...welcome, every single one

All who hunger, never strangers, seeker, be a welcome guest.

Come from restlessness and roaming. Here in joy, we keep the feast.

We who once were lost and scattered in communion’s love have stood.

Taste and see the grace eternal. Taste and see that God is good.

---Sylvia Dunstan, 1990

Sylvia Dunstan, the writer of the hymn text for today’s meditation, spent the major portion of her cancer-shortened ministry as a prison chaplain. All along, until her death at 38, she wrote hymns of profound wisdom, celebrating the mystery of God and the welcome of God’s love. In this text, it seems evident that Dunstan’s decade in ministry to those imprisoned has informed her sense of the isolation and rootlessness experienced by so many on the fringes of society. Hungry, strangers, restless, roaming, lost, scattered (and in other verses wandering, empty, lonely, longing). Some in this population have alienated themselves from the mainstream of society, and others have been cast out by the mainstream. Obviously, Dunstan’s heart was for the castoff and cast out; there is pretty good evidence that God’s heart is, too.

If I’m honest today, the words Dunstan chose to relate the alienation from the ‘center’ are feelings I have felt from time to time. How about you? Who hasn’t wandered, felt empty, restless, lonely? Who hasn’t longed for…well, for something more than this?

Here, Dunstan says, here is the table, and we, all of us, all of them, are welcome. Every single one. And there is grace, starting now, overflowing and lasting forever. Enough for all of us, all of them. Everyone together.

Taste and see.

...welcoming God in

Aleluya Y’in Oluwa. Aleluya Y’in Oluwa.

Oseun, oseun, oseun, oseun baba

Aleluya Y’in Oluwa.

Alleluia, praise the Lord. Alleluia, praise the Lord.

Praises, high praises, now bring to the Lord.

Alleluia, praise the Lord.

--trad. Nigerian song

During our worship time in VBS this week, our children have offered up each night a prayer, in the form of a few words or a drawing. They have been prompted to offer something which would be pleasing to God, and which would build up the family of God. During our devotional time following worship, the youth worship crew read and engaged with each prayer together as we installed them on our ‘foundation wall’. As we mulled over the messages drawn and written in these prayers, we were touched and blessed.

And that is a little, I think, like praising God together. God, the God who created us creative in God’s image, surely loves and desires our praise—humble, bold, plain, fancy, jubilantly loud, silently awed. But praise has gifts that don’t end with the object of that praise. When I praise God, I bask in the joy and light of that praise. And friends. When we praise God together, our praise of God lifts the spirits and lightens the loads of those in our company. When we praise God together, we welcome God into our midst.

Aleluya Y’in Oluwa.

...losing our grip on the good news

You call us, Christ, to gather the people of the earth.

We cannot fish for only those lives we think have worth.

We spread your net of gospel across the water’s face,

our boat a common shelter for all found by your grace.

---Sylvia Dunstan, 1991

Tell a good enough story, you never know who might show up!

Picture this. You’ve got this great product, and you want to get the word out. But. You want to practice a little targeted-demographic marketing. You only want to attract a certain kind of clientele. So you shape your message, subliminally almost, choose your media carefully, vet your messengers---all in the hope of building the kind of customer base you have in mind. Great plan.

But something goes awry. Maybe there are leaks in your marketing. Maybe your media shifts at the last minute. But the story gets out---wide. And people have been waiting for this. The---crowd---goes---wild! Everybody wants in on what you are offering. That exclusive demographic? Fugeddaboudit. You have just lost your grip on your brand.

Sometimes good news is like that. It goes where it wants, not where we plan. Thank God. Because, friends, our plans are never as grand as God’s. Our vision is never as long as God’s. And our reach is never as broad as God’s. So, although letting go of the marketing plan can be a little scary (‘The Spirit is on the loose!’ says a friend of mine gleefully, only half-joking), trusting God’s story to do its work in the world and welcoming all who come is a pretty good plan all on its own!

Let’s see who shows up!

