Setting the Table for Encounter
Jesus, the King, is the guest of honour at the dinner feast. He has given you the privilege of being a part of this really special encounter He’s planning. It’s the greatest honour to be invited to His table.
You receive the guest list of other eager attendees, you prepare the courses for a delicious meal, laying out the silverware, flowers and details that will make it special and delight Him that you love. You talk constantly to Him throughout the preparation, asking His preferences, listening intensely as He talks with joy about the people coming, just so you can catch a glimpse of His heart. You’ve gotten to know Him over the years. It’s taken you a while to grow into the name He gave you. You’re tempted, sometimes, to act like an orphan without a Father, like you were - but then He shows up and reminds you who you are, and whose you are. As you talk, He senses your willingness to please Him, maybe even your fear that He’ll reject you if everything isn’t perfect, so He keeps assuring you that He’ll be there for the feast. That the time together isn’t an audition, but a celebration of who He is and all He’s done - a banquet. He laughs, reminding you gently with a wink, to surrender your worry. After all, people aren’t coming to the castle to eat with you.
You still feel confused after all these years that He would want you to be there at all. You have told Him over and over again that you’d be privileged to be a doorkeeper in His house. But He keeps assuring you that your place is as a son or daughter.
So you get to work - putting on the soundtrack that will play in the background, welcoming people as they arrive to sit at the table, making an announcement reminding people why we’re all here and who it is we’re waiting for. And together we hold our unified breath as the guest of honour arrives. You instruct every excellent musician you could find to play as loudly and beautifully as they can for the procession. We sigh out when He walks into the room. We can’t take our eyes off Him. We’re aware of how the evening just went from a nice gathering, to a significant encounter. We take our seats when He takes his. We amen when He prays. We eat when He eats, and we hang on every story and word He shares. While we listen to Him, we go back and forth giving toasts, trying our best to fumble our words of gratitude and love in front of all these people. We don’t want to miss this opportunity to confess how worthy He is. How honoured and adored He is. To recount His extraordinary victories in battles, to list out His goodness, and more than anything - thank Him for saving our lives.
You give Him the present you brought. As soon as you offer it to Him you catch of glimpse of the scars on His hands - you remember what it cost Him for you to be there. You get a flashback of sitting in a jail cell in a back alley and hearing His voice for the first time. You suddenly feel ashamed at how little of a gift it is. Through broken sentences and shifted eyes you say, “Oh, it’s actually nothing, you deserve so much more than this, but it’s all I could afford.” He opens it when there’s a break in the conversation and finds a handwritten note, a song you wrote, and a little picture of the two of you that you drew. He smiles and says it’s the most beautiful gift - He can’t wait to put it on His fridge. You sigh with relief and your heart swells, filled with more love and joy than you had before you came. You watch Him throughout the night take time to open each person’s gift and look them in the eye. You get up every once in a while to announce the next course, refresh a water glass, or open a new bottle of wine, but you never take your eyes off Him. You watch Him to know if it’s time. If you should linger a little longer. If He doesn’t want to be interrupted. If he has a little more to say before you switch to dessert plates. And He always does it graciously, inviting you to participate with the flow of the night, with the experience of His presence.
As you eat and drink and laugh, strange things begin to happen. People who didn’t know if they even wanted to be there, start pouring out their love for the King. He recieves them. People who you saw just earlier that week slandering His name in the street, now experiencing His kindness, beg for forgiveness. He forgives them. People who hobbled into dinner blind, ask for healing. He heals them. People who came in bitter and broken from battle ask him for help. He gives them His very own armour. Others present their debts that they can’t pay. He pays them. Others confess their shame of having no family. He adopts them. With his Kingly authority He even drives away the hecklers standing outside the palace window yelling, “Who do you think you are sitting at that table!” He turns to us, gazing right in our eyes, saying, “I’m so happy you’re here. I invited you, so stay and eat with me.” He even whispers to you that if those hecklers come back, you can scare them away yourself. And so you do - they listen to you because you’re with Him.
Still some choose to put their heads down and refuse to meet the King’s eye. They grumble under their breath and complain that the soup is cold, and that they could have done a better job with the napkin arrangement. You know you can’t convince them to engage in the party, but you also know the King will still keep inviting them back. He still wants to eat with them. He loves them, too. He’s much more generous than you. And considering what hell He brought you out of, you’re thankful that that’s true.
The night comes to a close. No matter where each of us have come from, we leave as family. Whatever grievances we have had, we bury. Whatever dreams we have had, we unearth. We can’t wait to be together again.
You sit in the quiet and write the King a letter, thanking Him for his presence with us. For the gift of Himself that He offered, knowing the sad state of affairs it would be without Him. If He didn’t come, we might have eaten some good food, and met some interesting people, but we would have gone home the same. We might have even met one of those hecklers on the road and believed them when they said, “See, I told you, He doesn’t love you.” But the gift of God is Jesus Christ, God with us. He came, and He continues to come. Dwelling in the praises of His people He loves. So you write out your gratitude for the privilege of getting to be a part of the work He’s doing. You eagerly await a call for whatever He wants to do next. You wonder whether He’ll ask you to set a table for a few dozen families in the town over, or for 10 thousand in the big city, or maybe an intimate dinner for 6. It doesn’t matter to you what it looks like. As long as the King shows up. You just want to be wherever He is. Perhaps you’ll receive an invitation from a friend hosting the next banquet. You love when she hosts - it’s always a lot fancier than what you prepare, with more communal readings, quiet music, soulful reflection, and new food you never get to eat. It doesn’t matter to you what it looks like. As long as the King shows up. You just want to be wherever He is. Or your neighbour might be the next to host - his parties are loud and beautiful. Your cheeks always hurt from laughing and your feet ache from all the dancing. It doesn’t matter to you what it looks like. As long as the King shows up. You just want to be wherever He is.
The encounter is always the promise. Jesus is always the reward.
And while you await the next gathering, the King knocks on your door every morning, asking to have breakfast together, just the two of you. It’s always what you look forward to the most.
He always knocks, and you always answer.
“Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If any hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and we will share a meal together as friends.”
- Revelation 3:20