The Feast Is Medicine For The Hungry

It is 3:42 in the morning, and you are still standing in the kitchen, rehearsing the speech that will finally make you worthy of a chair. You think the bread must be earned by the perfect confession.

But the light does not wait for your apology to set the table. There was a man paralyzed on a mat, unable to even lift his head, and before he could speak a single word of regret, the voice said simply: 'Son, your sins are forgiven.' The forgiveness came first.

The sitting down came next. You are trying to build a staircase out of your own shame, step by painful step, when the floor is already beneath your feet.

The feast is not a reward for the clean. It is medicine for the hungry.

In the deepest dark, the only thing required of you is to stop talking long enough to hear the pull of the chair. Sit down.

The apology can wait; the hunger cannot.