The Table is not communion

Because peace without truth is betrayal, you can choose civility without surrendering your integrity. You might sit at the table, steady and composed, but you won’t pretend there’s unity where harm still lingers. Your soul knows the sacred difference between proximity and intimacy between sharing space and sharing spirit. You can sit beside someone, even speak in measured tones, but that doesn’t mean they’ve earned access to your sacred circle. Because breaking bread is more than a meal it’s covenant. And you don’t make covenants with those who’ve shown they’ll break you. That’s not bitterness

it’s discernment. It’s legacy protecting itself.

I can sit at the table with my enemy,

Watch the steam rise from their plate,

Hear the clink of silver against porcelain,

But I will not break bread.

Not because I lack grace

But because grace is not gullible.

Because peace without truth

Is just silence dressed in betrayal.

I’ve learned to read the room

By the spirit, not the smile.

To measure intention

By the weight of what’s unsaid.

I can offer water,

Even pour wine,

But the bread

The bread is sacred.

It is covenant.

It is memory.

It is the echo of my grandmother’s prayers

And the hush of my son’s sleeping breath.

So I sit,

Unmoved by the performance,

Unshaken by the proximity,

Unwilling to pretend.

Because breaking bread

Is not about hunger

It’s about trust.

And I don’t feed betrayal

With the same hands that built my altar.