Tables

Recently I (with the help of generous church supporters) purchased three eight-foot tables. The tables cost $76 a piece. Three tables plus tax . . . $237. The tables aren't much to look at. They are white with gray legs. The tables are plastic. Much lighter than the old wooden tables which still collect cob webs and spilled apple pie in many churches and synagogues all over this country. As we loaded up for Cass Park, I scribbled, in elementary-esque handwriting (due to awkward grooves clearly not designed for writing) Cass Park. 

Today, we put those tables to use in Cass Park. 

On these tables rested chicken, potato salad, cake, snacks, lemonade, water, pop, toothbrushes, deodorant, plates, forks, napkins, spoons and knives. Plastic utensils of course. 

Without these tables, the afternoon is awkward and artificial. Without the food, social power games of old rear their ugly head. 

With the tables (and the excellent food) . . . conversations break out, prayers rise up from the sidewalks, stories are told and re-told (and told again), friendships are renewed. Laughter then replaces a scowl, and despair gives away to hope. The trees are a bit greener. The sun is slightly brighter. The air, a little more pleasant. 

Christianity is a strange religion indeed. Brilliant but strange. 

God takes the ordinary things of life and turns everything upside down. Water. Blood. Food. Wine. Feet. Fishing. Perfume. Bread. And . . . of course tables.  

"Want to change the world?" I can hear Jesus ask his disciples. "Pay attention to your tables."