At the Table

I thought early on in our marriage that we would bring out this kiddush cup only for the most special of occasions, keeping it up on a high shelf in our home for decor to represent the beauty of the covenant it helped forge and seal, or maybe just to show how extra spiritual we were for having something like this in our possession.

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In some places, I suppose the act of ritual becomes somewhat meaningless, or so I have heard. These days, I find myself clinging to the gifts found lying in devotion, liturgy, routine. I have known with just the way I eat and crave certain things that I am flippant and all over the place, sticking to the same box of cereal for one hundred days straight and then pretending as if it had never existed, racing to the next thing that suits my fancy.

My appetites have been formed by the pressing in, the push past emotions into a depth of peace. I could say much more on how my appetites have also been shaped by the many other rhythms that I follow so blindly in our world, but specifically, this rhythm of the table, the Lord’s Supper, has brought our covenantal cup out for regular use and wear. It is in the hard breath at the end of our Sabbath; a pour of simple Trader Joe’s two buck chuck merlot, a quick grab of whatever frozen bread we may have on hand thrown into the microwave, pushing books, laptops, and other clutter off of our coffee table to make room for this set that calls us upward.

Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.
— Colossians 3:12-14

Quick to take offense, another pattern I am learning to unravel beneath the practice of charity, we confess and repent to one another, we confess and repent to our Lord. We are beckoned in the midst of the mundane to a lavish table of grace, the body broken, the blood shed for me, for us. As my emotions said the very normal line, “I don’t feel like it,” His perfect obedience poured life into dry bones. In Him we live and move and have our being.


The active remembering, zakar, leaving us changed in the process of recall, has been lifeline in the sea of other words that threaten to pull us under. Communion, He is with us, as the wine is bittersweet and bread filling, to reunite what felt floundering. We are bound, we lift our eyes up to the hills as we, for but a moment wonder where might our help come from. Our help comes from the Lord, for what is too big for the maker of the Heavens and the Earth?


As an extra note, we have been using the liturgy from Every Moment Holy, for when our words feel lack. We adore this book, and it has been a gift to us in this season, and probably for many more to come.