My Last Supper
I demonetized Spurstack at the end of 2023 because I reasoned that I would write more on some bigger projects that I have been meaning to complete. The self-imposed pressure to deliver for paying subscribers was a fantastic motivation for me. I wrote a TON in 2022 (which turned out to be a crazy year that was hard in some ways, but mostly full of insane and unexpected blessings which I’ll fully unpack in writing one day — I faithfully journaled about so many of the fun and hard-to-fathom details of that season that it will be entertaining to go through all of that at some point). And in 2023, I posted even more than in 2022.
Perhaps predictably, my intention to write more in 2024 elsewhere has not materialized. Sadly, I have written almost nothing. Life has been busy, but I think I am entering a season of more time. We travelled last weekend to Knoxville to celebrate my oldest son’s last-ever swim meet. He is now officially retired from swimming. He will graduate in May and start his career in July. I’m in awe on so many levels. My youngest son had his last regular-season basketball game on Friday night (Tuesdays is first playoff game, but we are not anticipating a huge run). My middle son is killing it at the University of Georgia. We seem to be in a peaceful little lull, Lord willing. I hope to crank up the writing this month — I have so many things I want to write about. That’s never the issue.
In fact, I often feel inundated by writing prompts. I can never find the time to write about all the things I’d like to. For example, last weekend we had a lovely dinner out with our family and my son’s girlfriend’s family. It was a party of eleven. The restaurant was a fun one in Market Square in Knoxville. The food was delicious and the conversation easy. We love this girl and her family immensely (she is also a senior swimmer at Tennessee). But I’d really like for it to be my last supper out like that.
The older I get, the more I think it’s a waste. If the dinner party is too big for a round table that sustains one conversation everyone can hear, I don’t want it. Long table dinners where you can only really chat with the people who are nearest lock you into that subgroup, and then the laughs at the other end are a complete mystery. I prefer a happy hour format with fluid groupings. I want to be able to catch up with everyone.
Jesus had twelve disciples. His Last Supper in the Upper Room wasn’t one with music and lots of ambient restaurant noise. Everyone could hear Him. Everyone was part of the conversation. Maybe this should be our model. I love eating out, but I want to only splurge on it when the group is small enough where we can all hear each other.
For my birthday last Monday, just Will and I went out for drinks and appetizers before heading to Sam’s basketball game. Locked-in conversation was possible even though we were in a fairly crowded bar with TVs to distract (the restaurant is called The Parched Pig — hence the pig outline on the espresso martini). The format wouldn’t have been conducive for even three people. In short, the setting matters. Food is great, but fellowship is the primary goal. That feeling of unrest in those situations where it is more about consuming the food than enjoying the people should redirect us. Fulfillment is not found in eating, drinking and being merry, but in bearing one another’s burdens. Thankfully, the two can be one as it was in the occasion pictured above.
Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ. Galatians 6:3.
Digging Deeper:
Have you felt the frustration of a dinner out that felt like it was more about food than people?
What is the best night out you’ve had so far in 2024? What made it so satisfying?
How is the dynamic different when you are in someone’s home?
Are you in a church community where you feel you are able to bear one another’s burdens?