The Power of the Table

More Than Enough

A few years ago, a family I knew had a tradition at Thanksgiving. Every year, before anyone picked up a fork, they set one extra place at the table — a full setting, plate, cup, and chair. When I asked about it, they said, “That’s our reminder that there’s always room for one more.” Sometimes a friend who didn’t have family nearby would fill that chair. Other times, a neighbor who had just lost a spouse. Once, it sat empty all evening — and still, it spoke loudly. That chair said, This home has room for you.

Jesus told a story like that in Luke 14. A man prepared a great banquet and invited many guests, but when the time came, most of them had excuses. So the host sent his servant into the streets and alleys to bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. Still, there was room. So he said, “Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.” In other words, keep setting another chair. Because God’s table — His kingdom — is more than enough for all who will come.

That empty chair isn’t just about hospitality — it’s about the heart of God.

In Luke 14, Jesus is sitting at a dinner party when He tells this story. The room is filled with religious leaders, the kind of people who assumed they had earned their spot at the table. But Jesus looks around and says, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, don’t invite your friends, your brothers, your relatives, or your rich neighbors. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed.”

That must have landed like a thunderclap. Because in that culture, meals were about status — who you knew, where you sat, how you were seen. But Jesus flips the whole thing upside down. He’s saying: My table isn’t about status. It’s about grace.

When we invite others to the table — especially those who can’t repay us — we mirror the heart of God. Hebrews 13:2 reminds us, “Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.” You never know who that empty chair might bless.

Maybe it’s the neighbor who eats alone every night. Maybe it’s the single mom juggling two jobs. Maybe it’s the man who just got out of rehab and isn’t sure where he fits anymore. When we open our tables, we open the Kingdom. And that’s what God does for us. Romans 12:13 says, “Share with the Lord’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality.” In other words, keep setting another chair — because that’s what Jesus did for you.

Let’s understand what’s happening in the story. When a host would host a dinner, he would invite the guests and tell them the day it would be but not the hour. He had to know how much meat to cook so he had to know the number of people to prepare for. Near the hour of the dinner, he would send servants out to announce the hour had come to eat and so by the people deciding not to come at the last minute this was an incredible insult to the host. The host had gone through so much trouble and the people he had invited turned their backs to him with feeble excuses and further insulted the host.

Let’s understand what’s really happening in this story.

In Jesus’ day, when someone hosted a great banquet, the invitation came in two parts. The first was a general invitation — “We’re having a feast; you’re on the list.” The second came when everything was ready. Once the meal was prepared, the host would send his servants back out to announce, “The hour has come! Dinner is ready!”

That was how it worked — because a feast like this required planning. The host needed to know how much food to prepare, how many animals to cook, how many seats to set. So when the invited guests refused to come at the last minute, it wasn’t just an inconvenience. It was an insult.

The host had gone through all the trouble — the expense, the effort, the preparation — and the very people he had honored with an invitation turned their backs with flimsy excuses. “I just bought a field.” “I have new oxen to test.” “I just got married.”

Each one was saying in their own way: “Something else matters more than you.”

And that’s where Jesus holds up a mirror. How often do we do the same thing with God’s invitation? We say, “I’ll come when things slow down.” “I’ll get serious about faith when the kids are grown.” “I’ll serve when work isn’t so stressful.” But those excuses, however polite, still say to the Host: “Not now.”

Meanwhile, the table sits ready — grace prepared, forgiveness served, joy waiting to be tasted — and the chairs sit empty. The truth is, our lives are full of distractions. The endless to-do list, the social media scroll, the pressure to get ahead — all of them whisper, “You can’t stop now.” But if we’re not careful, we’ll fill our calendars and starve our souls. Jesus’ story reminds us: God’s table is set, and the invitation has already gone out. The only question is — will we show up?

The Guest List of Grace

When you sit down at a table with others, something shifts. A meal slows us down. It invites conversation, connection, and shared experience. The table is one of the few places in life where we put down our phones, look each other in the eye, and actually listen.

Hebrews 13:2 reminds us, “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.” In other words, the table is never just about food — it’s about people. It’s about creating space for others to feel seen, welcomed, and valued.

Think about it: how often do we find Jesus at a table? He’s eating with tax collectors who had been pushed out of society, Pharisees who questioned Him, His disciples who still didn’t fully understand Him, even strangers who just happened to be nearby. Meals with Jesus were never just casual hangouts — they were holy ground. At His table, walls came down, outsiders became insiders, and dignity was restored.

At a table, people who might otherwise be divided by class, background, or reputation become equals — sharing the same bread, drinking from the same cup, breathing the same air of grace. And isn’t that what we long for most? To belong?

God knows this about us — He created us this way. That’s why He prepares a table for us and calls us His children. He doesn’t invite us because we’ve earned it or proved ourselves worthy. He invites us because we belong to Him.

When we start living from that truth — that we are already welcomed, already loved, already seated at His table — everything changes. Gratitude grows when we remember that God made room for us. Generosity flows when we make room for others. That’s the power of the table — it creates belonging. It reminds us that in God’s kingdom, there is always more than enough room for one more.

If belonging is the first gift of the table, then healing is the second.

In Luke 14, Jesus tells His listeners not to invite only their friends, family, and wealthy neighbors to their meals. Instead, He says, “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed.”

Jesus knew that the table could become a place where wounds are mended and dignity is restored.

Think about how radical this is. The people Jesus names — the poor, the sick, the outcast — were the ones everyone else ignored. They were pushed to the margins, unseen and unwanted. But at His table, they’re not only welcomed, they’re honored.

Jesus is showing us that the table is where brokenness meets grace — where shame is lifted because someone finally says, “You belong here. You matter. You are not forgotten.”

And if we’re honest, every one of us knows what it feels like to carry wounds into a room — the sting of rejection, the weight of failure, the ache of loss. But when someone looks us in the eye across a table, when someone listens and shares a meal with us, healing begins. The table becomes more than a piece of furniture; it becomes a place of ministry.

When we open our tables to others, we’re doing far more than serving food — we’re serving hope. We’re creating the kind of environment where God’s Spirit can bring restoration. That’s the call of the gospel. We don’t heal people by our power, but we can create space where God can meet them.

Just like Jesus, who used meals as moments of redemption, we’re called to see our tables as altars of grace — places where broken hearts can be made whole.

But if the table creates belonging and brings healing, it also does something even bigger — it extends God’s Kingdom.

In the parable, when the invited guests make excuses and refuse to come, the master doesn’t cancel the banquet. He widens the invitation. He says, “Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame. Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full.”

God’s heart has always been for a full house. He doesn’t stop inviting; He just keeps expanding the guest list. His love doesn’t run out — it runs over. That brings us back to the empty chair.

Remember that family that always set one more place at the table? Maybe that’s what Jesus is asking of us — to leave room for one more. To make space for the lonely neighbor, the forgotten friend, the person we usually overlook.

Because every chair we add, every meal we share, every welcome we extend becomes a living sermon — a visible sign that God’s table is wide, His mercy deep, and His love more than enough.

So maybe the question today isn’t, “Who’s at your table?” Maybe the question is, “Who’s missing?” And maybe the most Christlike thing we could do this week is to set one more chair. Because at God’s table — there’s always room for one more.