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READING
“The table in my kitchen has never belonged to anyone else; it was newly made for me. ... Eight years on this table has scars. The physical scars are obvious: a dent or a deep scratch here, a bone-deep stain there, set in wood which has warmed and darkened through daily exposure to light…. This table has kept watch over all of our dramas, seen so many dreams unfold and so many dreams fade. ...This table is my witness; there is little it doesn’t know. It has propped up humans and sheltered dogs. Heard so many stories, old and new; so many conversations, day and night. It has seen love flicker and almost fade, it has seen tears, and anger, and despair. But is has shared our joys and celebrated our triumphs; it’s offered up tea and wine, and participated in our feasts. ... Who knows me like this table? .... Here we all are, the table whispers. What mysteries will we uncover and share together today?” Sharon Blackie
WORDS OF HOPE
On this day when many gather round the table with family and friends, we might stop to consider what our table has seen and experienced, what our table holds. Sadly, considering our obsession with cell phones, the family’s bowed heads are more likely to be focused on texting than rapt in prayer. And with the divisions raging in our society, holiday tables may be absorbing the sound of a chair scraping the floor as Uncle Ted pushes back to leave the meal after hot words flare.
I’m remembering better days. When I was just a girl, my grandmother Saxon’s round oak table was a place of belonging. We’d sit together in the early morning drinking “coffee milk” from tiny glass bottles that cream came in and sharing the buttery pound cake she’d made from scratch. And, with her tender eyes fixed on my face, she’d listen as I prattled on about this and that. She always made me feel special. Later the table would be packed with plates of fresh tomatoes, bowls of green beans and new potatoes from her East Texas red-dirt garden, along with fried chicken, corn bread, and home-churned butter. Though Nanny’s means were modest, her meals were an abundant outpouring of love.
Decades later, my own dining room table hosted more than its comfortable capacity as we invited a few church friends whose loved ones had died or who were estranged from their partner. Having lived through the pain of that first holiday without my beloved, it felt especially important to gather in the hurt and weave a canopy of welcome amid the clink of silverware, “pass the dressing,” and stories of dear ones. And I was grateful that my mom’s warmth and legendary Millie-hugs were a balm to the ache of longing.
This year I wonder if we might stretch even further to extend the grace of the communion table at our own Thanksgiving gatherings, remembering God’s welcome to “come and be filled with love never ending.”*
PRAYER
Holy and gracious God, grateful, grateful are we for your table spread wide, for your love so deep. Amen.
DEVOTION AUTHOR
Dr. Pat Saxon
*from the “Table of Grace” by Phillips, Craig, and Dean
Cathedral of Hope
Proclaiming Christ Through Faith, Hope and Love
5910 Cedar Springs Road | Dallas, TX | 75235
214-351-1901
info@cathedralofhope.com