Table for two or more, please:
tabla rasa or elemental mesa,
fine-grained wood
or chrismed marble slab,
in the center of the city or
in the heart of the heart
of the brush arbor;
whatever works, whatever
lets you face your face
and pandemic’s knell.
Let it be set, accordingly,
with clouds passing overhead
or liminal linen paraments,
creased and lilting with welcome,
however two or more can
gather, with feet bare
or booted, on sacral ground,
however souls can find
their way to a loaf to break
and a cup running over.
Let the sun rise, as it will,
or set, as well, on two
or three or more,
eyes cracked half open,
or gleaming utterly awed,
whenever bread is kneaded,
whenever kneeling
or weeping is meet and right,
whenever gladness
says “now” and “again.”
Let whosoever will
come and take up a gracing
and a telling of life
and breath and every matter
that surely matters,
for every kin and friend
and every enemy,
known or unknown,
whosoever is on hand,
hands on the table.
Let the table abide
for an inevitable appointment,
for feeding a hunger
beyond the body
(and also for the body),
for tending to ties
that bind, and
cutting binding ties, too,
for a meal and a moment
to change a day forever.
Bob Hill is Minister Emeritus – Community Christian Church, Kansas City, Missouri USA
