a kingdom built of seeds

My heart is always filled with awe and wonder on nights such as these. I only invite others—not to my table with anything I can provide—to his table, the one with the remedy for the maladies of our hearts. He who is himself the remedy. My only hope is to create a space where he comes in a way I cannot, where he touches hearts in a way I cannot. I realize, more and more, that I need do little more than invite others to a table that is not mine, just one at which I sit. When they see that they belong, just as I, just as all, their resistance begins to crumble, the distance recedes, and they are changed from an encounter I did not create or give to them, only invited them to. They are changed by the one at whose table they sit. It is him, not I. I find I need say little on how they must come or what they must do when they find the courage to approach. When they leave this safe space, might they forget, revert? Maybe so; highly likely, even. Is there still a place for them when they return, drawn again and again from their emptiness to this better table? Yes. Always. I can only pray that after they have tasted of the richest food, the finest wine, nothing else will do.

“When we see our role as being not merely those who give God, but rather those who can learn from others and act as an aroma that helps others to open up (which are two sides of the same coin), then we affirm the words of Jesus when he claims that God will give God to those who are open to God.” – Peter Rollins

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