Two women were traveling together on vacation. One Sunday morning while they were traveling, they saw a beautiful church and decided to worship with the congregation that morning. They pulled into the parking lot and the front doors were opened for them. The usher greeted the women with a smile as he handed them the bulletin. Another friendly-looking face guided the women to a pew in the sanctuary – one not too close to the front but not too close to the back that they might risk sitting in one of the member’s pews.

As these two women sat in the sanctuary waiting for the appointed time for worship to start, different members of the church came over to them, introduced themselves to the women, and answered any questions they had. One member showed them the hymnbook and where they could find the creeds and prayers they would be using that morning. Another member talked about how she had lived in the community all her life and answered the questions the ladies had about the town.

Precisely at 11:00 the organist struck the first chords of the prelude and a hush fell over the congregation. Some people prayed as they prepared for worship. Others whispered to their neighbor or wrote notes on the back of the bulletin. Those who had been lingering in the narthex came and took their seats. The choir processed into their places and the minister sat in the chair behind the pulpit.

The music from the organ soared and reminded the whole congregation of the magnificence of God. As the notes echoed in the lofty room, eyes were drawn upward in praise or heads were bowed in prayer to the creator of all music. When the last notes of the prelude had faded, the minister stood, welcomed the congregation, made a few announcements about the missions the church supported, and began the service.

The women truly enjoyed the service. The congregation sang the hymns with gusto, the minister prayed with sincerity and eloquence. The sermon was a delight, blending humor with the gospel and bringing the message of Christ’s love to life. The women were enraptured by the minister and held on to every word anticipating what would come after each dramatic pause. The minister’s voice soared and with a rousing conclusion, the sermon was complete.

There was a silence after the preacher’s amen. The women, along with the rest of the congregation, simply soaked in the message as the preacher’s words lingered in the air like feathers fallen from a passing bird.

After the appropriate amount of time had passed, the preacher called for the congregation to stand and say the Apostles’ Creed together. In the recitation of the creed the women could feel that the congregation wasn’t just spouting out words they had memorized and not digested. This congregation was truly taking things to heart. The "I believe" became not just rote memorization but a way of life.

Then it came time for communion. The women looked in the bulletin and saw that this congregation always comes forward to receive communion. So as the ushers cued the rows, the congregation processed up to the front of the church to receive the bread and the wine. The women fell in line behind the people from the row in front of them and made their way down the aisle. All the while, the musician was playing beautiful meditative music on the piano.

When the women got to the front of the church, instead of receiving the bread and wine, the minister laid a hand on their shoulders and said a blessing. The rest of the congregation who was behind the women moved them along, bypassing the bread, bypassing the wine, and on back to their seats.

As the rest of the congregation came forward and took communion, the women sat in the pew in stunned silence. "What had just happened?" they wondered to themselves. Why had they not been able to receive communion? The congregation had seemed so welcoming when they had come in. In all of the information that had been shared with them about the church and its history, no one had told them they would not be allowed to take communion with the rest of the congregation.

The women had been cast out of that community – barred from the table. Treated as though they had some communicable disease that if allowed to receive communion – to feast at the Lord’s Table – that all would have been infected. All of a sudden the minister’s words about God’s love rang hollow. The congregation’s "I believe in the holy catholic church and the communion of saints" lost its power. The beautiful playing of the piano sounded dissonant.

As soon as the last words of the benediction sounded, the women escaped from that sanctuary and headed as fast and they could to their car. One member of the church was faster though and he intercepted the women in the parking lot. He seemed just as caring and friendly as he had seemed before the service as he invited the women to come back and visit any time. The women pulled out of the parking lot vowing never to come back.

There was a man who, through various circumstances, found himself on very hard times. He was out of work and nearly out of money. When a friend told him where he could find a good meal, the man’s mouth watered at the thought. So he ventured to this not-so-great part of town. If there had been railroad tracks, this would have definitely been labeled the "wrong side." There in a dilapidated community center he found the place he had been told about.

The smell of pot roast with mushrooms and onions wafted out from this run-down old building. There were a variety of people gathered there. Some were dressed in stained, worn-out clothing. Others wore rumpled suits that had seen better days. But there were others there – women wearing nylons and heels, men wearing starched shirts and ties. All of these people were lined up waiting for the time to come when they could eat this beautiful meal.

