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Keep up with Longleaf Distillery on social media for more Federated Salon series. parking lot, the crowd cheered. Dozens of people wiped away tears; others sang along with the speaker. "Go Tell It On the Mountain" seemed to capture the ecumenical moment of joy. The venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara spoke to the crowd with a welcome and instructions. A couple thousand people filled the parking lot and the field behind the church. First, a snack and a brief rest for the monks. Then, we would be offered a blessing. Finally, the monks were eager to share a meal with us. All of us, I wondered? The blessing began with instructions. What a gi to be offered access to this spiritual tradition, I thought. What a generous act to offer us participation and education, at the end of their four-hour morning walk. The monk explained that our presence there was something they would take along their journey. An exchange of peace bracelets was a way to carry our presence along the journey. He gently announced that we were invited to the table, even if we brought nothing to share. We were simply invited to receive and rejoice. He explained the belief: we rejoice in the goodness that someone else shares; we set aside jealousy, or any sense of worth based on achievement. Instead, we simply share in the bounty of what is good and present. He taught us to sing "Sadhu" which means "I rejoice in this meritorious." We sang Sadhu, joining together as a thousand-voice choir. The word is an affirmation of rejoicing. It sounded a lot like an Amen to me. Then, it was time to share the meal. My eyes turned to the small tables laden with food, and my imagination called up the biblical story of Jesus feeding the five thousand with a couple loaves of bread and two fish. Would we see something like that miracle? I had no idea about the logistics, so I chatted with families around me. What brought you to this table? Some shared how they wanted to be a part of this momentous event, for their children to see how far people will work for peace. While we waited in line for lunch, volunteers offered plates of fruit, pasta, chips. A sense 96 maconmagazine.com | February/March 2026 Volunteers organize the open meal during the walk for peace of welcome, a receiving of a plate you did not earn or deserve but were offered as an honored guest. A smile offered with every plate. A mom near me, Ebone Williams, had her young children with her. She and I wiped tears away as we watched people take their plates. "I wanted them to experience this. It's not about religion, it's about impact," said Williams. A meal with strangers became a communion of kinship. Nouwen's words resonated in this moment as I witnessed the vulnerability we offered one another. There was a sense of quiet among these people who had traveled to be a part of a momentous journey. A er a few hours of eating, sharing and resting, the monks began walking the next part of their journey. I believe we caught a glimpse of why we come to the table. We come to the table because we are hungry for more than food. We come to the table to remember the stories we hold. In my tradition of communion, we begin with the story. I hold the bread and the cup and offer a couple of sentences that claim belief: Take, eat, this cup is the new covenant. Do this in remembrance, we say. We come to the table to remember what we believe. We believe that strangers gathered for curiosity and dialogue can build trust. We tell the story that an open invitation can make kinship among strangers. We believe the story that we can show up and remember we are worthy. We remember that we can rejoice with people who are making peace. May we find ourselves at tables that invite us to communion.