The Thanksgiving table

Eating with the right people, under the right circumstances — there’s not much that’s better in life. It is to some extent why one of the two sacraments that we recognize has to do with a table and bread that is broken there, and the people with whom we commune.

For Paul the table against which all tables are measured is the Lord’s table. There Christ is present, drawing all people to himself, uniting Jew and Greek, slave and free, men and women, as all worldly distinctions fall away. Jesus said that at that welcome table, “…people will come from east and west, from north and south, and will eat in the kingdom of God.”

I like that image. I count on it. I trust that God will gather people at the heavenly banquet that I could not, maybe even would not; maybe especially those that I would not. The church is supposed to be that, people gathered about the table, giving thanks for the fact that they are together, unlikely as they are, but who are loved into being together, sort of in spite of themselves.

It’s no secret that Presbyterians are having a hard time getting along with one another these days. We don’t all read the Bible the same. We don’t all understand our faith in the same way. We don’t even read the Constitution of the church the same way.

At the First Presbyterian Church in the City of New York, everyone is welcome and we disagree with the ordination stand of our denomination. We are still allowed to do that — disagree — and we do, heartily. We pray every day that soon the Presbyterian church will welcome all qualified persons to the ministries of the church.

I believe that God is putting together a feast, sending out the invitations, setting out the place cards, working on the menu, polishing the silver, and thinking about the joy that will be had when the great table of Thanksgiving is filled to overflowing. And seated around it will be all the wonderful people, the likely and unlikely combinations that only God could imagine would fit together.

I wonder who’ll be there?

I look for that guy that sits out in front of the church every Sunday to be there; the one who has his little plastic cup that he rattles, hoping that some softhearted Presbyterian will drop him a few coins.

I look for people who have attacked everybody I like and respect in this denomination including me. I’m not going to like it at all that they’re there, but they will be there.

And the homeless guys that have slept in our parlor and the AA folks who meet in the Mezzanine of the South Wing and who never venture into the sanctuary. They’re all going to be there.

And with any luck, you and I’ll be there too. Because it will be the Thanksgiving Meal, the mother of all Thanksgiving meals, where God is the host and we are the guests and it will be such a surprise how well we all get along, and how wonderful it will be to be together when God is the one in charge of the party.

Come this Thanksgiving, we will celebrate. Each of us in our own way will give thanks for the bounty of God’s love that we have known, and the goodness of a land that for all of its faults is still the land of our birth, a land that still wants to be the most just and kindly on earth even when it can’t help itself.

But all of our celebrations will scarcely fill a cup when compared to the joyful celebration that awaits us on another shore and in a greater light where the most amazing collection of humanity will be gathered. A feast of thanksgiving and joy where we will be home at last.