Room at the table: Mercy in a divided world

A sermon preached by Revd Sophie Ferguson

Sunday 7 June 2026

May I speak in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Later today, Salisbury Diocese will host a fundraiser for the Sudan Medical Link in the form of our glorious annual Summer Fete.

I was asked whether I could run a table selling children’s toys.

To get that table together, I asked for the help of my Son and his friends. Together we embarked on the painstaking task of sorting toys into two piles: keep and donate.

As you can imagine, this was not a popular exercise. There were lengthy negotiations over dinosaurs, vehicles, and various treasured possessions. We had to establish, for example, whether anybody really needs five T-Rexes.

But as we worked our way through the toy boxes, something important happened…. We talked about why we were doing this. Not because mummy is mean and wanted a clear-out, but because our neighbours are not simply the people who live next door.

The children began to understand that the toys they were giving away would help support people in Sudan, especially children their own age. Children who need our support. And so, what began as a tabletop sale became a lesson in generosity. A lesson in making room for others.

So, if you happen to be in the market for a toy dinosaur later today, you know exactly where to go.

From a tabletop toy stall, we now move to another table.

The table in today’s Gospel.

Matthew’s table.

Matthew, the one Jesus called while he was sitting at his tax booth. Matthew the tax collector. Matthew the collaborator with the Roman Empire.

Yet Jesus calls him.

And Jesus eats with him.

In the Hebrew worldview sharing a meal was never simply about food. The table represented acceptance, peace, belonging, and relationship.

To eat with someone was to acknowledge them. To sit with someone was to identify with them. When Jesus sits at Matthew’s table, he is doing far more than sharing a meal. He is publicly identifying himself with someone whom society had rejected. The Pharisees are scandalised.

“Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?”

Christ understood something, that humanity is constantly in danger of forgetting.

The Kingdom of God does not grow through barriers, fear, or exclusion. It grows through mercy and hospitality.The Kingdom grows whenever room is made for someone else at the table.

Again, throughout the Gospels, Jesus gathers people around a table; the hungry, the lonely, the doubters, the sinners, the rejected. The very people others had decided did not belong. And we see the same pattern in the stories that follow in Matthew’s Gospel. Jesus allows the suffering woman to touch his cloak. He takes the dead girl by the hand.

Both actions would have shocked many in the religious world because Christ crossed boundaries of what was considered clean and unclean. Yet Jesus never stands at a distance. He moves towards people. A God of love and Mercy

Every Sunday we gather around another table.

The Lord’s Table.

We come from different backgrounds, different experiences, and often different opinions. Some come with confidence in their faith. Others come carrying questions. Some arrive with joy. Others arrive carrying grief. Yet Christ invites us all.

This week our country has once again witnessed scenes of anger, fear, and division. In Southampton, only a short distance from here, communities have been shaken by unrest. Strong opinions have been expressed, and many have found themselves taking sides. Whatever our own views may be, one painful reality remains: our human family is becoming increasingly divided. And division always affects the table.

When division takes hold, people begin deciding who deserves a place and who does not. Human beings become labels. Barriers are put up that prevent us from seeing one another as neighbours. And yet the opposite of division is not simply agreement. The opposite of division is communion. Around Christ’s table we may not think alike, vote alike, or see the world alike. Yet we gather because mercy has created a larger “us.”

That is the gift of the table. And that is the witness, our divided world desperately needs! When Jesus called Matthew and sat at his table, when he welcomed the suffering woman, when he took the dead girl by the hand, he enlarged the table. He made room for those whom others rejected. I believe the Church has an important witness to offer in this moment. Not because the Church can solve every social or political problem. But because the Church, surely by now, understands what it means to sit together despite our differences, however difficult that may be sometimes.

Every Eucharist is an act of resistance against division because we share one bread and one cup. We are reminded that our deepest identity is not found in a political tribe, a social movement, a nationality, or an ideology. Our deepest identity is found in Christ and in the truth of Christ’s mercy. That truth reaches to the ends of the earth. It echoes in the streets of Southampton. It speaks to our own nation.

This week, a group of seven-year-old children discovered that by giving away a few toys, they could make room in their hearts for children thousands of miles away. Children they will never meet, but who nevertheless belong to the same human family.

For in the Kingdom of God there is no such thing as distant suffering and no such thing as a full table.