For me, this is one of the more personal blogs I have written. In fact, it has sat in my “drafts” folder for quite some time and even now I hesitate posting it. What makes it so personal is the fact that this has been an internal struggle of mine for a while and the decision I made was immensely difficult.

I have made a decision to fast from the Lord’s Supper (Communion, Eucharist, etc.) whenever I am in an environment where anyone is excluded from the Lord’s table.

It saddens me to the core when people are excluded from sharing a meal with Jesus. I crumble inside when the words “If you are a follower of Jesus you are invited to partake…” are spoken because the flip-side of that message is, “If you are not a follower of Jesus you are not welcome at Jesus’ table.” I explode internally when I see someone pass Jesus’ meal without taking it because a “table-keeper” said they couldn’t. Here is why I am sad, crumble, and explode:

Imagine our family shares a special dinner tradition. When Grandpa was alive (he died seven years ago) he always prepared a special dinner whenever he came over to visit and the family got together. Since his death, the family continues sharing this meal every time we get together (usually about 6 times a year). The tradition has become to remember Grandpa as we eat, each of us sharing stories and memories, remembering and honoring him, his life, and the love he gave to us and we shared with him. It is a wonderful time for our family—deeply personal and very meaningful.

But periodically, friends who are not part of our blood-family come over during these gatherings. We talk, laugh, play games and have a rewarding time of fellowship. But when it comes time for our traditional meal, we politely ask them to remain in the living room while we eat. So, awkwardly, they acquiesce and sit on the couch to watch us eat. Glasses chime, silverware clang, stories are told, memories shared, food eaten and wine sipped—by some, that is.

This analogy grips me and will not let go. It is absolutely absurd. Who does this? We do! Every time we share our daddy’s meal—sorry, the Lord’s Supper—together. And God has convicted me to the point where I can no longer sit at the table eating while others are expelled to the living room to watch. I just can’t do it anymore!

From what I know of Jesus, he would never exclude anyone from sharing a meal with him—especially active sinners. When he was here on earth, that is exactly who he was fond of sharing his table with. Have we forgotten that this is Jesus’ table and meal, not ours? Who am I to decide and control who gets to eat at Jesus’ table and who does not? I get this picture of Jesus sitting at a table with a feast spread before him, but erecting a human wall between Jesus’ feast and the “people” are some men (mostly) who decide who gets to eat and who gets to watch.

Going back to the analogy of our family, how much more beautiful to add a few more chairs at the table and invite those who are not “family” to come and share our intimate meal. Maybe as we share stories and memories, remembering and honoring him—his life, and the love he gave and we shared—they will get to know him and his love in the process. Perhaps as they are invited to belong they will be mesmerized by him and his love.

So that is why I am fasting from the Lord’s Supper whenever I am in an environment where anyone is excluded from the Lord’s table. I cannot eat at the table while others are left on the couch. I will politely excuse myself from the family table and go sit on the couch with our friends. For me, to sit at the table is to quietly nod in favor at what is taking place.

Since my decision to pass on the bread and the wine, our church has shared the Lord’s Supper twice. Both times—for the first time in my life!—I have handed the trays to my neighbor without partaking. Sitting there without the bread and the wine (juice) has been a deeply intimate and spiritual time for me. My mind wanders from being focused on God to feeling really awkward and self conscious. I feel the “imaginary” stares from those around me. I hear the chewing and swallowing and clacking of plastic cups. By personally choosing to remain on the “couch”, I am getting a sense of how it feels to be excluded from Jesus’ table. And oh how my shallow heart needs to feel it—I need to feel what it feels like to be among the excluded! I need to feel what they feel whenever they are forced to sit on the couch.

Here’s the ironic thing, while sitting on the couch I noticed something: Jesus steps up from the table, squeezes his way through the human-erected wall, and brings his spirit to those of us on the couch as well. Despite our best religious efforts to control his table, we can’t control him. Cool, huh?

For what it’s worth…