The time for gathering with extended family at the holiday table is almost upon us, and that reminds me of my Aunt Dede, the only left-handed person in our family. She always liked the corner seat because she did not want to bump elbows with whatever right-handed person was sitting next to her. We lived only a short drive away from her and my cousins, so we often crowded around a dining room table together, pulling in a piano bench and sun porch furniture to make sure everyone had a seat. I miss those days.
Nowadays, we rarely have enough guests in our house at the same time to require real crowding at the table. The gatherings are intimate, but I never need to tuck my right arm in to avoid colliding with my neighbor. Since Covid, I rarely bump into anyone anymore. Most of us leave a little extra space in line at the grocery store or riding in an elevator. And, given how much time we spend staring at our smart phones, we provide little opportunity for meaningful social engagement even when we are just standing around waiting. I miss the company of strangers.
In Hayesville, North Carolina, there used to be a popular breakfast place where you could ask for a traditional table, but, on a busy morning, the wait was often an hour or more. Instead, locals often pulled up a seat at one of the long community tables, where places were offered first come, first served. When you sat down, you may not have known the person sitting across or beside you, but, by the time you finished your meal, you did. The owners of the Country Cottage sold the restaurant to another proprietor, and it never had the same community feel after that.
This week, we celebrated the feast of Saints Simon and Jude, who remind us of the importance of breaking bread with strangers. Before preparing for my sermon, I did not know much about them except that they were included in the list of the twelve apostles. Even after my research, I still did not know much more than that, but apparently both are victims of misnaming.
Jude’s real name was Judas, but, after the other disciple named Judas betrayed Jesus, everyone started shortening the name of the one who remained loyal to avoid confusion. I suspect he may not have liked that very much. Like the character Michael Bolton from the cult classic film Office Space, why should he have to change his name when it is the other one who has earned an odious reputation?
Simon, on the other hand, is often called the Canaanean in order to distinguish him from Simon Peter, but any reference to Canaan seems to be a poor translation of the Hebrew word qanai, which actually means zealot. Simon was a zealot, but early translators of the New Testament failed to pick up on the word’s Hebrew origins, and Simon is still sometimes mistaken as being from Canaan. As a zealot, Simon would have been willing to fight and die for the kingdom of God, and I suspect he would be offended to know that centuries later people use a distinctly non-Jewish label for him.
When I think about Simon the Zealot and Judas not Iscariot, I like to imagine what dinner table conversations were like among the twelve disciples. What did it mean for Simon the Zealot to look across the table at Matthew the tax collector? As a zealot, Simon would have believed that any and all measures necessary to expel the Roman occupiers from the land God had promised to Abraham and his descendants were justified. As a tax collector, Matthew made his living by helping raise funds for the Roman Empire in part to continue to fund their occupation of Palestine. What does dinner feel like when an anti-government extremist and an officer of the internal revenue service sit down together?
Later on, after Jesus had been raised from the dead and had ascended into heaven, legend holds that Simon and Jude teamed up to bring the gospel to Persia. When they said goodnight to each other at the end of a long day, do you think Simon called his counterpart Judas, or did he use the shortened form of his name? And do you think Simon looked him in the eye when he said that name which had come to haunt the followers of Jesus? How long did it take the irascible Simon to stop thinking about his master’s betrayal when travelling with the one who shared the name of the betrayer?
Eating dinner with Jesus changes everything. Although we know almost nothing about Simon and Jude, we know enough from their names alone to know that following Jesus transformed them. Simon may have been a zealot, but that fervor for God’s reign cannot have remained violent once he became a disciple of Jesus. Jude may be remembered more for his association with the other Judas than any of his own accomplishments, but still he remained faithful to his apostleship. Both of them remind us that being a follower of Jesus changes our understanding of who belongs at our table.
As followers of Jesus, we do not get to pick the people we include at our table. If we are to embody the reconciling love of God in Jesus Christ, we must seek out every opportunity to break bread with the very people we like the least. We must rub elbows with the ones whose very existence feels like a threat to everything we hold dear. And we cannot do that if we only welcome people who live like us, think like us, believe like us, worship like us, or vote like us.
Jesus makes it possible for Simon the Zealot to sit down with Matthew the tax collector, and Jesus makes it possible for Judas not Iscariot to carry out the work of the gospel even though his name may have caused his peers to turn their backs on him. Similarly, Jesus makes it possible for us to set aside our own vulnerabilities and break bread with those who hate us, and Jesus makes it possible for us to continue in our work even when other people are threatened by what we represent.
Whenever we sit at the table with Jesus, we are filled anew to overflowing with God’s limitless grace, acceptance, and love. Because Jesus has made a space for us at the table, no one can take it away. No one can tell us that we do not belong. Because of that, we are impervious to the hatred, jealousy, rivalry, and criticism that is levied against us by others. There is nothing they can do to take away God’s love for us, and that gives us the power to welcome them to the table even when they would rather take our seat at the table away from us.
Our willingness to remain connected with those who disagree with us, who malign us, and who mischaracterize our intentions in an attempt to disparage or discredit us is itself a statement of faith. It is a commitment to the one who has prepared a place for us and for all people at God’s table. It might be easier to get up and move to a different table, but then the kingdom of God gets a little bit smaller, and that is not how God works. If God insists that there is enough room for everyone, we must insist on nothing less.
Yours faithfully,
Evan D. Garner
