Once upon a time, there was a tiny church at a large conference center. The church sitting all around them at dinner was so big that they hardly noticed them. One lady saw the sign on their table— ‘Common Table’— and said she thought it was a table for everyone. So she sat down and didn’t even notice that she didn’t know anyone there. They were The People Without Nametags, so overly familiar with one another that they couldn’t forget anyone’s name if they tried. And at least one of them mused that if they all joined this larger church one Sunday en masse and attended there faithfully for 5 years, the larger church would not even notice.
They were a family. A small family, too small to have their own lamb. So they banded together to make a collective ‘we’, just enough to eat one small yearling lamb. But they flavored it, and fussed over it, and feasted on it, and savored every bite. They left nothing until morning, and laughed loudly together as they washed the dishes afterward.
They were being passed over, barely noticed by the larger world. But they were too busy teasing and debating and loving each other to notice.
— Mike Stavlund