Persevering Like Nehemiah

Hunger and longing. You feel it, don’t you? A gnawing emptiness that echoes in your soul. Picture an empty table, just one chair, standing alone, collecting dust. No one to sit at the table. No laughter, no sharing. Only silence. It stings like rejection. How many times have you eaten alone? The weight of exclusion settles on your chest, a burdensome weight. The city streets are filled with hungry souls. Those who long for connection, for belonging. Eating in solitude while the world rushes by, not seeing the hunger in your eyes. That spiritual hunger for something more—a table filled with abundance, a feast of community and grace. That’s where Nehemiah comes in.

The Empty Chair

Imagine the streets of a bustling city. Cars honking, people rushing. Yet, in the midst of that chaos, you feel utterly alone. You see a child eating a sandwich on a park bench. No friends around. Just that one empty chair beside them, a glaring reminder of the isolation that grips so many. You witness a neighborhood family, their dining table crammed with food but devoid of warmth. Laughter replaced by tension. Where is the love? Where is the joy? The empty chair reflects a deeper reality—a hunger for connection, a longing to be known, to be valued.

Spiritual hunger isn’t confined to the physical space of an empty seat. It runs deeper. It permeates our souls, our relationships. We crave a connection with others and with God, yet so often we find ourselves at a distance. The Church, meant to be the table where we gather, sometimes feels more like a deserted island. The Spirit is moving, beckoning us to fill that empty chair with presence, concern, and action. Just as Nehemiah faced the ruins of Jerusalem and felt the burden of his people, we are called to confront our own spiritual desolation. It’s time to rise up, to fill that chair, and to invite others to join us. We cannot neglect the hunger that surrounds us. The world is starving for connection. Let us be the ones who fill the void.

The Scandalous Dinner Guest

Pull up a chair: Jesus—the ultimate table minister. He didn’t shy away from the outcasts, the sinners, the marginalized. Remember Matthew, the tax collector? Eating with Him scandalized the religious elite. “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” they asked. (Matthew 9:11). Yet, it was precisely at the table that transformation happened. Jesus invited the uninvited, built bridges where walls existed. He fed the multitudes with five loaves and two fish (John 6:9). That wasn’t just a miracle; it was a radical act of inclusion. Everyone had a place at His table. The broken, the hungry, the lost—they found acceptance. That’s the Gospel in action!

Consider the Last Supper. Jesus, knowing the betrayal that awaited Him, still gathered His closest friends and shared a meal. He broke bread, poured wine, and offered it to them as His body and blood. (Luke 22:19-20). What a scandal! They were not just guests but family. In that moment, He transformed their identities, saying, “Do this in remembrance of me.” This was more than just communion; it was a radical declaration of belonging. Jesus turned the table on societal norms, inviting the unlikely to join Him. Our neighborhoods are filled with modern-day lepers—those we overlook because of their past, their struggles. Yet, Jesus calls us to the same scandalous dinner table where grace abounds. Are we willing to embrace that challenge?

Think about the times you’ve noticed someone sitting alone, feeling invisible. The single mother struggling to put food on the table. The elderly neighbor longing for companionship. What if we took Jesus’ approach? Radical table fellowship can look like inviting that neighbor to dinner, creating space for the outcast, and being intentional about building relationships across divides. The Spirit is moving in these spaces, calling us not to comfort but to compassion. That's where the real revolution begins—at the table.

Theology of the Table

Pass the bread: The table is a sacred space. It’s where heaven meets earth. In communion, we reflect not just on our individual journeys but on the communal nature of faith. The early Church embodied this. Acts 2:42 tells us they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, breaking of bread, and prayers. This wasn’t just ritual—it was a radical lifestyle. The meal was a reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice and a foretaste of the greater banquet to come.

The imagery of the feast permeates Scripture. Isaiah 25:6 proclaims, “On this mountain, the Lord Almighty will prepare a feast of rich food for all peoples.” It’s an eschatological promise—a hope that encourages us today. The table is not only about nourishment but also reconciliation. God invites us to the table, not to judge but to heal. It’s where the broken find wholeness. Where the lost discover their worth.