"Who's at your table?” Not just any table, but one filled with people—living and deceased—who have your best interest at heart, who are your counsel. This question stopped me cold when I read it in an early draft of my friend Dan's upcoming book about flourishing. Who’s sitting at my table, and what are they sharing with me?
As I sat with this question, a phrase from my Catholic upbringing surfaced: the “communion of saints”. This foundational Catholic concept goes back to the earliest creeds, to those first believers trying to make sense of something bigger than words could capture.
The traditional Catholic teaching says we're all connected—those of us living, those being refined somewhere in between, and those who've made it home to whatever glory awaits—heaven, oneness or however you understand the divine destination. It's like one great big family dinner that never ends, where death doesn't get to break up the camaraderie.
Recently, I read an article that brought this concept to life. The author asked readers to imagine entering a large stadium—for me, naturally, Notre Dame Stadium. As you step onto the field, you realize every person in the stands is familiar: family, friends, mentors, ancestors, even historical figures who shaped your thinking. This stadium is your personal “communion of saints”—an unimaginably large community from past and present, all cheering you on.
Which brings me back to Dan’s book. During an interview with a well-known psychologist who’s an expert on presence, Dan took part in an exercise, envisioning a table filled with those who had his best interest at heart, those people truly in his corner. Additions were made, both living and deceased, until finally God him/herself sat down. Dan asks them what’s important for him to know right now, and they share their wisdom with him. They are his counsel, always available. All he has to do is connect to them.
I cannot do justice to describing Dan’s experience. But since reading Dan’s book, I’ve visited my stadium more than once, and “convened” my own table on occasion. Each time I’ve done so, I’ve been surprised by the love felt, the wisdom gained, and the peaceful feeling I’m left with. I believe I’m being heard by those who know me, and I can sense when my intuitions align with their guidance. I feel a deep confirmation when I’m on the right path.
This communion, this connection, this presence—it's not just for those with the right doctrine or theology. It's for anyone who's ever felt their father’s wisdom in a difficult moment, or heard their friend’s voice when they needed courage, or sensed the presence of someone who shaped them even after that person was gone, or on the other side of the world.
When I envision my table, I think of a trip to Italy where distant relatives hosted us for dinner—that stereotypical Italian gathering with multiple generations around a huge wooden table, endless food and drink, and non-stop conversation that lasted for hours. Similarly, when we bring our multi-generational family together at our lakehouse each Fourth of July, you can feel that same energy, that sense of communion.
That's what I feel when I convene my spiritual table. A table with faces from every season of my life sharing a meal together. Some are still here, while others exist in that sacred space where memory meets mystery, where the love they shared continues to grow and multiply.
So who's at your table?