“Don’t be afraid,” David said to [Jonathon’s son Mephibosheth], “for I will surely show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan. I will restore to you all the land that belonged to your grandfather Saul, and you will always eat at my table.”
2 Samuel 9:7 (NIV)

Last night Wendy and I joined our friends at a local restaurant for dinner. Our friends dine there regularly and they always sit at the same table — Table 40. It’s become one of those things that over time takes on it’s own meaning. Wendy and I love to be at Table 40. We typically are among the last guests to leave the restaurant. At Table 40, life and good conversation flow like wine.

In networking meetings and podcast interviews I am commonly asked, “Tom? What do you like to do?” The question, of course, is about hobbies and interests. I know that people expect that my answer will be something like golf, pickleball, or running. My answer typically surprises people. I like to be at the table with good people, good food, good drink, where good conversation flows for hours. The table is where my soul gets filled.

The further I’ve progressed in my journey the more I’ve come to appreciate the true meaning of the table. It’s not talked about much, but the table is ultimately where God wants to meet. Jesus’ final gathering with His followers was at the table and he told them to remember Him by always meeting at the table to share the bread and wine.

The Great Story ends in Revelation at the table:

Then the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!” And he added, “These are the true words of God.”
Revelation 19:9 (NIV)

In fact, when you step back and look at God’s relationship with humanity throughout the Great Story there is a movement and progression from tent to temple to table.

I love to be at the table.

Today’s chapter is quietly one of the most beautiful in the entire Great Story. After the warfare, political intrigue, bloodshed, and kingdom-building of the previous chapters, the story unexpectedly slows to reveal a deeply personal moment. It’s almost jarring. The author wants us to see that David’s greatness is not ultimately measured by his victories over enemies (yesterday’s chapter), but by his treatment of someone who could offer him nothing in return.

Years have passed since David became king. The house of Saul has been defeated. David’s throne is secure. The ark has been brought to Jerusalem. God has promised David an everlasting dynasty.

Now David asks an unexpected question: “Is there still anyone left of the house of Saul to whom I can show kindness for Jonathan’s sake?”

That question drives the chapter.

David learns from Saul’s former servant, Ziba, that Jonathan has one surviving son: Mephibosheth. We met him back in chapter 4 when Mephibosheth became crippled in both feet, his nurse fleeing after Saul’s death and accidentally dropping the five-year-old boy.

He has been living in obscurity at Lo-debar, a remote place east of the Jordan. David summons him. Mephibosheth arrives terrified. He almost certainly expects execution. Throughout the ancient Near East, new kings routinely exterminated the previous royal family to eliminate future rivals.

Instead David says, “Don’t be afraid.”

He restores Saul’s lands to Mephibosheth. He orders Ziba and his household to farm those lands for him. Then comes the astonishing climax:

“You will always eat at my table.”

Not once.
Not occasionally.
Always.

The chapter ends with a beautiful repetition: “…he always ate at the king’s table.” In fact, the author repeats it four different times, as though wanting us never to miss the point.

Nearly every religion in history imagines humanity asking: “How do I find God?”

This chapter reverses the question. The King is searching. David asks: “Is there anyone left?”

That is the Gospel of Jesus long before Jesus arrived on the scene.

God seeks.
God calls.
God restores.
God adopts.

God seats me at His table—not because I have earned a place there, but because of a covenant established through Another.

Like Mephibosheth, I approach God expecting rejection because I know my weaknesses so well. I limp into His presence carrying the stories I’ve told myself: I’m damaged. I’m disqualified. I’m tragically flawed. I’m not enough.

God does not deny my brokenness. Mephibosheth remains lame to the end of the chapter. Grace never pretends the wounds aren’t there.

Instead, grace gives me a new place to sit.

The repeated image of the king’s table is the chapter’s heartbeat. Around that table, Mephibosheth’s identity is no longer “the cripple from Lo-debar.” He is “the king’s guest.” His condition has not changed, but his belonging has.

There is also a quiet challenge for those who follow the King. David asks, “Is there anyone left to whom I can show covenant kindness?” In a culture that asks, Who deserves my attention? this chapter asks, Whom have I forgotten? The people most in need of hesed (God’s covenant love) are often the ones with no influence, no leverage, and nothing to offer in return.

And in the quiet this morning, I find myself sitting at the table with a question rising in my soul: “Lord, who is my Mephibosheth?”

Not someone to rescue from a distance, but someone to welcome to the table. Someone who expects rejection and instead encounters undeserved kindness. If David’s kingdom foreshadows Christ’s Kingdom, then as His disciple I should be extending invitations for others to join me at the table.

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