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216 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
both shepherd and sheep. As we welcome folks to our table we incarnate God’s
words in Ezekiel 34: “As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among
their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep. ... I will feed them on the
mountains of Israel, by the watercourses and in all the inhabited parts of the
land.”
As we welcome the stranger to table, we—both as stranger and host—are
called out of the scattered flock to the “good pastures” that God has promised.
In taking on the role of shepherd, we too are guided by those we welcome into
our lives and to our tables.
One such life-giving experience taught me the connection between the supper
table and the communion table. My mother was sick with cancer; I was in
the tenth grade. She was in the hospital for the second time, and I was really
scared. After our Sunday evening worship, a large group of us went to the hospital
and gathered in a fluorescent room, a hellhole they called the visiting room.
I felt a little uncomfortable—this was my space, with my mom, a place that we
had spent many hours in tears as well as laughter—and here were people that I
lived with and trusted and loved, and who brought me courage and comfort.
But with us were a number of people that I didn’t know at all.
One of the ministers in the community performed a short eucharistic service.
Bread was broken and passed, followed by the cup. And there was a miracle
of healing. No, my mom didn’t jump up and walk out of the hospital, but, over
time, she healed. And I was transformed—the act of passing the bread to the
man next to me, a man whose name I did not know, made me uncomfortable
until I realized the significance of this sacrament. He passed the bread to my
mother and, in that simple act, brought her a healing that a doctor would not
have delivered with ten doses of chemotherapy.
I realized later that I had welcomed this man, with great reluctance, into
space that was very sacred to me. These visiting-room chairs had held me for
many hours and days. Although my welcome was reluctant, by bringing this
man into my space I was led to the “good pasture”—a pasture of healing, and a
pasture of replenished hope. In the midst of this small miracle came a renewed
sense of grace and strength for the uphill journey toward healing.
I liken this experience to that of the disciples on the road to Emmaus.
Luke’s account says: “As they came near the village to which they were going,
Jesus walked ahead, appearing to go farther. But they urged, ‘Stay with us, because
it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.’ So Jesus went in to
stay with them. While at the table with them, Jesus took bread, blessed and
broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized
Jesus, who then vanished from their sight.”
Just as the scales fell from the disciples’ eyes, the experience at the hospital
taught me a new way to see. We are all shaped, deep within our souls, by this