Who gets to sit at the table?

Thanksgiving at my grandmother's house meant sitting at the kids' table.  There were simply too many of us to fit around the other table.  I always felt slighted.  (I have often been prone to feeling slighted, but that's for another day).

My grandmother did not own a fancy dining room table, used only on Sundays and holidays.  In fact, my grandmother did not own anything fancy.

Hers was a 'farm table' - that enormous kitchen table that dominates a farm's kitchen.  It was the center for all life in my grandmother's house.  It was where bills were paid, arguments were started and resolved, forgiveness handed out.  There local stories were told, tragedies remarked on, children reprimanded, and of course, hardy meals of meat and potatoes accompanied by rhubarb or apple or cherry or quince pie were served.

In my mind, having a seat at the 'big table' meant belonging to this family.  Whether distant relative, cranky neighbor or complete stranger, being invited to a seat at the big table meant being a part of the family for this meal.

That is what it means in Jesus' mind as well.  It took a foreigner and sometimes enemy, a woman who would not take 'No' for answer, to bring this to Jesus' attention.   She knew that what Jesus was offering at his table could bring new life - and that's what her daughter needed right at this moment.  All she wanted was a few crumbs - because crumbs from this table were enough - and in her asking, Jesus begins to understand that the new life that will come through him is open to all.

All are welcome at the table.  Strangers, foreigners, children, cranky neighbors......sinners.  Come and eat and be whole again.