...come to the table

When we are walking, doubtful and dreading, 
blinded by sadness, slowness of heart,

yet Christ walks with us ever awaiting our invitation: 

stay, do not part.

---Susan Palo Cherwien, 1996

This lovely modern hymn, by contemporary poet Susan Palo Cherwien, is a meditation on the story usually called ‘The Road to Emmaus’. I kind of think it should be called ‘The House at the End of the Road to Emmaus’. Because friends, all the real fabulous-ness, all the wonder, all the eye-opening connection happened at the kitchen table in a little house at 223 Emmaus Way right about supper time. The travelers walked with the mysterious stranger all day, discussing current events and even Bible knowledge; but it wasn’t until pulling up chairs around a table laden with a thrown-together, just-got-home-from-vacation, raid-the-fridge-for-leftovers, broke-down feast that bridges began to be built between hearts.

Now, some of you who follow me on Instagram or Facebook know that I kinda like food (ok, I love it), and I especially love being able to share something lovely with other folks. I have two hashtags that I commonly use when posting about food: #cometothetable and #alwaysroomforonemore. These spell out my personal kitchen ethos. Good, good things happen around the table, when we drop our guard to pick up forks and mugs. Spending unhurried time together sharing a common meal lends itself to sharing our inner selves. Sometimes, just sometimes, our private fears and hopes and dreams become common bonds. And around this kind of table, friends, there is always room for one more. The welcome is warm, and the provision is plenty.

Around the table in the house at the end of the road to Emmaus, lingering over a last mug of chai and the heel of a loaf, their eyes were opened, and the travelers recognized Jesus.

Come to the table. Linger. With your eyes and heart open, you never know who you may see.

...to welcome Love

People, look east, the time is near for the crowning of the year.

Make your house fair as you are able,

trim the hearth and set the table.

People, look east, and sing today:

Love, the Guest, is on the way.

---Eleanor Farjeon, 1928

I know about some of the Christmas decorations out there. I've driven around. And I've cruised around FB too, and Buzzfeed. I've seen Santas, and snowmen, and Nativity scenes (sometimes all in one yard). I've seen white lights, multi-colored lights, twinkle lights, chaser lights, net lights, all orange and blue lights (here in Auburn Tiger territory, not an uncommon sight).

I've seen tasteful and tacky, with a few stops in-between.

There is something in us, a good number of us anyway, that pokes and prods at us to pull out a Christmas sweater (or ten) for our house this time of year. Is it because we're happy? to make us happy? to convince other people we're happy? a bit of a combination of everything I've thought of, and more?

In this lovely poem from Eleanor Farjeon, we are reminded that we are preparing for the arrival of a special Guest, with all the 'trimming' that might bring. When we invite Love in to stay, what kind of decorating might we do to our hearts? How would we set the table of our lives to welcome Love? What would we do to prepare a place for this most important Guest?

People, look east. The time is near…

...losing your grip

You call us, Christ, to gather the people of the earth.

We cannot fish for only those lives we think have worth.

We spread your net of gospel across the water’s face,

Our boat a common shelter for all found by Your grace.

---Sylvia Dunstan, 1991

Tell a good enough story, you never know who might show up!

Picture this. You’ve got this great product, and you want to get the word out. But. You want to practice a little targeted-demographic marketing. You only want to attract a certain kind of clientele. So you shape your message, subliminally almost, choose your media carefully, vet your messengers---all in the hope of building the kind of customer base you have in mind. Great plan.

But something goes awry. Maybe there are leaks in your marketing. Maybe your media shifts at the last minute. But the story gets out---wide. And people have been waiting for this. The---crowd---goes---wild! Everybody wants in on what you are offering. That exclusive demographic? Fugeddaboudit. You have just lost your grip on your brand.

Sometimes good news is like that. It goes where it wants, not where we plan. Thank God. Because, friends, our plans are never as grand as God’s. Our vision is never as long as God’s. And our reach is never as broad as God’s. So, although letting go of the marketing plan can be a little scary (‘The Spirit is on the loose!’ says a friend of mine gleefully, only half-joking), trusting God’s story to do its work in the world and welcoming all who come is a pretty good plan all on its own!

