As I think back over my life and about the people who have touched my life, I see how many encounters with others have taken place around tables. I recall one Sunday when I was a theological student, being invited to the home of a Welsh farmer along with the rest of the congregation, I had worshipped with in their small country chapel.

Roast Duck it was… wheeled in on a special serving table, on a huge plate, cooked just right, surrounded with vegetables of all kinds and a variety of succulent sauces … all steaming hot.  Every time I see Roast Duck on a menu I’m always transported in my mind’s eye to that gathering of folk, and I recall the warmth of welcome and fellowship that I was privileged to share.

In our church calendar, today is a day we have designated “All-Saints Sunday,” and we recall some of the folk who passed over into glory during the past year.  I wonder how many memories that folk cherish are ones of meals and meetings around tables.  There is just something about sitting down together and eating together that builds into our minds precious memories of times and people we shared those times with.

I’m sure that the disciples who walked with Jesus must have had their own special memories of times that they met around a meal.  James and John may have remembered the last meal they ate with their father in the boat before they left the trade of fishing for fish and started to follow Jesus fishing for people.

Matthew maybe remembered a time when he and other disciples were in a little village, sent there by Jesus to declare the kingdom, and the villagers took them in and fed them a meal fit for royalty.

I’m sure none of them would forget that time in the wilderness when Jesus said the blessing over a few loaves and fishes a little boy had bought along with him, and they ended up feeding over five thousand hungry folk.

Or maybe nothing could top that beautiful post resurrection breakfast by the sea, when they had fished all night and were tired and hungry and Jesus called to them from the shore, “Let down your nets on the other side,” and they did …and the nets became unbelievably heavy with fish.  When they rowed to the shore, there was Jesus with a fire already glowing, ready to cook the fish and eat a meal with them.

Or what about those two who were on the road to Emmaus, down-hearted and miserable, when a stranger came alongside them and asked what was going on.  In bewilderment they explain all that had taken place, and all the time Jesus is explaining to them from the scriptures how things had to happen.  Their hearts are beginning to burn with excitement and so they invite the stranger to stay for the evening and eat with them.

Then as they sit at the table, Jesus breaks bread, and then … only then… are their eyes open and they realize that this is no stranger, but the Lord Himself, risen from the grave as He had promised.

Sometimes a similar thing can happen when we meet as families around tables and remember those we have lost.  As we talk and as we remember them, it can be as if they were sharing in the meal with us.  For a moment we feel their nearness and truly believe that with them all is well and even feel that in some unknown way they are still watching over us.

Such table experiences give a tangible hope to great visions such as those John offers us in Revelation Chapter 7, verse 9 - “After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands.”

It can be when we sit down at the table that we realize there is a great cloud of unseen witnesses sitting in the heavenly balconies, encouraging us, cheering us on, directing us to live in a way that glorifies God and joins our songs of praise to theirs.

Surely though, for the disciples, the most memorable meal of all was the one that they ate with Jesus around Passover time in an upper room in Jerusalem shortly before he died and rose again.  A Seder meal with actions that were full of meaning - lamb to represent the sacrificial one who was slain, bitter herbs to remember their life before they were free, special nuts and fruit that recalled God’s bounty, and wine to celebrate the Kingdom.

And how could they forget when in the midst of that joyous setting, Jesus broke a piece of bread and gave it to them saying, “This is my body, broken for you, do this in remembrance of me.”  And in different ways they would recall how He offered them a cup to drink; a cup that represented a new covenant brought into being through His shed blood, a cup of blessing and hope for forgiveness and renewed life.

Paul, no doubt building upon the memories and recollections of the disciples he had come to know as friends, would later explain, “For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.”

Memory for the Hebrew mind had a strange power.  It bought back experiences and set them in motion once again.  When they remembered, as they did every time they gathered around that table, He was there.  The bread and wine brought Him back to them.

The strangest part is that they do something similar for us. We were not there, but when we think about it, and take the bread and the cup in faith, it is as if we had been there and Christ is surely here amongst us, offering Himself to us all over again.  Such has been the experience of countless numbers over the centuries as they have come to the sacrament of Holy Communion in the faith of the Risen Christ.

And every time we share in this meal, we look forward to another one, forward to what one hymn-writer describes as the “Lambs great bridal feast of bliss and love.”  We anticipate sitting down way over the other side of the Jordan, way past this life’s fleeting breaths, taking our place at a table laid with good things where our cup overflows in the presence of those we have lost for a short while, but whose presence we will again enjoy, and this time for all time.

So come to this meal in a spirit of remembrance. Remember the great Christian hope - that this life is not all there is.  That those who have passed into God’s nearer presence are just a little way ahead of us, waiting to greet us and share in our lives in a deeper and fuller way.  Sometimes, on days like this, we can almost sense their presence; we can almost hear the encouraging words they offer from the balcony as we make our way down the road.

Remember most of all, our Lord Jesus Christ, the One who lived and died and was raised again in order that our lives may be transformed by living hope.  We come to the communion table only at His invitation.  We who are unworthy, frail and sinful are invited to come as He breaks bread and shares the cup with us. And, mysteriously, we feed on Him as He does.  It is a miracle even greater than feeding five thousand.  It looks back to that last meal He spent with His disciples in the Upper Room.

More significantly, as we celebrate this All Saints Day, it is a meal to remember because it never ends. It points us to a heavenly banquet when we shall eat and drink with Him in the presence of His saints and angels and in the fullness of God’s Kingdom.

Surely then… this is a meal to remember.  As we come to the table may the Holy Spirit fill our lives, renew us for Christ’s service, and bring peace and healing to us throughout our lives in the life of this world; and all to the glory of Him who loved us and is preparing us for a weight of eternal glory that we can scarcely even comprehend.

To God’s name be all praise and honor.

Amen.

Rev. Adrian J. Pratt