The table is set, adorned with the warm colors of fall and softly illuminated by candlelight. It is an image that can stir feelings of both nostalgia and grief. For me, the holidays carry underlying feelings of exclusion, of attempting to fit in, even as I felt unseen and unaccepted for who I truly was, and of feeling my heart break from rejection. If you’re anything like me, experiences like these can easily overshadow the joy of the holiday season.

The process of healing from spiritual harm or the pain of familial rejection can undoubtedly make the holidays complicated, as we try to balance our deep longing for a place to truly belong with the need to protect our hearts from the pain of mistreatment.

I think about these things a lot this time of year. My children fill my table – and my life – with love and laughter, yet my heart still aches for those no longer seated beside us. I grieve for those I love whose pain and certainty led them to choose walls over welcome. As a single mother and emotional orphan, I grieve the absence of what once was, even as I celebrate what I have with gratitude and hope.

I remember the beautiful tables filled with my mom’s turkey and stuffing, my grandma’s sweet potato casserole, and the pies we made together. I remember the love and laughter of my past. But I also remember the many painful words that have been spoken – and the ones that weren’t. My soul reverberates with the ache of being misunderstood, and the weight of old roles and expectations that no longer fit. My memories echo with times my heart quietly asked, “When will I belong here?”

And I know I am not alone.

So many in our neighborhoods are carrying the weight of fear, rejection, and marginalization this holiday season. Loving, hard-working immigrants, asylum seekers, and citizens are being ripped from their families, their homes, their jobs. Individuals are facing hate and exclusion because of their race, ethnicity, or sexual and gender identities. Single moms and disabled people are wondering how they’ll feed their families next week, let alone afford what they need to make a special meal on Thanksgiving Day. And heartbreakingly, much of this is being done in the name of Christianity.

A Holiday Without Walls

But what if we could reimagine the holiday table? What if, instead of a place of obligation and underlying tension, it became a place of radical inclusion, restorative healing, and unqualified welcome? What if we started really following Jesus’ example and began making room for those others have overlooked or cast aside, as well as the parts of ourselves we’ve worked so hard to keep hidden?

Jesus never wasted his time hosting meals for the powerful or the religious elite. Instead, He welcomed the outcast, the shamed, and all those whom religion had pushed aside. His table was always open, always big enough, with no conditions for belonging, just a safe place for anyone who needed it.

Maybe that should be our goal this holiday season: to widen our tables. To make room for those who’ve been told they don’t belong. To honor every story, every identity, and every lonely heart that aches for belonging.

In my last post, I encouraged my readers to remember that Jesus never asked us to fight a culture war. Today, I believe it’s just as important to remember that although our faith spaces often build walls to keep people out, Jesus never did.

For those of us who are deconstructing, we know the pain that comes with the loss of community, of family, of the familiar traditions we once held so tightly. While it’s important to honor our grief and practice self-compassion, this season also invites us to reach out, to de-center our own stories, and to consider the pain others have experienced. It’s a time to examine our hearts and past beliefs, and to reflect on the ways we may have contributed to the exclusion of people Jesus loves.

Grief is complicated. But through it all, we’re offered a choice: to grow, to open our hearts, and to expand our capacity for inclusion and welcome – or to close ourselves off, isolate, and become what once hurt us.

Choosing growth means taking intentional steps to widen our tables instead of fortifying our walls. This can lead to something unimaginably beautiful as we find opportunities to connect with others, to build safe communities where every lonely heart can find belonging, and to make positive contributions to someone’s healing.

Widening Our Tables

Reimagining our holiday tables begins in the quiet places where grief meets hope, where painful memories are processed and transformed into something new and meaningful. As you prepare for Thanksgiving, I invite you to pause and reflect.

Who has been missing from my table? How does their absense affect me?

What parts of myself have I kept hidden in an attempt to feel safe or accepted?

How can I create space for restorative healing this season – in my home, my heart, and my traditions?

Who in my life might need a loving invitation, a homemade meal, or a simple reminder that they belong?

A Blessing for the Season

May your table stretch toward justice. May it be wide enough for the silenced, strong enough for truth, tender enough for healing. May it be a sanctuary, not a stage – a place where you can show up whole, weary, joyful, or unsure. May you offer welcome without condition, listen without defense, and love without fear. And may every seat hold space for holy diversity, quiet courage, and the kind of belonging that heals.

A Gentle Call to Action

Reimagining the holiday table should start with who we invite into our homes, but it shouldn’t end there. It should extend to our presence in the world. This season, as we seek opportunities to welcome, may we utilize our privilege to advocate for policies that protect the vulnerable, speak up for those who have been silenced, and support organizations working towards radical inclusion. Creating a sense of belonging requires more than just good feelings or emotional words – it requires consistent, intentional action.