Banquet banner

Reader, I would like to invite you into my online meditation on the following verse, which is a huge morsel for me to chew on right now.

"He brought me to the banqueting house, and His banner over me was love." (Song of Solomon 2:4)

I sort of have this verse memorized from an old Kevin Prosch song: "He brought me to His banqueting table / (echo) / And His banner... over me... is love." I've mentioned about God's banqueting table in blog posts of yore, but lately it's stuck out at me that not every Bible translation translates that verse exactly like Kevin Prosch's song. I've done a tiny bit of digging around (and I would like to dig around some more in the very near future), and I haven't found a truckload of information, so you're going to get Tirzah's quirky, right-brained, driven-by-her-major-need-for-healing version.

The New King James version calls it a banqueting HOUSE. The New American Standard and the New International Version call it a banquet HALL. I actually haven't found a version yet that translates the word as TABLE, but I'm guessing there probably is one somewhere, or maybe Kevin Prosch was expressing something that exists for real in heaven, or maybe his entire song, or maybe the entire Song of Solomon, is a metaphor for one of God's truths. I'm not a Bible study expert, but I'd like to get to the bottom of this.

Please understand that the reason I'm writing this isn't to get a cold, scholarly dissection (or vivisection) of the Bible. I need this verse to seep deeply inside me. I need something new to click. I need life to replace the death that is, frankly, getting unraveled and pooped out. I'm discovering that I don't exactly know what it's like, deep down inside, to be an accepted, continually invited, welcome part of a Family banqueting table or house or hall that has a huge banner draped over me that says "LOVE." But God has this all set up for me, and He's going to show me what I've got, and He's going to show me what it means.

At the beginning of this post, I displayed a picture of my banqueting table. That big hunk of wood on the right side of the photo is my coffee table. That's where I eat my meals in front of my TV. And those are my cats. That's where they beg for food while I eat my meals in front of the TV (or, when the TV's off, my computer or my Bible). The only time they are allowed on my table while I'm eating my meal is during breakfast. Usually, my mixed-Siamese cat will crouch near my cereal bowl and purr while I eat. But that's it. If she tries to eat my breakfast, she must descend from the table immediately. Sure, I have rules, even though they don't always follow the rules... because they're cats. But that's my setup. It's a simple little spot where I enjoy cereal, soups, TV dinners, you name it. It's a functional place where I sometimes type on my computer, sometimes file my nails, and sometimes file my taxes. But that's my banqueting table. That's where my cats are welcome to join me (within the rules) while I live my life.

My cats are welcome at, on, or around my table because they're mine. They belong to me. They belong with me. They're in my family. Actually, if I had put the camera down and set the timer so that I could also be in the photo, it would be a family portrait. It could have been our Christmas card. (Dang it! Missed opportunity.) My cats know me, they trust me, and they know that they belong with me.

They've been very flexible to adapt with me in the 12 and 13 years that they've been with me. My living arrangements have changed considerably throughout the years, so my cats have lived through quite a few different seasons with me. But through each season, each year, each meal, each moment, they've known that they're MY cats and that I'm THEIR mama. Of course, I have all kinds of boundaries with them (which they don't always observe... because they're cats). But they know that they belong in my room, in my bed, at my table, on my couch, on my chair, or almost anywhere I am, because they're mine. (Currently, I'm typing this on my couch between one cat who's perching on a couch cushion and another cat who's perching on a couch armrest.) They know where they belong.

I'm not trying to diss how I grew up; I'm trying to process through it, come to terms with it, and make some adjustments in my soul so that I don't have to be stuck with it. So, while I was growing up, I don't remember being given any regular responsibility in the household such as accomplishing a household chore on a regular basis. I remember the maternal figure of the house being in charge of all household chores. While she was at work, I was occasionally told to vacuum the floor or wash dishes. But I don't remember being given a specific ongoing responsibility. You know who else isn't given any specific ongoing responsibilities? Temporary houseguests. You know what a temporary houseguest is in her own home? An orphan.

