How Big Is This Table?

August 3, 2003

It was last summer that we lost our Fourth Church neighbor, Ann Landers, who lived just a few blocks away. For almost 50 years she wrote her advice column and became the world’s most widely syndicated columnist.  Ann took on a variety of topics through the years, and around our breakfast table, we seemed to be most amused by letters fretting over trivial social niceties . . . for example, the question of whether certain inanimate objects appropriately face up or down. In making your bed, should the top sheet be placed with the patterned side up or down? That question got lots of play.  Then there was the perennially popular “issue of the tissue” . . . which direction should bathroom tissue hang off the roll – over or under?  Well, the debate raged for years.  The toilet roll fracas would die down only to flare up again, until finally arrived the letter that truly touched bottom, as it were. This writer confessed that she was in the habit, when visiting in other people’s homes, of checking out the bathroom and, if finding noncompliance with her standards she would helpfully flip the roll . . . giving new meaning to the expression, “over the top.” 
 
Social niceties—they come in all shapes and sizes. Some are truly inconsequential.Others are critical, as with the social question in today’s Lesson:  Who’s eating with whom? That question still has force in human society, doesn’t it?  There’s the adage, “You are known by the company you keep.” And when you keep that company at your dinner table, the social stakes are raised.  To eat dinner with someone, in Jesus’ day as well as ours, sends a message of social acceptance. Jesus himself seems to accept dinner invitations indiscriminately, often eating with social outcasts. And to those around him who monitor the boundaries of behavior, he gives deep offense.  
 
In today’s Lesson, the question becomes especially pointed: “Who will be seated at God’s table?”  Now in the Jewish tradition, there is a beautiful image of God’s Kingdom as the Messianic Banquet, with all God’s people gathered around the table.  The prophet Isaiah paints the picture: “On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines…. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth.”  Pious embroidery on this picture of the Messianic Banquet says that included in the food eaten on that occasion will be the great sea monster, Leviathan, as all things hurtful are destroyed. 
 
So the question then becomes of eternal importance, “Who will be present at that banquet table?  Who’s invited?”  Luke tells us, “One of the dinner guests said to Jesus, ‘Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!’”  [Luke 14:15] And at that, religious gatekeepers at the table turn to see what the young rabbi from Nazareth will say.
 
Jesus’ response comes by way of a parable about invitations that went out, and how those who at first accepted later made every lame excuse for not coming. And then the host throws open his table, and sends out his servant, broadcasting his invitation now to those most likely to respond: “Bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame . . . so that my house may be filled.”  In that same spirit of inclusion, the apostle Paul will later express God’s great enterprise in the world:  “God’s plan for the fullness of time, to gather up all things in Christ, things in heaven and things on earth.”  [Ephesians 1:9-10]  A couple of weeks ago, Marian McClure, Director of Worldwide Ministries for the Presbyterian Church, was visiting with us here, and she said, “It’s not the Church that has a mission; it’s God’s mission that has a Church.”  And indeed Christ’s Church becomes more or less faithful as it is faithful in proclaiming and living out the expansive welcome of God’s love.
 
Some of you have at home one of those dining tables with removable leaves. When you need a larger table for added guests, you go to the closet and bring out additional planks that fit into the middle of the table. We see Jesus always doing just that. He keeps bringing out more leaves, expanding God’s banquet table. Not surprisingly, those who consider themselves to be on God’s select invitation list become progressively more irritated at Jesus, saying that God’s table just can’t be that big. Surely, they say, there’s not room for these at the table. Such voices are still heard today. As we come to this communion table here this morning,  how big would Christ want this, his table, to be? 
 
One of our key words in celebrating the Lord’s Supper is the word remember.  “Do this in remembrance of me,” Jesus says. [Luke 22:19] Now that word remember certainly includes our recollection of  the past, of Jesus’ last supper with his disciples. But there’s also a present tense meaning to the word remember. Think of a family, say several generations of a large family, now gathering for a meal together.  And one of the older members of the family says, “As we come together today, let’s remember who we are.” And then the family stories begin to be told around that table. This morning as we come to the table, let’s you and I remember who we are, this particular family of Christ here at the corner of Michigan Avenue and Delaware Place in Chicago. Let’s remind ourselves of our essential identity and what this table asks of us.
 
Let’s go back almost 90 years: May, 1914. The Fourth Presbyterian Church celebrates the completion of these grand new buildings. A special worship service here is entitled, “Dedication of the Church Buildings to the Service of Mankind.”  As  custody of the buildings is transferred from the Building Committee to the Board of Trustees, the Chairman of the Building Committee, Thomas Jones, says this: “Whether the large expenditure which has been made here, whether all the skill and labor that have been expended on these structures shall prove to have been justified, time alone can answer. And the answer, when it comes, will be in the terms of service, the lives that shall be lived here, the spirit that shall go out from here and enter into the life of the community.”
 
