The Table

Sustainer of life.

“If the home is a body, the table is the heart, the beating center, the sustainer of life and health.”

“To those of us who believe that all of life is sacred, every crumb of bread and sip of wine is a Eucharist, a remembrance, a call to awareness of holiness right where we are.”
― Shauna Niequist, Bread and Wine: A Love Letter to Life Around the Table

Family event coverage | Canon Photography

Since October 7th, a day in which most of my immediate family gathered for a Thanksgiving style meal, hours after the massacre occurred in Israel, I realize what an absolute gift it was to sit in a secret enclave of happiness, an Autumn decorated bubble of chatter.

No one uttered a newsworthy word, but instead clung to the tender, sacred sustainer of the life blood of our family. A family clinging like tangled leaves on a tree, some swaying in the breeze, talking about the weather, others falling gently, joyfully into conversation about sports, work, children, life. Our tender, blessed life.

As the days went by I reflected deeply. Every single reflection has brought me back to the table. I’ve had a hard time wrapping my mind around the sadistic enclaves of the world.

I wondered if everyone could just come to the table.

As the horrific images of barbaric slaughter appeared from the the sleepy, scenic kibbutz’s near the Gaza border, many tables were left standing. Frozen in time, prepared, uneaten food, milk ready to pour, hearts no longer beating.

These serene Israeli farming communities, were full of peacemakers, nourishers, healers, who worked with and dreamed of a peaceful solution with their Palestinian neighbors. The stories are not hard to find.

I saw my childhood. My mom cooking in the kitchen, smiling, setting the table.

As immigrants it was not only tradition for us to share a meal every single evening at the table… it held us together in our new world. Unlike the silence of some, it was where I got to express.

Although I did not know Jesus growing up, this natural communion, this need to seek fellowship, break bread, speak life around the table, was born in us from inception.

There was always room for anyone at the table.

My teenage years were spent with friends from mostly Italian Catholic and Jewish backgrounds. I fit right in. We were British, so every time I went to a friends house I was offered as much food as my mom offered. “Are you hungry? you must be hungry… sit, have some food.” I cherished my high-school years.

The Kleigers were a special family that lived next-door to us. I babysat for them from 14 to 17 years old and watched as their family grew from two boys, to a “last try for a girl,” eventually receiving the blessing of twin boys. They were a traditional Jewish family and I was drawn to them. At 16, Mrs. Kleiger asked me to help change over all the dinnerware, bringing everything from her kitchen into the garage, swapping for her traditional Passover dinnerware, that we unwrapped from stored boxes. I would then wash everything in preparation, as she cleaned the house.

For the next two years I helped prepare for Passover and was invited into the kitchen to wash dishes as Mr. and Mrs. Kleiger would conduct The Seder with their four small boys. Quietly, I’d peer through the small kitchen opening into the dining room and watch as they retold the story of their ancestors' liberation. The older boys read from a special book. The table was full of food I had never seen, nor eaten, but I marveled at their tradition and closeness, thankful that I too got to sit at my family table every evening.

“All of life is sacred.”

Growing up, getting married, how I cherished every moment at the table. It didn’t matter what we were talking about or eating, who agreed or disagreed. We were at the beating center of our life. All who I loved were at the table. All at once.

Never have I thought of the table as more important than now. It doesn’t matter what we are eating as long as we’re together with whoever is available. For every crumb and every sip is a remembrance, a sacred holy remembrance.

At the table.

Oh my friends, my friends forgive me
That I live and you are gone
There's a grief that can't be spoken
There's a pain goes on and on

Phantom faces at the window
Phantom shadows on the floor
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will meet no more

Oh my friends, my friends
Don't ask me what your sacrifice was for
Empty chairs at empty tables
Where my friends will sing no more

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables - Les Miserables