After I went off to college, I eagerly embraced all the teachings about the Father-heart of God, probably because I was hungry for them and didn't realize it. Everyone needs to know God's heart as a Father. Now I'm running into roadblocks that are beginning to make better sense.

This is the current stuff that God has been highlighting for me lately: Why should an orphan stay someplace that she doesn't belong?

Someone who belongs in a certain household takes ownership in the household when he or she is given responsibility in that household. If I had grown up in a house where I was given specific ongoing responsibilities, I think I would have taken more ownership in the household, because I would have been responsible to help keep the household running. If I had been assigned to clean the bathroom, and if I had neglected to do it, how would it have gotten clean? It would have stayed dirty, and it would have been my fault, or perhaps my sibling would have yelled at me because she would have had to pick up the slack for me. You know who is entrusted with a responsibility? A son/daughter.

I'm not obsessing over a works mentality. I'm not talking about doing stuff "for God" or "serving the Lord" all the time. (I think if you love Someone, you'll be so obsessed with Him that you can't help but stare at Him constantly and never want to leave His side, so you'll end up doing stuff "for Him" or "serving Him" all the time as an overflow of your relationship with Him.) I'm talking about belonging. While I was typing this paragraph, my little cat purringly trotted onto my chest, and then trotted onto my shoulder and back onto my couch's armrest, because she knows she belongs with me. (I think it's a cat's way of saying, "Hi.") I'm saying if you live in a house and are entrusted with responsibilities there, it will be solidified deep down inside you that you belong in that house. Otherwise, why stick around?

Are you getting an idea of how some of these seeds of doubt and unbelief got pooped into my life?

So, in my Bible study of Song of Solomon 2:4, I haven't found much yet to help me with the "banner" part, other than the fact that some banqueting houses were decorated with banners. But I'm still looking. And there might be more common sense to it than I realize. (Speaking of Bible study, I was delighted by the King James' translation of Song of Solomon 2:5: "I am sick of love." Laughing out loud!)

For my 7th birthday, I wanted a pizza party. All the food was pizza: a regular-sized pizza, smaller pizzas, and pizza bites. That rocked. I was the guest of honor, because it was my birthday. I guess you could say that during the banquet, there was an invisible birthday banner over my head that said "BIRTHDAY GIRL" or "PIZZA FANATIC" or just plain "LOVE."

I think it would be nice to have had more than one birthday like that. That memory tends to be overshadowed by my current ones like my recent one where my coworkers halfheartedly decorated my cubicle, and they signed a card which was delivered to me by a coworker who muttered a bored, "Happy birthday," and then walked away. Thanks.

I'm just trying to wrap my mind around all this. What does God's house look like? Because I belong there.

Well, I don't think it looks like the following: He invites me to His house for a meeting once a week where He serves me a TV dinner that contains an ingredient that gives me heartburn, raises His hands in the air and says, "Sorry, but that's all I've got, so that's all you're eating," and then apologizes for kicking me out an hour later so He can get some homework done or call His girlfriend or go to bed early. I don't think He'll hastily put up a banner that says, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY TRIZA" that keeps falling off because He's too cheap or lazy to use something besides little pushpins, or shrug His shoulders and say, "Whatever, your name's hard to spell" when I try to correct Him on my name's spelling. I don't think He has other banners that say "LOSER" or "PITY PARTY" or "ORPHAN."

He doesn't treat me like I'm an inconvenience. He doesn't treat me like I'm an accident. He doesn't treat me like I'm a pity friend, and He's doing me a favor to hang out with me for an hour. He doesn't patronize me, look down on me, or make me feel dumb every time He talks to me, even though He's the wisest Person in the universe. He treats me like I'm His daughter, who He plans to stick with for all eternity, who He plans to share responsibility with in the ages to come, who He can proudly introduce to other people as, "This is Tirzah, My delight, My heir, who I trust with My life, whose life I impeccably look after, who I would love for you to know."

