Some people collect coins, some stamps, some vintage oil cans (it's a thing... ask Frank on American Pickers). Me? I collect china. Sets of china. I do not know exactly how many I own at this point but my Monday girls could probably tell you since they wrapped and boxed it up for our foray to Texas. It's sentimental to me - Mama's wedding set, a set she bought a plate at a time from the grocery store, a set she bought for Mawmaw a plate at a time at the grocery store, my wedding set, Ginger's (Mom-in-law) luncheon set, the Christmas china, the Thanksgiving Turkey plates, and on and on... And I use it. Sometimes. I have great visions of Insta-perfect tablescapes and delectable meals. Once in a while everything comes together and it's pretty darn close. Most of the time, however, it's hit and miss. We drip gravy on the tablecloth or knock over a glass of tea. The chicken cooked too long and it's dry as a bone. The house is filled with smoke from searing the steak in a too-hot iron skillet. True stories one and all. But I've come to treasure those few and far between moments when all of us are in one place at one time. And I have learned that it's not what's on the table that matters. It's who is around the table.
There's this poignant story in II Samuel about a boy named Mephibosheth. I know, that's a mouthful. His father was Jonathan, son of King Saul and best friend of King-to-be-David. There was a lot of tragedy in the early days of Mephibosheth's life. During a battle in which both his father and grandfather were killed, he was crushed while trying to flee with his nurse. He survived but he was lame in both feet. (4:4) Later, when David had come into authority, he asked if there was anyone left from his friend Jonathan's family to whom he could show kindness. And there was only Mephibosheth. So David calls him to appear at his home.
Mephibosheth is frightened and rightfully so. There's a new king and he's the only relative of the old king left. It's common practice to kill everyone who could have a claim to the throne. For Mephibosheth, it's a death sentence. But what happens is a life-at-the-table sentence. Not only does David restore Mephibosheth's inheritance, he restores his dignity. Mephibosheth enters as a self-described "dead dog" and gets a seat at the king's table. What a wonder!
There's an obvious parallel. We were once enemies of God but he has brought us into his household through Christ. "For if, while we were God's enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!" (Romans 5:10) In the II Samuel narrative, David was a type of Christ - an Old Testament figure who exemplified what Messiah would be like. David brought Mephibosheth to the King's table... Jesus welcomes us to the table of his communion. It's a lovely and amazing scene. The lowly cripple lifted up to sit with the family. I could go on and on.
And if this miracle of placement isn't enough there are two other little bits to point out. First, there's the issue of Mephibosheth's physical disability. We can picture the chaos of the battlefield and the frantic nurse running with a 5 year old boy. Trying to save him but instead he is crushed and maimed. And marked for life. But that word, lame, means something way more than crippled. In Hebrew, it's pacach (paw-sakh'). And yes, it is translated as lame. But it is also translated as pass over. Same word. Lame - pass over. As in when the Israelites were fleeing Egypt and they painted the blood of the lamb over the doorpost so the angel of death would pass over them. Get this... Israelites fleeing from Egypt are passed over and spared. Mephibosheth fleeing from battle is crippled. And spared. Spared. I'm resisting the urge to type in all caps! Could his disability have spared his life? Think about it... what threat could a crippled boy be to the enemies of Saul? Could his lame-ness have allowed him to live so that he would be there when David went looking for someone in Jonathan's family? I don't want to belabor this but I think this may be really significant. For those of us who sometimes feel crushed. For those of us who feel like we are dead-dog-unworthy. For those of us who have been paralyzed by past trauma. We know what we have not been spared. But we cannot know what we have been spared. Spared for what? Just maybe for a seat at the table. And not just any table. The table of the King. The passed-over invited to the Passover feast. Let that sink in.
And then there's this. That name. Mephibosheth. In all the years I have read and treasured this story, I have never know the meaning of his name. Until now. And it has rocked me. It means "exterminator of shame." Exterminator. Of. Shame. How many times have I crawled on my hands and knees and begged for crumbs from my Lord? How many times have I hung my head and cried for mercy? How many times have I slunk in the door and huddled in the corner, just so grateful to be in the room? How many times have I stood with my little Tupperware heart and hoped beyond hope for a few left-overs? Hear this, my dear broken friends, our call to the Lord's table is not a walk of shame but an embrace of welcome. Our shame has been exterminated. Our seat is saved. The table is ready. Taste and see that the Lord, he is good. Selah.
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