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This past Sunday, the church who we gather with verbally opened the communion table for some all to partake, for some all to experience the love and acceptance of Jesus through the elements—at his table, sharing his meal.

So I, too, dined. (click if you don’t know the back-story…)

It was refreshing.

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…

Piggy backing a little on what Jonathan Brink dreamed, I envision three aspects also being redeemed in Tribe. All three help combat our felt-need for religious control:

Baptism: When someone believes and recognizes the forgiveness they have in Jesus, the entire community gathers down at the river to witness and celebrate in baptism. It is not a pastor who baptizes them, but rather it is their Tribe of 10-12 brothers or sisters that are in the water with them. The person shares their story and what Jesus and the community means to them. Their Tribe then immerses them into the water with the rest of the community witnessing and celebrating alongside them. Baptism becomes an event in the life of the community. We also would not control or demand someone be re-baptized because they were baptized as an infant or sprinkled. If they want to and that is how the Spirit is leading them, fine. If not, fine.

Communion: Modeling the heart and “table” ministry of Jesus, all are welcome to partake in Jesus’ meal…and yes, I mean meal. Communion will not consist of a wafer and some juice, but is a meal shared by the community with the bread and wine being a part of the meal. As an expression of God grace to all, all are invited and welcomed, regardless of belief, to share in the Eurcharist. It will be Open Communion in practice, not just name only; God’s grace and table fellowship extended to all sinners, not just the ones who “get it”.

The Tithe: With a goal of 80% of the community funds going towards needs in the Tribe, the surrounding community and other justice/love issues/projects, we seek to restore a Godly and proper view of stewardship. Early on when the 10% “rule” was established, it was intended to go towards helping restore justice and feed and take care of the poor. Farmers were to leave a portion of their crops un-harvested so the poor could be fed. A year of Jubilee was to be celebrated with debts forgiven and land given back to the original owners. I believe even the provision of the priests by the people was an act of justice. Imagine if the organizational structure was lean and was created in such a way where 20% of giving would go towards operating costs and 80% would be given away and/or set aside for “loving on people”. If people know that 80% of their financial gifts are being used to care for and look after the needs of others, and that they also have the freedom to use their tithe at their own discretion for God’s kingdom in their lives, not being pounded by their church that they are commanded by God to give 10% to the church, and anything else they want to do for God’s Kingdom is “above-and-beyond” their normal tithe, then I believe that the stronghold of money will be broken and a more generous community will be realized. I also believe that the surrounding community will take notice and praise their father in heaven because, “Oh, how those Christians love and give.”

Jesus was labeled a glutton and drunk because of the table-time he spent sharing meals with “sinners”: those not accepted by the religious people of his day. He practiced this unacceptable habit of sinner-meal-sharing with regularity. Based on His expressed heart and the example he left us, I have a hard time picturing him turning away one of today’s “sinners” from his table. In fact, when Jesus inaugurated his meal (the Lord’s Supper, Communion, Eucharist…), he foretold Judas’ betrayal, then, in the next breath, served him the bread and the wine. To share a meal with someone is a very intimate, relational gesture. To withhold a meal from someone is a very inclusive insult, saying, you are not worthy to eat with me at my table. I am not sure, but I picture God grieving when we, acting as the gatekeepers of his table, deny “sinners” a seat at his meal.

A protestant friend of mine spent a year studying at a Jesuit seminary where he was denied, every day, a place at the Lord’s Table. Some of the priests, who were good friends of his, kept urging him to at least come forward to receive the blessing. He would graciously sit there and reply without an ounce of bitterness, “No thank you.” He would then offer a subtle prayer from his heart, “Lord, help me to never forget this feeling of alienation I am feeling by being denied a place at your table. Forgive me of the times, as a pastor, I have done the same.” And he would sit there, day after day, allowing this alienating feeling to sink deep into his soul so it would never be forgotten.

Lord, allow me to be a gracious host inviting and welcoming all to your table. May I never forget your stories and example of including “sinners” at your table while you walked the dust of this earth. May I never become too pious to think that I am worthy of your table-fellowship and others are not–– forgive me for the times I have.