I think my Father's banqueting table, and/or His banqueting hall, and/or His banqueting house looks like the following: He purchases my life with the blood of His own Son, and He invites me to live in His house forever, where He serves me an unending supply of His finest foods. Just when I think I've found my favorite dish or condiment or ingredient, I find another one that tops it. When I ask Him how long I can stay, He says, "Forever," and I incredulously double-check, "Um, what?" And His Helper double-checks the deed that's stamped on my heart, and He declares, "Yep, you've moved in with Us forever, and We've moved in with you forever. Are you OK with that?" And I scratch my head and say, "Uh, sure. Please. So, what's the catch?" And my Father smiles and says, "Check out My banner." And I look up at the most gorgeous piece of fabric I've ever seen, and I notice that it says "LOVE" in a zillion different languages. And my Father confirms, "Just love Me. You get to stay here forever, I get to love on you forever, and I get to own you. But you have to love Me." Before He finishes speaking, I'm already clasping onto His ankles and soaking my face onto His feet. The intoxicating aromas of the food in his banqueting table/hall/house are invading my starving nostrils and almost causing me to faint with love, and He gently lifts me onto my feet so that I can quiet the urgent rumblings of my stomach. While I'm unapologetically stuffing my face, He asks me if I wouldn't mind doing a job for Him. I say, "What, are You kidding? Of course not," and He points to the front door and asks me to guard it for an hour. I gasp so hard that I nearly choke on my luscious food, and I declare, "I have always wanted to do that!" Then I grab some food to go, and I guard His front door for an hour. After my shift, He tells me, "Hey, you did a great job. That is now your job from now on." And the process repeats when He asks me to shine His shoes and when He asks me to dust His picture frames. I have responsibilities here because I belong here, and I delight to do them, because I'm good at them, because He gave me the ability and the desire to do them. From time to time, I glance up at the banner over me, and I see that "LOVE" is actually saying many things simultaneously. I see that His banner over me is "PATIENT, KIND, UNRUDE." His banner over me is "ALWAYS HOPES, NEVER FAILS." His banner over me is "DOES NOT DELIGHT IN EVIL, BUT REJOICES WITH THE TRUTH." His banner over me is "FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE ARE IMPORTANT, BUT THE GREATEST OF THESE IS LOVE." His banner over me is "I LOVE YOU, TIRZAH; I LOVE YOU, TIRZAH; I LOVE YOU, TIRZAH; AND I CARE ENOUGH ABOUT YOU TO SPELL IT CORRECTLY EVERY TIME." His banner over me is "I AM SO GLAD YOU WERE BORN. WILL YOU MARRY ME?" His banner over me is "I ALLOWED MYSELF TO BE BEATEN, SCORNED, AND PUBLICLY HUMILIATED IN YOUR PLACE." His banner over me is "I DIED IN YOUR PLACE." His banner over me is "PLEASE REST HERE BETWEEN MY SHOULDERS. YOU BELONG WITH ME. YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU BELONG BECAUSE OF ME." His banner over me is "MY ADOPTED DAUGHTER FOREVER." His banner over me is "LOVE."

At the banqueting table / coffee table that I share with my cats, the meals are sometimes simple, sometimes drive-thru sophisticated, sometimes small, and sometimes large. But they're mine. My cats are welcome to perch close by and watch me eat, because they're mine, and they know where they belong, and they know who they belong to, whether their mama Tirzah is dining at a banqueting table, a banqueting hall, or a banqueting house, no matter what she happens to be dining. And they know that their mama loves them. My banner over them is "I WANT TO SMOOCH YOUR FUR OFF." My banner over them is "I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND ME BLOGGING ABOUT YOU WITHOUT YOUR PERMISSION, BECAUSE YOU'RE MY ROOMMATES WHO KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ME." My banner over them is "I LOVE YOU, I'M YOUR MAMA, YOU'RE MY KITTIES, AND I'M SO GLAD I'M YOUR MAMA, AND I'M SO GLAD YOU'RE MINE."