The Feast

When I was dealing with the worst of my abuse issues, I had a recurrent mental image of a room, warm and bright, where Jesus sat at the head of the table, feasting His friends. I stood outside in the dark and the rain. Over time I came to see myself entering the room, but standing like a wallflower, not having a place at the table. I will never forget the first time i ever heard Michael card's "Come to the Table". At the words

come to the table and sit down beside Him
The saviour who wants you to join in the feast

I had a vision of Iesus Himself getting up from the table, and coming over to me and drawing me to sit right next to Him!!



Anyway, at some time during all of that I wrote this poem:

Love is their feast, they drink its deep delight
From the jewelled goblets filled by Christ’s own hand,
And they rejoice before my longing sight,
While my own hunger seeks to understand.

Theirs is the open trust that takes a seat
At Jesus’ table, where He bids them be.
And, at His bidding, they shall taste and eat.
Are there no crumbs He has assigned for me?

All of my longing rises in my breast:
Oh that He would receive me, take me in!
Let me be server there, that would be best.
I must have been excluded for my sin.

Blinded by tears, I turn my head away,
And, in my eyeless folly, fail to see
The miracle my God has wrought today:
There is a seat, a place set there for me!