My table is your table

There is an ongoing rift in the Church of England that has become something of a running sore. Although our Church « unequivocally decided », through its governing body the General Synod, 30 years ago, that anyone could be ordained priest, regardless of their gender, we are still ordaining men who think that women should not be able to be ordained priest.

Broadly speaking such men fall into two categories; those who are longing for unity between our Church and the Catholic Church, who are waiting until the Pope, leader of the Catholic Church, decides to ordain women too; and those who believe that the Bible says women shouldn’t teach or have authority over men, who don’t ever envisage a time when women should be able to be priests (though I guess for these it would be ok if we led churches with only women and children in them?).

Women have been presiding over Shabbat (sabbath – the day of rest) meal tables for centuries. Even for centuries before Jesus walked this earth. In the Jewish tradition it is the women lighting the candles on the eve of Sabbath, presenting the Shabbat loaf, often baked by their own hands.

For someone to refuse to eat at a table we women are hosting at feels like such a slap in the face to me. After centuries of hosting at tables, shopping, cooking, cleaning, making beds for family, friends and strangers, that each one might find rest. For someone to refuse point blank to sit and eat at the table we have yet again laid, and to refuse because we are a woman, is an unspeakable insult. That’s how I receive it.

I have absolutely no right to bear the weight of generations of women across the world whose service to others has been so much greater than my own. And yet, because I am a woman, it feels like they are all in me, with me. When my table is rejected, so is theirs. When their table is rejected, so is mine. In my mind’s eye we are all – the millions of us stretching beyond where any eye could see – outraged and indignant. And tired and bewildered, too.

After all, this is not only our table, it’s also the Lord’s table. Jesus himself is the real host here. The Creator who made the grape and the grain that the wine and bread are formed of in the first place. Who made the trees that supplied the wood for the table, even. If he is delighted to host at our table and to make the meal we share here sacred, why on earth would anyone who loves and honours him not be delighted to eat at it?

Our table is your table. You are welcome. Come, sit and eat.

Having said that, one needs a certain hospitality of heart to be a guest. And I can’t seem to find it in myself any longer to be a guest at tables hosted by men who think I am not the priest I am, in the full knowledge that they will probably never come and eat and drink at the table I host. Even though it is not I but Jesus who hosts really, which belief was the only way I used to manage to be at their tables before.

Many years ago I went and stayed for a weekend in the communal household of a wonderful Catholic priest in his mid-80’s called Father Peter, who lived in Preston in Lancashire in the UK. He was a man full of the love of God. I was there as a Church of England priest, wanting to learn about living communally with others and to wonder whether God might enable me to inhabit or create a similar kind of household with other people, as part of my priestly ministry.

To understand this story fully you have to grasp that in the Catholic Church you can’t take bread and wine at mass unless you are a practising Catholic. Even other types of Christians are not permitted to share in mass normally in Catholic churches. And women are most definitely not able to be ordained yet in the Catholic Church (though I have met many Catholics who are longing for the day they are).

On the Friday morning, I had a conversation with Father Peter that went pretty much like this:

Father Peter: Now then, so we’ve a Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament later today for an hour 5-6pm so people arrive into the silence as soon as they can after work, and then after an hour of silent prayer we share mass. Will you come? I’d love you to come.

Me: Oooh wonderful yes I’ll come. But I’ll not take the bread and the wine, right?

Fr Peter: You will.

Me: OK…?

Fr Peter: then there’s mass on Sunday morning…

Me: Well of course I’ll come to that too but I’ll not take the bread and wine.

Fr Peter: You will…

Me: Well OK I’ll come and take part but I’ll not wear my clerical collar then…? [The clerical collar is the sign that I am ordained.]

Fr Peter: You will… I hope? And I am going to say mass in your name for a month following your visit, to pray for you. If that’s ok?

Me: ….mmmpfff… Really? Oh wow.

I guess Father Peter figured he was too old for anyone to be able to get too upset with him. His church was rammed on the Sunday morning and full of joyful worship and love.

Unless we can sort this pickle out we will be nowhere with the new wine the Spirit of God is bringing. There are priests in waiting of non binary gender. Their tables will also be hosted by Jesus, who will make the bread and wine they share sacred. I will be honoured to re-member Jesus and to eat and drink at such tables. Because I believe that ultimately the love of God is greater than whatever obstacles we try to put in its way.