Mike Scott – Open

1 DEC
“They recognised him in the breaking of the bread.”
Sharing a meal is one of the simplest, yet most powerful ways to build relationships.
Who needs to be invited to your table?
There is a lovely children’s song about the story of the meeting of Jesus with Zacchaeus the feared tax collector, when he had climbed up into a tree to see Jesus and Jesus implores him to come down – for I’m coming to your house for tea!’
That is one of a number of occasions when we hear of Jesus enjoying eating and drinking at the homes of friends, ordinary people rather than the rich and famous.
In my experience offering hospitality has become less frequent since the Covid epidemic, when we were forced to remain in our own homes and not meet with neighbours and friends. Perhaps now is the time for us to reach out again as individuals and as church families to those in our fellowships and communities who for whatever reason, would appreciate a coffee and chat, a listening ear maybe, or by taking the opportunity over a meal, to introduce newcomers, enabling new friendships to be forged. Why not bring joy into the lives of
others by offering hospitality?
Sue Holmes TSSF
European Province
Mike Scott – Open
SET AN EMPTY PLATE
Today or this week, set an extra place at your table… even if you’re eating alone.
Let it be a quiet act of welcome for Christ in the stranger, the lonely, the forgotten.
As you eat, pray for those with no table of their own, and ask God to
enlarge your heart to receive the unexpected guest.
You might say aloud: “Christ, be my guest. Love, be my light. All who hunger, come and be filled.”
Listen my brothers: If the Blessed Virgin is so honoured, as is becoming, because she carried Him in her most holy womb…..how holy, just and fitting must be he who touches with his hands, receives in his heart and mouth, and offers to others to be received the One Who is not about to die but Who is to conquer and be glorified, upon Whom the angels longed to gaze.
(A letter to the Entire Order 21)
God of Welcome,
you come in need,
not splendour.
Make every meal holy,
every open seat
a place for you.
Teach me to welcome you
in each guest.
POLAND
On Christmas Eve, our table glows with candlelight, and always – always – there’s one extra plate set.
It’s not a mistake.
It’s for the unexpected guest, the stranger, the soul who might knock, or simply be held in our hearts.
In Poland, we call this Wigilia – a sacred supper of waiting and welcome.
As we share opłatek and stories, that empty place reminds me: Christ came not as a king, but as a guest with no place to stay.
So we keep watch, honouring the mystery that every knock at the door might be holy.
In our waiting, we make room – for love to arrive.
“Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’”
This week marks a turning point. In the quiet of the womb, the baby begins to hear the mother’s heartbeat, the stir of life within, the muffled sounds of the world beyond. The womb becomes not just a place of shelter, but of encounter. The baby listens, attuning to life before it can fully understand it.
For the mother, these days may bring the first real flutters of movement, small signs of life stirring within. Alongside this joy may come deeper questions, a growing awareness of vulnerability and hope.
What will this life become? What does it mean to carry such a mystery?
This is the way Christ entered the world –hidden, listening, drawing near. Even before the cry in Bethlehem, Jesus was already present, already attentive to the heartbeat of creation.
Advent calls us to listen, too. To pause and notice the quiet signs of God’s presence all around us. Like the child in the womb, we are invited to attune our hearts to the whisper of God believing that Christ is near, waiting to be heard, waiting to be received.
I wonder what it sounds like in the womb
I wonder how we can learn to hear God the way a baby listens in the womb
I wonder what sounds of love or peace are forming us right now
If you keep an Advent Journal, here are some ideas you could write about;
Today take time with your journal. Let your pen become a place of prayer and reflection:
Who needs to be invited to your table… literally or metaphorically. What does “breaking bread” look like in your life right now?
When have you experienced a meal as an act of healing, friendship, or unexpected grace?
How might you offer hospitality this Advent even in simple, creative, or quiet ways?
Write honestly. Dream gently.
And let your journalling become a table in itself where Christ might just be waiting, already seated, already smiling.