The Good China: Lessons of Grace and Hospitality

[a belated Mother's Day tribute]

Mom was one who believed in setting out the good china. Dishes are made to be eaten off of, not to sit and look pretty in the china cabinet. So we used the good china. Often. Of course, many plates and bowls and tea cups have been broken along the way, but, according to my mom, these are just things, the important thing is the fellowship that is shared around the table. She wanted everyone who sat at her table to feel special and to feel welcome. So she served up her delicious and nutritious meals. On the good china.

When the bishop came to visit (he raved about Karry Frey’s homemade dinner rolls), she used the good china. And when one of the towns drug dealers stopped by, she used the good china. She welcomed them both. She loved them both. She accepted them as is. And she saw that they had potential to be much more than they were. In the bishop, she saw a man more loving and gracious than he appeared to the world (or in John Shelby Spong’s autobiography). And in the pothead, she saw the kind, charismatic, and imaginative kid who she had the qualities to be a great leader.

When dinner time came, there was always enough to serve our family. And if somebody else dropped by, she’d pull up a chair and serve them a plate, too.

Sometimes we her children would be obnoxious, obstinate, unkind, or naughty. We’d be sent to our rooms until we were “ready to be nice”. Occasionally we wouldn’t be ready to be nice when a mealtime came, so we’d stay in our rooms while our family enjoyed the table fellowship. But a place was always set for us, should we choose to come to the table. And if we didn’t come, both Mom and Dad would tell us how much they had missed us and how dinnertime just wasn’t the same without us.

My own Christian theology and worship center around the communion table, with its open invitation, “Y’all come. Everyone is welcome. Rich, poor, gay, straight, black white, old, young, doubter, believer, saint, sinner. Really, everyone. Come!” And my model for life and ministry is that of the man Jesus of Nazareth, who broke down boundaries, who shared meals with both the high-religious and society’s outcasts.

But such radical hospitality I did not learn from the Christian teaching. No, I first learned it at home, during those first communions of family dinners, at the table where, no matter how much I had messed up, I found a place set for me. With the good china, no doubt.