God Among Us
Table Talk
Setting the Table
You are welcome here. Come just as you are, bringing whatever is on your heart today. Take a few moments and allow yourself to just be. Take a couple deep breaths, grab yourself a cup of coffee, light a candle, do something that brings you comfort. Allow yourself to be present in this moment.
Consider where might you might already be walking with grace, presence, or love today without yet recognizing it?
We are slow to recognize what is already here.
— Richard Rohr
You do not need to search for God. Only stop running from the One who is already there.
— St. Teresa of Ávila
Luke 24:32
Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?
Psalm 145:18
The Lord is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.
Food For Thought
Did you know that we are still in the season of Easter? It’s easy to forget—already a month removed from Easter morning—but we are still living in what the church calls Eastertide. I’ve always enjoyed this time of year—when everything around us begins to stir back to life. There’s a sense of possibility, a reminder that new life is still unfolding, even if we’ve already moved on from the day itself.
Growing up, Easter came with its own rhythms and traditions—one being the sunrise service at church. My mom was the music minister, which meant attendance wasn’t optional. If I’m honest, it was the tradition I dreaded most. Being pulled out of bed while it was still dark, rushing past the excitement of the Easter bunny, only to stand outside in the cold, damp morning. Yet over time, something shifted. I began to notice the beauty of that hour—the stillness before the day fully wakes, and the slow return of warmth as the sun rises.
I haven’t been to a sunrise service in years. But this past Easter, I woke unexpectedly while it was still dark. I glanced at the clock—5:00 a.m.—and for a moment considered going back to sleep. Instead, I felt a gentle nudge to get up. I went downstairs, put coffee on, and opened the curtains to the living room window facing east. As I waited for the sunrise, I decided I would read the resurrection story—have my own little sunrise service in the quiet of my living room.
I opened to chapter 24 in the Gospel of Luke. It’s a story I’ve read and heard many times. But that morning, something stood out that I hadn’t noticed before.
In Luke’s telling, the story begins with a kind of mystery. Two disciples walk along the road to Emmaus, deep in grief and confusion, trying to make sense of all that has happened. And then Jesus comes alongside them. He walks with them. He listens. He teaches them. And still, they do not recognize him.
It is striking how long he remains hidden in plain sight.
They are not careless. They are talking about Jesus, recounting events, searching for meaning. But their grief has narrowed their vision. Their expectations shape what they are able to see. They are looking only for what they have decided is possible, and so they miss what is already present.
There is something familiar in that.
We, too, often move through life with partial sight. Not because God is absent, but because our expectations limit our awareness—about who God is and how God moves. We look for clarity and certainty, for something unmistakable. In doing so, we can overlook the presence we most long for—for God among us.
The road to Emmaus is not just a story about recognition; it is a story about sight slowly returning.
Something is already happening in them before they realize it. As Jesus speaks and walks with them, something stirs beneath the surface—a kind of inner knowing they later name: “Were not our hearts burning within us?” Awareness begins before recognition. Something in them is awakening, even before they can name it.
Then at the table, in the breaking of bread, what has been unfolding becomes visible. Their eyes are opened—not because Jesus has changed, but because they have. The recognition feels sudden, but it has been forming all along in conversation, presence, and nearness.
Perhaps this is how it often happens.
Not all at once, but gradually—through a widening of awareness, through ordinary moments that only later take on meaning. And then, sometimes, we see.
We realize we have not been alone. That God has been present in conversation, in silence, in the ordinary unfolding of the day—even in a quiet living room at sunrise.
The Emmaus story reminds us that God has been present all along—patient in our not-seeing, gentle in our slow awakening. The invitation is not to strain harder to find God, but to live more attentively—to soften our vision and widen our awareness.
Because it may already be happening.
Even now, something in us might be stirring—quietly, almost imperceptibly—awakening to a presence that has never once left our side.
Take a few moments each day to quietly ask: Where might I have already walked with something holy today without realizing it? Write down one ordinary moment (a conversation, a pause, a small kindness, even a feeling of stillness). Over the week, look back at the list and see what emerges.
Choose one meal this week—breakfast, lunch, or dinner—and treat it as a small “recognition moment.” Before eating, pause for 20–30 seconds of silence and name (silently or aloud) one way you hope to be more aware that day. As you eat, try to notice not just the food, but the people, and the stories. Let it become a simple practice of remembering that life is held together by more than what we immediately see.
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Blessing
God Among Us,
Meet us in the places where we are weary, uncertain, or slow to see. Open our eyes to recognize Your presence in the ordinary moments of our days, and awaken our hearts to the quiet ways You are already near.
Amen.
A little Table Talk for your table...
When have you had a moment where you only recognized meaning or presence after the fact—like the disciples on the road to Emmaus looking back and realizing something was already unfolding?
What are the assumptions or expectations that most often shape how you imagine God showing up in your life? How might those assumptions limit your awareness?
Where in your current season of life might you be invited to practice more attentiveness—paying closer attention to what is already present rather than searching for something new?
Try taking it to the Kids Table...
Can you think of a time when you didn’t notice something at first, but later realized it was happening the whole time? What was it?
The disciples didn’t recognize Jesus at first because they were expecting something different. Have you ever expected something to look one way, but it turned out differently?
Where are some places in your life (school, home, friendships, nature, quiet moments) where you might practice paying closer attention to what’s already there, even if it seems ordinary at first?
Meet This WEek’s Writer...
Kendall Grubb is the CEO and one of the Co-Founders of The Welcome Table. She, her husband, and their daughter are a military family who calls Nashville, TN home. Earning degrees in music and business administration from Belmont University, she jumps at any opportunity she gets to create something new and help bring it to life. From writing and performing music to leading TWT, she loves the power that song and story have to connect people from all walks of life!
To hear more from Kendall throughout the week, follow along on our Instagram!