If you come to my house, chances are you will end up sitting at my favorite piece of furniture, the kitchen table. It’s made of solid black walnut grown and handcrafted in the hills of Arkansas. This table means so much to me; it seems that my family grew up here. It’s nicked and scarred. You can see the indentations left by my children’s pencils as they learned to write and work math problems. Around this table we shared countless meals and stories. It was here that our family identity was forged. If I only had one evening left to live, I would spend it here, breaking bread and listening to the stories of those I love best.
His last evening, shortly before he was betrayed, Jesus went to share the table with those he loved.
I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.” Luke 22:15,16.
They broke bread and shared the Passover story throughout the meal. It was here at the table that his disciples found a new history and a new identity. They became the people of the new covenant. They heard words that would take a lifetime to appreciate.
For I tell you I will not drink again the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes. This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me… This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured our for you. Luke 22:18-20
My earthly table is one of life’s pleasures, but will one day be gone. No matter where I go, I am always invited, always encouraged to come to my Father’s table and be reminded of how he sacrificially loves me and whose family I belong to. As someone who loves good food and company, I want to celebrate the wonders of my Father’s table.