Macon Magazine

February/March 2026 | maconmagazine.com 95 In a city with houses of faith on nearly every corner, Rev. Dr. Erin Robinson Hall's column explores the interconnectedness of Macon's faith communities and the diverse ways Maconites nourish their spiritual health and the wellbeing of those around them, inspired by "On Being" podcast host Krista Tippet's idea that "religion is as cup; spirituality is as water." W hen you find a sacred place in Macon, chances are that you have found your way to a table. I thought about the rituals we experience around a table during a recent conversation with church leaders about practices of communion. I have been doing some interim ministry with Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains, and we were planning for the upcoming communion service. These dear folks have a rich history, and I wanted to know more about their expectations. The deacon made me chuckle when he said they were "old school Baptist-y" to describe the tiny cups and wafers. Old and new, faith communities invite people to experience the holy meal. Across Macon, you might find an altar adorned with white linens in a stained-glass sanctuary, children holding out a chalice and basket of bread as a guitar plays, or a brigade of deaconesses in white gloves circling the communion table at the center aisle. We may wonder, what brings us to the table? Theologian Henri Nouwen says, "The beauty of the Eucharist is precisely that it is the place where a vulnerable God invites vulnerable people to come together in a peaceful meal. When we break bread and give it to each other, fear vanishes and God becomes very close." Peace in place of fear, community instead of isolation. We are formed by what we experience around the table. Those connections happen in synagogues and sanctuaries, but also in local bars. David Thompson, an owner of Longleaf Distillery (see page 70), shares that he hoped for more connection when he began an event called the Federated Salon. Thompson believes that "Macon is full of educators, artists, writers, intellectuals, and genuinely interesting people," so he offered an open invitation. Thompson hoped that people could gather at Longleaf with delicious drinks, food, and an hour of conversation that was "informal, and yet tackled topics of substance like the Constitution, the history of Native tribes in Georgia." The first few salons led Rev. John McCard and Rabbi Elizabeth Bahar to imagine a risky offering; they decided to bring theology to the table. McCard and Bahar planned two salons around the New Testament and the Hebrew Bible. A communion of thought Meeting in a bar is "a disarming way to foster open conversations," Bahar said, "We live in a polarized world today, where people assume knowledge of a topic a er watching a 60-second TikTok reel—a world where people don't read books and wrestle with big ideas." "It was genuinely fun to talk with others about the New Testament world that Jesus and his disciples knew," said McCard, "and the setting encouraged curiosity, dialogue, and a shared sense that theology can be both serious and accessible in everyday life." At Longleaf, people could access ideas of faith that they might not otherwise engage. "We o en approach theology through modern assumptions and prejudices, and I wanted to challenge that tendency by situating Jesus' life and ministry firmly within his own time." Rabbi Bahar will lead a similar conversation on Hebrew scripture at Longleaf in January. McCard said the salons deepened his spiritual life. "Listening carefully to others, wrestling with differing perspectives, and articulating my own convictions has sharpened my discernment and reminded me that spiritual growth o en occurs through dialogue rather than certainty alone." Learning together around the table forms us together. Thompson says he hopes "this 'experiment' encourages others to offer learning opportunities in non-traditional locations which decentralize the learning experience. Greater knowledge and understanding builds a better and more trusting community." A communion of thought offers us more trust. I experienced a profound moment of trust among strangers at another table, too. A communion of strangers and I followed the journey of the "Walk for Peace" for a while. The Buddhist monks from the Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth, Texas, are committed to walking a pilgrimage across the United States. For about 110 days the monks will walk across ten states to promote peace and mindfulness. When I realized the monks were close to middle Georgia, I looked up their plans for the daily rest. Each day of the journey, the monks planned a stop for lunch. They offered an open invitation on social media for anyone to join them for their meal. With no idea how many people would accept this invitation, I showed up to Western Heights Baptist Church. The huge crowd eagerly looked down the road to see the monks arrive. When the line of 19 monks walking turned into the Peace in place of fear, community instead of isolation. We are formed by what we experience around the table.

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