Brokenness and joy - Open Table reflection at General Synod
BISHOP OF BRADFORD Toby Howarth celebrating an Open Table communion at the close of the Church of England General Synod Gender and Sexuality Group on Friday 7th July.
“At the heart of Open Table is the Eucharist that we celebrate together, and at the heart of the Eucharist is that same calling to brokenness and joy.”
AS PART of our 15th birthday celebrations, representatives from across the Open Table Network attended a meeting of the Church of England General Synod Gender and Sexuality Group on Friday 7th July.
Bishop of Bradford Toby Howarth led an Open Table communion service to close the meeting, and shared this reflection on his experience of the Open Table movement, from his visit to the first community in Liverpool in 2019, to the launch of Open Table Bradford this year.
A theme of the last few weeks for me has been how as followers of Jesus, we are called to joy and brokenness.
We recently celebrated the 75th anniversary of the arrival of HMT Empire Windrush with that generation of giants who have contributed so much to our communities and our nation. Yet they suffered and later generations continue to suffer racism and exclusion in our society and in the church.
At one of our ordination services, I had the privilege of laying hands on Ludia, the first Sudanese woman to be made a priest in the Church of England. As I did so, members of her community started to ulule - an extraordinary moment of joy, although we were all so aware of the civil war which is destroying her country.
In both of those moments, the joy did not cancel out the brokenness, nor did the brokenness cancel out the joy.
This passage holds together this calling to brokenness and joy:
Then the disciples of John came to him, saying, ‘Why do we and the Pharisees fast often, but your disciples do not fast?’ And Jesus said to them, ‘The wedding-guests cannot mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them, can they? The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast. No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old cloak, for the patch pulls away from the cloak, and a worse tear is made. Neither is new wine put into old wineskins; otherwise, the skins burst, and the wine is spilled, and the skins are destroyed; but new wine is put into fresh wineskins, and so both are preserved.’
The immediate context, in Mark and Luke as well as here in Matthew’s gospel, is the calling of Matthew, the tax collector. We know from Luke’s version of the story that after being told by Jesus to ‘follow me’, Matthew (aka Levi) has thrown a party for all his disreputable friends.
This is a joyful banquet, an open table, and Jesus is being criticised for his presence there by the Pharisees and scribes. ‘This is not’, they say, ‘how you should be doing religion.’
Jesus’ reply is that he’s come as a doctor to bring healing to people who know themselves to be broken.
And the story goes on in our passage that follows.
Why don’t Jesus’ disciples fast? Why don’t they take repentance seriously?
Jesus’ reply is extraordinary: He says,
‘The wedding guests cannot mourn while the bridegroom is with them.’
In other words,
‘They can’t because that’s not what it says on the invitation. Didn’t you read it? This is a wedding: the dress code is joy.’
Guests at a wedding are expected to enjoy themselves.
It’s as if Jesus is saying to his critics:
‘You say I’m not doing things properly? You’re quite right. I’m not. Something new is here and it’s not compatible with the old thing. It may be hard for you to recognise, but my presence calls for a feast not a fast, for new wineskins capable of holding new wine.’
The question for us is: are we part of Jesus’ joyful celebration of grace into brokenness, or are we trying to patch things up, to make new things fit an old paradigm?
A few years ago, Archbishop Sentamu called all the northern bishops to join him in converging on one of the northern dioceses in turn for an evangelistic mission. I signed up for the Liverpool mission in 2019 and was assigned to a deanery in the centre of the city. One of the churches in that deanery, St Bride’s, had been hosting Open Table’ a gathering in the name of Christ for LGBTQIA+ people, and I went along - I have to say with some trepidation - wearing a purple shirt.
What I found there was this gospel combination of calling, brokenness and joy. Brokenness in story after story that people told in that space with the little ritual of lighting a candle prior to sharing. Of lesbian, gay and other queer people knowing they were called by Christ but not being welcomed into his church; stories of deep hurt.
Brokenness of a divided church, brokenness in myself. I wept.
But also the joy of that gathering; the creativity, the love.
The joyful, brave and gracious acceptance of one another and of me; the joyful calling to recognise and run with God’s spirit so clearly at work.
This gathering was not a church, but it did offer, in the context of the Eucharist, a fellowship for people who from there could re-engage in their local church, or could explore faith for the first time.
That experience planted a seed in me.
I came home and began to speak with one of our clergy, Andrew Howorth, about whether we might be able to start something like that in Bradford.
After lots of prayer, talking with various people and a bit of COVID, we began last year to gather at the Equity Centre in Bradford, and finally launched as a formal part of the Open Table Network this past March.
We’re so grateful to Kieran (OTN Coordinator) and Sarah (OTN Co-Chair), to whom I want to pay tribute, for your courage, your patience and grace with us, and to Andrew, who leads the fellowship, for his perseverance and wisdom.
At the heart of Open Table is the Eucharist that we celebrate together, and at the heart of the Eucharist is that same calling to brokenness and joy. To death and resurrection, to the bread and wine and lives blessed, broken and shared with God and with one another.
