Come to the Table
Breaking bread and sharing love—every meal is a reminder of grace and fellowship. In our moments together, we find strength and purpose, just as Jesus did with His disciples.
Psalm 23:5 – “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.”
This episode didn’t start the way I expected. I first heard “Table of the Lord” by Hope Darst over Easter weekend, and it immediately resonated. It was one of those songs that stirred something deeper than musical appreciation—it carried an invitation. A place-setting. A whisper from the Holy Spirit to linger here. I knew I wanted to share it with you, but I waited. I had a special Mother’s Day episode I had recorded, and honestly, I thought I could just circle back to it later.
But in that “later,” something happened.
Our women’s Bible study entered a series in Leviticus, and we landed in chapters 6–10—the portion about the offerings. Now if you’ve ever tried to read Leviticus cover to cover, you know it can feel ritualistic and distant at first. But tucked into those passages, the Lord began unfolding something that connected with the song in a way I couldn’t have planned: the Peace Offering.
Of all the sacrifices, the Peace Offering (or shelamim) was unique. It wasn’t about guilt. It wasn’t for cleansing. It was for communion. It was the only offering where the worshipper shared in the meal—eating in the presence of the Lord as a sign of restored fellowship. It was covenant language with plates and cups. And suddenly, this wasn’t just an ancient rite. It was the echo of that table Hope Darst was singing about. It was the foreshadowing of Psalm 23:5.
So I waited to record, and I’m so grateful I did. Because during that same stretch of weeks, I found myself praying over Psalm 23 on behalf of a friend walking through a season of anxiety. I wasn’t just reading the passage—I was meditating on it, praying it, using it as a framework to intercede. And when I reached verse five, I couldn’t move past it. Something in the wording stopped me and stayed with me: “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies…”
I knew the verse, of course. I’ve recited it hundreds of times, probably like you have. But I’d never truly asked what it meant to have a table there. Not after the storm. Not once the shadows are gone. Not when the enemies retreat. Right there, in the middle of the ache, the tension, the fear.
That was the moment this episode became personal.
Why Here?
I verse-mapped Psalm 23:5 with a friend a few days later, and everything started to crystallize. The Hebrew words were deeply layered. The word for “prepare” (ʿārak) refers to intentional, ceremonial arrangement—it’s the same word used for battle lines and tabernacle settings. The “table” (shulchān) isn’t just a casual place to eat—it implies covenant hospitality and sacred provision. “In the presence of my enemies” (neged) means in plain view, visible to, face-to-face. It is not hidden. It is not safe. It is public.
And that’s when it clicked: this isn’t a cozy fireside meal. It’s an act of holy defiance. The table is not served after the enemy flees—it is prepared while the enemy watches. And that changes everything.
We often interpret God’s blessing as something that arrives after the trial. But Psalm 23 turns that on its head. It says: even here. Even now. God is not waiting to nourish us until we’re out of danger. He feeds us in the presence of the very things we fear. He anoints us not as a reward for surviving, but as a declaration that we already belong.
The Song Wasn’t Written for the Stage
When I learned the story behind “Table of the Lord,” it deepened this even further. Hope Darst didn’t write the song for a worship set. She wrote it out of personal need, alongside Rita Springer and Bede Benjamin-Korporaal, in a season of loss and weariness. It was their shared cry for communion when nothing made sense—when they needed to hear Jesus say, “You can still sit here.”
That’s the heartbeat of this episode. It’s not just about the theology of the table. It’s about the tension of it. It’s about learning that the invitation to sit isn’t fragile. It doesn’t expire when we’re exhausted. It doesn’t rescind when we feel unworthy. The table doesn’t move based on our behavior. It stays. Because the Shepherd sets it.
As I shared in the episode, this isn’t just a song or a verse—it’s a throughline. It stretches from Leviticus to the Psalms, from the Last Supper to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. We see this table pattern again and again: a God who invites the broken to come, who serves in the middle of chaos, who kneels to wash feet even as betrayal walks in the door.
The Cup Overflows Anyway
Psalm 23:5 closes with an image we often spiritualize but rarely slow down to consider: “You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” That anointing wasn’t just ceremonial—it was restorative. In shepherding practice, oil was used to protect sheep from parasites and soothe wounds. For David, it was also a symbol of God’s calling and comfort. And that cup? It wasn’t half-full. It wasn’t a survival portion. The Hebrew word revayah means saturated—filled beyond what’s necessary. It’s a picture of abundance in the midst of threat.
In a world that twists this verse into a victory lap—“God will bless me in front of my haters”—we have to return to what Scripture actually teaches. This isn’t about performance. It’s about peace. It’s not triumphalism. It’s trust.
The Invitation Still Stands
If you haven’t listened to Episode 56: The Invitation yet, I’d love for you to make space for it this week. It’s not a standard teaching—it’s a slow walk through this passage, through the lyrics, and through the pattern of the table in Scripture. It’s a sacred pause to remember: Jesus is still setting places. And yours hasn’t been lost.
You can also download the devotional, which includes verse mapping, cross-references, and reflection questions to help you explore Psalm 23:5 in your own time with God.
Wherever this finds you—whether you’re in a season of plenty or pain—my prayer is that you would stop striving long enough to see what’s already been prepared. Not because everything is fixed. But because your Shepherd is faithful. He is not waiting for the room to clear before He welcomes you in.
The table is set.
The oil is ready.
And your cup can overflow again.
