All parents have rules and policies in their houses, and it’s probably true that teenagers push back against the majority of them. One policy of my mom’s that I’ll never forget, and that I actually loved was this:
Your friends are always welcome here.
It didn’t matter how many people I wanted to invite. It didn’t matter if we wanted to stay up until 3:00 AM. It didn’t even really matter if the friend was a kid that my mom thought was kind of obnoxious. As long as I cleared the schedule with my mom, my friends were always allowed at the house. No matter how loud we were, or how much food we ate, or how many expensive recliner chairs we broke (sorry, Momma!)
My mom had an open door, open refrigerator, pull-up-another-chair policy. It was a wonderful way to grow up, and it’s the way I want my son’s friends to feel at our house. It is also one of my top core values as a pastor.
One of the things that called me into ministry is the wide-open, bottomless, audacious love of Jesus Christ. There is no person, no creature, on this planet that is not beloved to the God who created them. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced that this is a concept that we’re barely able to wrap our human minds around. We can’t help but like some people better than others. Because of personality, proximity, or any other number of reasons, we have people we get along with and people we don’t. We divide people up into categories because of who we are.
But not Jesus.
Jesus, with a calm assurance that came only from being God Incarnate, was able to see and adore the image of God in every single person. Men and women. Jews and Gentiles. The influential and powerful as well as leprosy-ridden social outcasts. Every single person Jesus encountered was welcome to be with him, touch him, and follow him as one of his disciples.
If I believe (and I do) that Jesus, as God-with-us, is actively redeeming all things and will eventually bring them into the fullness of what they were created to be, then one of my top priorities has to be creating space for everyone.
As I’ve reflected on this idea, I’ve come back to the final days’ of Jesus earthly life over and over again. Of all the things that Jesus could have done in those last few hours, he washed feet and he served the Passover meal to his friends. The thing that tightens my throat and fills my eyes with tears every time is that Judas ate too. Jesus washed Judas’ feet too. Jesus had to know who and what Judas was at that point, and he was still welcome at that table and in that room.
Last week, Pastor Michael wrote about Jesus being his number one. He said that Jesus is the lens we have to use to interpret all of the rest of scripture and that striving to look like Jesus is the best work we can do. I wholeheartedly agree. One way that I think we can do that is by making sure that everyone is welcome at our table.
There is a lovely communion hymn written by Shirley Erena Murray, and the first verse goes like this
For everyone born, a place at the table /For every born, clean water and bread /A shelter, a space, a safe place for growing/For everyone born, a star overhead
I am convinced that making space at the table is high and holy work. It’s work that all of us made new in the love and grace of Jesus Christ are called to. It’s also work that isn’t easy. It requires us to ask hard questions of ourselves and our own beliefs. It might make us uncomfortable and mean that we have to build bridges to people, families, and communities that we don’t understand very well. It might mean that we have to practice what love looks to others in our actions before we feel that love.
There is no person or church who will get this right every time. We’ll make mistakes. We’ll hurt peoples’ feelings and probably have our own feelings hurt. Some stuff will get broken and the floor will probably be sticky because a kid (probably mine) has spilled something on it. We’ll have to offer and receive forgiveness.
But this work is worth it.
It’s worth it because a big, open table with room for everyone is what the Kingdom of God is all about. It’s a table and a community that doesn’t care where you’ve been.
Do you have different ideas about God than I do? Pull up a seat, and let’s talk about it.
Do you vote differently than I do? You are welcome here.
Are you the kind of person who makes jokes about bursting into flames if you cross the church’s threshold? I promise that won’t happen and you should come in anyway.
Is your understanding of love, or justice, or any other big words different from mine? How can we start walking towards each other?
If this sounds crazy and impossible, it’s because it is. The gospel is outlandish. A love and a redemption that includes everyone doesn’t make any kind of human sense. It doesn’t have to, because with God all things are possible. We can accept this wide, wild love and trust that the Holy Spirit will iron out all the wrinkles. We can continue to fling open the doors and shout that there is room here.
For everyone born, a place at the table.