The people who walk through our doors every week have become our family. We are all so different; politically, socially, spiritually (the list could go on and on). But there is something about the table that allows us to put our differences aside and commune.
It’s only when our peace, or, our word, is accepted that we continue to do the work. Only the, do we speak grace and peace into them. We tell them the good news of Jesus. We offer hope.
Every time I feel the salt of tears against my cheeks—whether my own, or someone else’s, I am reminded of the words of Isaiah: “I will rejoice over Jerusalem and take delight in my people; the sound of weeping and of crying will be heard in it no more.”
Life is a lot like that moment, I think. One of the first Christians by the name of Paul once mentioned running the race set before us. In the midst of the running, though, things get hard.