Let’s see who shows up!

---Leigh Anne

...and nothing else

Many the gifts, many the people,
many the hearts that yearn to belong.
Let us be servants to one another,
making your kingdom come.
Christ, be our light! 
Shine in our hearts. Shine through the darkness.
Christ, be our light!
Shine in your church gathered today!
---Bernadette Farrell, 1993

The title of the 1979 memoir I'm Dancing as Fast as I Can always makes me think of that moment when someone has given 100 percent. "You take it from here, pardner," I hear them say, "I'm out." Or, <mic drop>...done. Elvis has left the building.

And I sometimes wonder if Jesus ever felt a bit of the pull of that tension---his time ticking away, knowing he'd need to count on his rag-tag band of followers to spread the word (that love was the way), knowing he was the Sun, but he'd be having to count on the Moon to reflect the shine in the world before too long. I wonder if Jesus felt like he was dancing as fast as he could.

The church lives in that tension too---never more so than here in the Advent season, when we await the great Already/NotYet: the shining of Light into our shadowy corners, the coming of Christ into our longing world. This verse of the modern folk hymn Christ, Be Our Light by Bernadette Farrell speaks to the divergence, and richness, of what we know, and acknowledge, and embrace. While we yearn for Christ to be our light in this world, to dawn on us, we yoke ourselves with Christ the Sun. As the church, we are the body of Christ in the world, reflecting light like the moon reflects the sun's.

If Christ is to shine in the shadowed corners, it will be through the light reflected by Christ's body, the church. It will be because we served one another. It will be because we welcomed each other. It will be because we nurtured and developed the gifts each brought to share.

If Christ is to shine in our world today, it will be because the church is devoted to the work of building the reign of Love, and nothing else.

...before I believe

Where shepherds lately knelt and kept the angel's word,
I come in half-belief, a pilgrim strangely stirred.
but there is room and welcome there for me,
...and not alone for me.
---Jaroslav J. Vajda, 1986

Welcome. Welcome for me, stumbling in with no clue, and even less right. Not even sure why I'm here sometimes, not sure what draws me, who draws me, to this quiet scene. There is a diffuse light, and the damp warmth of night-calm animals. The babe makes the tiniest sounds...almost no sound at all. I remember a time when those newborn cries sounded louder than thunder. His mother comforts him; and it is easy, in that moment, to feel that everything in the babe's life will be charmed, that the star over the stable is a kind of sign, a blessing.

I know, of course. No one's life is lived under a blessing star. This baby won't be any different---will he? Because there is something...something...that pulls me to him. It isn't the charm of the star, or the comfort of the mother, though they hold their own appeal.

I need to believe there is room for me. Even before I believe.

...the table that changes the world

Come and feast, for all are welcomed

at God’s table spread with love.

Come proclaim God’s grace and goodness

in, around us, and above.

---Larry E. Schultz, 2004

“Who else is invited?” “How big is the guest list?” “Is this the A list after-party, or the B list?” “If she is invited, it must not be a really good party.”

This party, this love feast that we call by the staid and decidedly more solemn Eucharist, communion, or Lord’s Supper, is the once-and-for-all call for all of humanity to share in the goodness of God. For here, at this table, in this meal, we are reconciled to God and to each other. At this table, in this meal, old scores are settled, new wounds healed. At this table, in this meal, an old love story seeks to dissolve new-sprung divisions. At this table, in this meal, anything can happen…and it does. It does.

The thing about this party, though, is this: just anyone is welcome to pull up a chair. Right next to you. Deserving or not. A list, B list, no list. It’s an everybody-come type of thing; and you never know who might show up at that kind of shindig.

This is the kind of feast that just might change the world. And if you are worried about who else might be on the guest list, you might just miss out.

And that, my friend, would be a shame.