Sacredness at the Dinner Table

Tonight my dad made the trip up from Cleveland to Chicago to spend the weekend with me.  As much as I love being here at seminary, there is a deep part of my heart that longs for home.  A few weeks ago when traveling with the best of LSTC's athletes to Lutherbowl held in Gettysburg, driving through Ohio without stopping at home made my heart raw.  So right now, as I write this, sitting on the couch beside me is my father while watching Captain America is the best thing in the whole world. 

Despite missing home, I also really love being here in Chicago.  This is my life now.  The people who share classes with me, share chapel with me, share God with me are now a part of my family, too.  Before my dad got here, I was a bit worried about what it would look like when those two worlds collided, if those two families could mesh.  I doubted seriously if my past and my present could meld into my future.

It is at times like these when I am glad that I cannot stomach tension and that I like to make things happen.  To ease my fear, I invited several friends over to meet my dad and have lasagna with us.  After a few moments of awkward hellos and where-are-you-from conversations, a natural hum fell over the dinner table.  At one end their was an avid debate about the role non-parish pastors play to bring people to the church, while at the other end I heard my father explain his love for all Cleveland sports teams (even despite LeBron James).  Some of my friends discussed ways that as Christians we can realistically advocate for safe oil drilling, while others looked at new pictures my father had brought of my niece and nephew. 

Of all the times that I have witnessed the Holy Spirit work at building communities, it never touches my soul as much as when I can see that work happening in the most intimate places in my life.  I am so glad that my dad came to Chicago, not only so I could see him, but so that I could bear witness to God creating community around the sacredness of my dinner table.