lifted it, and
drank it down to the last drop.
After a moment of stunned silence, all those upper crust British officials and nobles began whispering to
one another and sniggering behind their linen napkins. The quiet mockery lasted for a few heartbeats and then
ended abruptly as Queen Victoria delicately lifted her own fingerbowl, raised it to her lips, and drained it.
Her Highness was not embarrassed to lower herself for the sake of a guest. And Christ is not ashamed to
descend to this lowly place for the sake of his guests. Who can come to this meal? All those who belong to
Christ, even those with unclean lips or unclean hearts, even those whose loyalty is spotty and whose faith is
shaky, all of us who know we don’t deserve to be here are welcome.
But be careful. Isaiah was never the same after meeting God in the Temple. It could happen to you or me.
It really could.
Let’s hope it does!
Soli Deo Gloria!