Christmas Day has a way of gathering us, as if some great cosmic bell is rung and we all instinctively look toward the table. Not just any table, mind you, but the table — the place where tureens steam, candles flicker, chairs scrape, and where someone inevitably asks, “Are we sure the turkey is fully cooked?”
It is one of the small miracles of the Incarnation that on the very day we proclaim God made flesh, we also test the structural integrity of our dining room chairs. The prophet Isaiah may have spoken of feasts rich with marrow and well-aged wines, but he tactfully omitted mention of Aunt Martha’s fruitcake, which is indestructible enough to qualify as a geological formation.
Yet there is beauty here — profound, incarnational beauty — because gathering around a table is something God seems particularly fond of. Scripture is full of meals, from Eden’s orchard to Emmaus’ roadside bread-breaking. And today, as Christians of all shapes and varieties kneel at the altar rail or hold out hands at the Lord’s Table, we gather at the feast God prepares for us: humble bread, shared cup, and the astonishing declaration that Christ is among us, nourishing us with nothing less than himself.
If the family table is where we remember who we belong to, then the Lord’s Table is where we discover why we belong at all. At both tables grace flows — sometimes with the elegance of a Dickens novel and sometimes with the unpredictable splash of gravy from an over-enthusiastic ladle operator.
Because let’s be honest: Christmas dinner is holy, but also its own small adventure. There is always one child who covertly slips Brussels sprouts to the dog. Someone tries to carve the turkey with great solemnity, despite the fact that the knife hasn’t been sharp since 1987. Someone offers a toast that begins reverently and ends with a long anecdote about a neighbour and a mischievous snowblower.
And yet — it is good. It is very good. Because love is present. Because Christ is present. Because the Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us, apparently quite willing to sit beside the person who talks too much, the one who laughs too loudly, and the one who arrives late but brings the best dessert.
As we come to the altar on this Christmas Day, we discover that God, too, gathers us not because we are perfect but because we are loved. Christ welcomes the whole, mismatched, occasionally quirky family of God and simply says, “Come. Eat. Be strengthened. Go in peace.”
And then we head home to do it all again around the dining table — the roast, the potatoes, the spirited debate about whether the Christmas crackers were worth the money this year — and somehow it all feels like an extension of that holy feast. Another table where Christ quietly sits, smiling, perhaps pretending not to notice the dog gnawing on a festive napkin.
So may this Christmas Day find you gathered — at the family table, at the Lord’s Table, at any place where love is served and grace is tasted. And may you know in the deepest parts of your being that you are welcomed, cherished, nourished, and never, ever alone.
A Christmas Blessing
Holy and gracious God,
on this day when heaven meets earth
and love meets longing,
gather us at your table and remind us
that every good gift is from you.
Bless our feasts, our families,
our quiet places, and our joyful noise.
Feed us with your mercy
that we may share your love
in every place we gather.
Through Christ, our newborn King. Amen.