H. Michael Brewer
Crescent Springs Presbyterian
2 October 2005
TABLE TALK
Mark 14:17-25
I’ve always believed you can learn a lot at the dinner table. For instance, you can learn something
about receiving. If you were as fortunate as I was in growing up, there was always enough food at
supper time. I learned early on that there were those I could count on to provide for me, those who
loved me and cared about my needs, and who had the power to give me what I needed. So I grew up
believing that life is mostly good and that there is enough to go around. The years have not changed my
mind about that. I still believe there’s enough to go around; it’s just that it doesn’t get spread around.
That’s something else that people can and should learn at the table, something about sharing. From
my childhood, I can remember that sharing didn’t always come easy. Sometimes the last piece of
chicken went to the person who ate the fastest. At other times my brothers and I descended into
Pharisaic calculations: How many rolls were in the bowl? How many have you had? Even then we were
struggling for a kind of fairness, so I guess we were groping in the right direction. Once in while, by the
grace of God, somebody hands over that last roll or at least breaks it in half.
Of course, there’s another kind of sharing that happened at suppertime: the small talk and the
reports about what went on during the day. In the long haul, that table talk teaches us to listen and to
trust and to care. With a little luck we learn to share something more important than meat loaf and
mashed potatoes. Maybe we learn to share ourselves.
The table is also a good place to learn about thankfulness. I’d like to think that even in families
where nobody bothers to pray before the meal, there is still an awareness that daily bread is a gift—the
end result of much sweat and effort on the part of many people. And behind the human efforts are the
daily miracles of sun, rain, earth and the hand of God. Even setting all that aside, the cook deserves an
occasional kiss and a compliment. It is a thoughtless family that rises from the table without saying thank
you to somebody.
There is also the responsibility that goes with mealtime, the willingness to shoulder our share of the
shopping, planning, cooking, serving, setting the table, clearing the table, washing the dishes, cleaning
the kitchen. It is a giant stride toward maturity the first time a child offers to help at the table without
being coerced, threatened or paid.
As I said, I think there’s a great deal we can learn at the table. Maybe that explains why Jesus built
his church around a meal. Jesus didn’t bequeath much to his disciples. Some remembered words and
two sacraments. Jesus left us baptism, a kind of being born, which means you do it only once and that
makes it pretty important. And Jesus left us the Supper, the command to gather around the Table,
which is also important because you do it not just once, but over and over and over as long as you live.
After all, there’s a lot to learn at the Table.
There’s something to learn about receiving. Everything we have that’s worth having is a gift from
God. Period. No exceptions. The loaf and cup are the tokens, the reminders of all we receive: food and
drink, flesh and blood, hope and love and grace, life and death and eternal life, all from God. At the
Table we learn to open our hands and our hearts to receive unashamedly from God all that bounty we
could never provide for ourselves.
If we’re going to learn anything about giving thanks to God, we are likely to learn that at the Table,
too. Like the centuries of Christians before us and the centuries of Jews before them, this is our
thanksgiving: this meal, this elaborate prayer, this remembering and eating and drinking and rejoicing.
Real gratitude leads beyond lip service to responsibility. The willingness to carry our share of the work,
to shoulder the cross, to take part in God’s work.
And that in turn leads to sharing—sharing our bread, which is harder than it sounds, because bread
is what we work for, and bread is the stuff of life, and bread is the grace that God drops from heaven in
Jesus Christ. Once we truly start sharing our bread, we are on our way toward sharing everything and
holding back nothing.
Most of the time, there's nothing glamorous about that sharing.
A little group of people shows up at here on a weeknight for a committee meeting or choir practice,
most of them already tired from a long, crowded day, but they come anyway because they know that
follower of Christ means being in ministry for Christ.
A person sits at a computer late in the evening, crunching budget numbers or laying out an evangelism
brochure or writing a newsletter article.
A man sits at home making phone call after phone call, lining up volunteers.
A woman writes a weekly check on Saturday night, folds it carefully, and puts it in an offering
envelope, an unbroken ritual stretching back over decades.
A Sunday School teacher reads a lesson and wonders how to bring it to life.
A single mom drags complaining kids out of bed and gets them moving on a Sunday morning.
A widower talks to his lawyer about including the church in his will.
Someone gets up extra early and drops by the church on the way to work in order to water the
bushes and flowers, and then a few hours later someone else is over here cutting grass or spreading
mulch.
A teenager practices praise songs on the guitar or invites a friend to the youth group meeting or
rehearses the Lord's Prayer in Spanish.
Someone sits at a kitchen table reading from the Bible and then praying for the health of our
congregation.
Someone drives across town to visit a hospital patient or a homebound person or to take someone
to the doctor.
Someone cooks a casserole, someone writes prayers for the bulletin, someone carries tables,
someone learns lines for a skit, someone scrubs, stuffs envelopes, glazes the windows, makes a poster,
fills the Communion cups, paints a room, fixes a leaky toilet...
Sometimes I am in awe of how much there is to do, and how many of you pitch in to do it. Without
being noticed or patted on the back, you just do your share or sometimes more than your share. You
may not even think of yourself as a worker, a sharer, but Christ knows who you are, and I give thanks
to God for you.
What we finally learn at the Table of Christ is simply how to be the family of Christ. We learn to
trust our Provider for daily bread. We learn how to give thanks, and to whom we give thanks. We learn
that there is work to do in this family, and there is never enough to go around--enough money or energy
or time or know-how—unless we share. And when we do share, there is always enough. When we
do share, even a few little loaves can feed a multitude.
We learn slowly about ourselves and our neighbors and our Lord. We learn piecemeal about love
and grace, about thanksgiving and sharing. And that's one reason we keep doing this year after year,
and generation after generation. because, you know, you can learn an awful lot at the Table.
Soli Deo Gloria!