Here is the expansive vision of this church from the day its doors first open onto Michigan Avenue … Dedication of the church buildings to the service of mankind.  At its best, this congregation has lived into that vision . . . not perfectly, of course, but each generation seeking to find its own way toward that noble vision of 1914.  Among so many family stories, let me tell a couple that yet speak to us of abundant welcome to Christ’s table.
 
The year is 1942, and in this country a dark story is unfolding for Japanese Americans.  Those of you have been around Fourth Church for some time know how this church lit a candle in that darkness . . . of how, soon after Pearl Harbor in December, 1941, a little congregation of Japanese Christians here in Chicago are barred by the authorities from worshipping together; of how they appeal to the Pastor of Fourth Church, Dr. Harrison Ray Anderson, for space to have their worship services here; of how Dr. Anderson takes up their cause and the Session invites them to worship in one of our chapels on Sunday afternoons.  While many of you know this much of the story, I wonder if you know of the letter written to Fourth Church by these Japanese Christians at the end of the War. 
 
It’s dated January 5, 1947.
“Dear Dr. Anderson,
Etched deeply in our memory are the bitter days just five years ago when everything seemed to be against us through no fault of our own.  There was hatred in eyes that looked at us. There were restrictions placed against our persons. Our means of livelihood were in jeopardy. All of our world had suddenly crumbled about us and there was nothing left to us except our faith in a righteous God.  But even here we were denied a place for worship.  Our minds were troubled, our spirit was depressed and our hearts were very heavy.
And just as it was told in the parable, a good Samaritan came along.
You, Doctor Anderson, came at a time when we needed you most.  Without counting cost or heeding criticism you befriended us when we were sorely beset. We were without shelter and you helped us to find a sanctuary.  We were sick at heart and you comforted us.  We were worried and you gave us inspiration and renewed courage.
Your kindness, patience, and friendly counsel will never be forgotten by us, ever. . . . Through you we have found a renewed faith in Christ.
Affectionately yours,  The Church of Christ (Japanese)”
True to the vision, there was room found here at Christ’s table.
 
In June we were saddened at the death of our Pastor Emeritus, Dr. Elam Davies. In 1983, he established here at Fourth Church the Social Service Center that now bears his name. Every day of the week, people come here who are struggling to survive at the bare margins of society. Here they find compassionate, competent staff who carefully listen and find ways to walk beside them, offer them material help and Christian encouragement. Hundreds of meals are served here each week, medical attention offered, fresh clothing provided, and counseling around addiction, housing, and employment issues. 
 
David Murad, the Director of the Center, tells of one young man who, some weeks ago, just came in just for clothing. But further conversation revealed a depth of issues . . . of substance abuse and impending homelessness. Through our counseling and connecting with other agencies, the young man was brought back from the brink of meltdown in his life and set back on his feet again. He returns ever so often to say hello, now looking like a different person. He’s maintaining sobriety and facing life with a hopeful spirit and renewed confidence.
True to the vision, room is found here at Christ’s table.
 
And what of us? You and me, our invitation to the table.  Carved in stone over our Michigan Avenue door are the words, “The Master is here and calleth for thee.”  Christ calls all of us by way of his calling each of us. We come one by one to gather at the table, each of us called personally, each within our own life circumstances.  As Jesus pictured in his parable, maybe the invitation comes to you as one who is lame, crippled in spirit, limping with unsure step; or poor, lacking in faith, anxious of life; or perhaps unseeing, blind to hope, uncertain of the way. Hear the word of Jesus to you today.  He invites just such as you and me -- the lame and the poor and the blind. 
 
Let me now close with this story.  Did you recently read about Terry Wallis of Mountain View, Arkansas?  Of how 19 years ago, a young man, newly married, Terry Wallis was in a highway accident, and then became trapped in a vegetative state—paralyzed, and though seeing, he was unable to talk or process what was going on.  For him, time stopped in July 1984.  Throughout the years, his parents—farmers, Angilee and Jerry Wallis—never gave up hope that their son might recover.  They continued to talk to him but with no response.  Then, just a few weeks ago, after 19 years of silence, he began to talk.  The doctors say that new medication has helped, but they go on to assert that something more was at work:  the love of a family and the belief of a mother who refused to give up on her son. 
 
Have you ever sensed in yourself something of a Terry Wallis, caught perhaps in a paralysis of the spirit, of the heart, where faith is confined to the intellect, and you yearn for engagement of the heart? Perhaps you wonder whether your faith can feel again: feel the sense of God’s closeness, of God’s love for you.  As with Terry Wallis, Christ is that mother who hasn’t given up, who continues to call your name, and whom finally you hear and can respond to.  And then, in the joy of gratitude, you find that Christ’s table has a place … even for you. 
 
How big is this table?  As big as the heart of Christ, as wide as his arms of mercy, as expansive as his love.

Come now to this table, won’t you?  The Master is here and calling for you.  Amen.