I remember it like it was yesterday. The grocery lists on “scratch paper”, the recipe cards and handwritten notes in familiar cursive, the bright but hazy gleam of the fluorescent kitchen lights reflected by the linoleum floors – I knew it was time for us to make Sabbath dinner. Each Friday, we would prepare our homes and our hearts for a gathering.

I felt alive watching these women wield their measuring cups and spoons like well-trained swordsmen. Repeating their offerings was futile if you didn’t keep a watchful eye. Though the recipe was the guide, there was always the dash of this and pinch of that which resulted in the best-tasting food I’ve known. This weekly experience at the table became a holy and sacred one for me, and I never doubted it would continue both in my childhood home and in the adult home I would someday create.

Our fellowship consisted of mostly family, but always a guest or two (or more) were added and our love was palpable and could be tasted in the main dishes and sides curated for dinner after church. We not only brought together our food, but we also brought together our lives at the table – the events of the week, the moment a sermon or song took root in our minds, all to the soundtrack of the local gospel radio station or CD. We were open, unfiltered, ready to be fed physically and spiritually.

It was central not just to our faith, but to our family to enjoy Sabbath dinner. It wasn’t rote to us. Yes, we needed to eat, but these dinners became a living, breathing embodiment of edification and sanctification to us. After a long week of the grind, I saw everyone at the table relax and decompress. The laughter and sing-song voices made my spirit lift and I knew that this was what God intended. Rest. Restoration of body, mind, and spirit.

This was the rhythm in my family home forever. My mother or aunt were usually the hosts and the distinct but familiar smells of those Sabbath dinners still arrest my attention after all this time. I’ve long left my hometown and my childhood home, but the table that was set there has never left my heart.

But life doesn’t always go the way we want. My Mama passed away, seemingly bringing all of what was good about my life to a harsh and immediate end. The Sabbath dinners halted also; family and friends dissipated, and what was once a source of community and fellowship became a painful memory. Thankfully, the story doesn’t end there.

I wondered how or if I would ever find myself back at the table. I wondered if I would be able to set a table for others like one had been set for me all those years ago. Fortunately, I married a man who also understood the value of having family around the table and we now have set our own. Our children have memories of daddy in the kitchen and a house full of friends and loved ones who come with empty bellies but leave with full hearts.

There is ministry at that table y’all. Divine intervention happens at the table. An invitation to dinner transforms into an opportunity for food to morph into healing balms of all kinds. The souls spiritually hungry for connection, hope, and compassion find their fill at the table originally intended to quell their physical hunger. I am grateful to have both been a guest at the table and one who sets the table for others. In doing so, we allow the hospitality of Christ to flow through us. And friends, He knows how to put a table together. David exclaimed:

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever – Psalm 23:5,6

A twinge of loss always surrounds Sabbath dinner whether at my table or the table of friends or family. I have learned to wholly grieve what has been while simultaneously glorying in the present. This in-between always deepens and kindles the ache for a home where the table will always be set; where the Host is the Bread of Life and provides living water (John 6:35, John 7:38). There will be no loss there, but a reunion of those who have finally been filled and satisfied from the spiritual drought living earthly lives has caused, never to hunger or thirst again.

While I hope you experience having a table set for you or the pleasure of setting one for others, I hope to see you at that heavenly table most of all.

It was central for our family to enjoy Sabbath dinner. Yes, we needed to eat, but these dinners became a living, breathing embodiment of edification and sanctification to us. Click To Tweet