If you read books like Ezra and Nehemiah, the picture you’re going to get of God is a very judgmental. And so the notion you’re going to get of God’s people is a very narrow one—one limited to a snapshot of Israel as it was at a single point in its history, when it was small in number and ethnically pure. In fact, according to Ezra the scribe and Nehemiah the governor, immigrants were to be cleansed from the land, and foreign wives and children were to be sent back to where they came from.
But when we need hope from the Old Testament, most of us don’t look to Ezra and Nehemiah for encouragement. We look to the psalms, or sometimes to Isaiah. Isaiah is lofty and inspiring. And his vision of what—or who—God’s people are is much broader. There’s a passage in Isaiah 2 (that we’ll probably look at in December) that talks about all people making their way to God’s mountain—to Zion in Jerusalem—and living peacefully together. And here we are in Isaiah 25, hearing a promise of safety: Safety not for a limited few, but for all people. For it's not a limited few, but all people who are promised a marvelous feast.
It's the same in the New Testament. Not every time, but a lot of times, when Jesus talks about the kingdom of God, he talks about it in terms of a feast or a banquet. And the night before he died, he gave us such a feast. He set a table for all, and he gave us a supper. The table stretches throughout the world and the supper has neither beginning nor end. It includes all people everywhere and is the very definition of eternity. His body and his blood is for everybody, and the death that he died offers eternal life.
And so now we see that the feast Isaiah talks about in today’s reading is, in fact, the marriage supper of the Lamb. With us are people from every time and place. Sisters and brothers you didn’t know you had, family from the other side of the globe are here with us… as are those who have gone before and those who will come after.
It’s something we should meditate on whenever we hold the bread and the cup in our hands: the communion of saints. Present with us are those we love and miss—parents and grandparents and those who came before them—those who are related to us, and those outside our families who made our lives better by their selfless acts.
And you’re invited, too. Come in from the storm, take refuge from the chaos, and gather beneath the wings of the Lord of hosts. A table is set, and the best is on offer. I keep seeing a meme on the internet that talks about how a water bottle at the store costs $1. At the gym, it’s $2. That same bottle at a hotel is $3, at an airport $5, and at the movies is $6. Every time, it’s the same bottle and the same brand. The only thing that changes is the place where it’s found. So if you feel worthless, maybe you’re in the wrong place.
But Christ’s church, is the right place. Remember, no matter how much or how little you think you’re valued elsewhere, here, in this place, you’re worth something. On this mountain, in Zion, you are worth the life of God’s Son.
We are here, not because we have followed our own whims, but because God has called us here: strangers and friends, newcomers and people who have lived here long, some whose faith is mature, and some who are filled with doubt, some who are certain of what they’d find here and others who are curious as to what it’s all about. We are a mixed company, yes, but somehow all of us meet Jesus around this table. Through his Spirit, though we are unique, we are joined together into one body.
So come, not because you understand, but because here you are understood. Come, not because of how you feel, but because God loves you. Come, not because you feel you deserve a place, but because, in Christ Jesus, you are worthy of a place at the table. No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, Come. All things are ready, so come, discern the body and blood of Christ.
—©2024 Sam Greening
