I’ve written about tables before. When we visit people in a place, we are more likely to appreciate sitting with them at a table than we are to spend time looking at scenery or notable sites.
Not that we don’t like history or beauty.
We like people better.
And eating together and then sitting around the table and talking together are good things.
There is much about wearing masks and staying physically distant and avoiding hugs and handshakes that appeals to me as an introvert (or maybe just as me). And during the past couple years, my work at the hospital and the arguments in our culture have left my capacity for simple conversation lacking.
But when we went to Germany, we deeply enjoyed tables. The food was good and well-prepared, whether at homes or in restaurants. But the time at the tables wasn’t about the food as much as it was about experiencing the gracious conversation of people who are coming to our language because we have not learned theirs, who are willing to help us understand why things are the way they are, who are friends of part of our family which makes them important to us.
I talk about God building us to eat and tell stories. Around tables we get to do both.