A dinner bell rang and the guests were guided to tables set with china, silver serving ware, centerpieces, and tablecloths. The man was shown to a table where he sat in what, years ago, had been his Sunday best suit. Next to him was a young boy about 10 years old with no shoes on his feet and hair that was in bad need of a brushing. Across the table sat two women who were dressed very nicely. The kitchen staff came out carrying trays of beautiful food. They placed the platters on the table and then they sat down at the tables too, interspersed with the rest of the guests.

The people ate together. Conversations flourished as the people began to get to know each other. Some people who had arrived late to the meal were invited to join the tables. More chairs were brought out as the late-comers were invited in. No questions were asked about who had invited them or why they were late. They were just shown to a table, handed a cloth napkin and told to enjoy.

As the night wore on, the man got to know the people at the table. After the meal was over and everyone had helped to clean up, the man was beginning his walk home. A car pulled up behind him, a window rolled down and the familiar voice of one of the women who sat across the table from him came to his ears.

"Have you got a place to stay tonight?"

Peter got dragged before the council in Jerusalem to defend his actions. The leaders were really mad at him. But it might be surprising to know what they weren’t mad about. They weren’t mad that Peter had preached to a bunch of Gentiles. They weren’t really mad that he had gone ahead and baptized them.

They were mad that he had eaten with them. "Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?" was the accusation. He had sat down at a table and eaten with this group of people who didn’t follow the laws of kosher. He ate food not knowing if it had been sacrificed to an idol. He ate with a bunch of no-account Gentiles – sinners all.

They had invited him and he went. It took three times hearing from God to realize that he should go with him – but God is nothing if not persistent. And in Peter’s explanation he doesn’t give some long theological treatise arguing from a scriptural point of view for the inclusion of the Gentiles in the message of Jesus. No. Instead he tells a story. He relates his experience. He says what he had done, heard, and felt. Because Peter surely knows that stories change lives where debate seldom will.

Steeped in the scripture, Peter would have known how Nathan’s story to David about the lamb that a neighbor stole caused David to realize how he had sinned with Bathsheba. Surely Peter would have remembered how many stories Jesus told from the parable of the Samaritan who acted as a neighbor to the story of the father who welcomed home his son after he had gone off and squandered his inheritance. Peter knew the power of story – the power of related experience.

As he stood before the council and gave his account, can’t you just picture it happening? Can’t you hear his last words ringing in the hall? "Who was I that I could hinder God?" Can’t you imagine the silence that must have lingered in the air as those words echoed in the rafters?

And then the voices that ring out in response – the criticism silenced and the joy bubbles to the surface. "Alleluia! Praise God! For God has opened doors we thought were shut. God has made a way where we saw no way! Praise God that God’s salvation extends to all!"

How many times have we put up roadblocks where God had made a highway? How many times have we not seen a way where God has made a path?

The women who were barred from receiving communion were welcomed into the church but were barred from breaking the bread of fellowship. It was almost as though the people were saying they would welcome them into the community but only so far – only as half-citizens. They would include them in the singing and in the creed. But when it came to believing in the communion of the saints – that fellowship of all believers, the way was blocked. In the act of bypassing them with the bread and the wine, they had been cast out of the community – the people had refused to eat with them.

The kingdom of God – the community of God – is more like the dinner on the wrong side of the tracks. All are welcomed. There is no head table where the distinguished guests sit apart from the rabble. All sit together and feast in the table of God.

But sometimes it seems as though the church has barred doors, pushing chairs full of scripture taken out of context under the doorknob and bookcases of theological treatises up against the door.

There is a joke I’ve heard many times. St. Peter was guarding the gates to heaven and each week he would take a census of the inhabitants of heaven. He went to God and complained that each week there were more people in heaven than he had let through the gates. After weeks and weeks of this happening, Peter found out why his census numbers were wrong. So he goes to God and complains again, this time saying that he knows the reason more people are here… Jesus keeps helping people over the wall.

Who are we that we can hinder God? God opens a way where there was no way. God breaks down all the barriers we put up. God tears down walls and brings people together. God bursts through the doors that we have barred shut. And all of this is done through the amazing experience God gives us. Tell your story. How is God working in your life? Who is God welcoming to your table?

Glory be to God of love who welcomes all to come, eat, be filled, and invites us to share our story with others; so that all may be welcomed and included in God’s salvation plan for all. Glory be to God!