Sobremesa (Table Conversations)

Sobremesa

In Spanish-speaking cultures, there is a cherished tradition known as sobremesa. It refers to the time spent lingering at the table after a meal, engaging in conversation with family or friends. There is no rush to clear the table, no set time for the conversation to end. The focus is on relaxation, connection, and the sharing of experiences, often continuing long after the meal has concluded.

While sobremesas typically take place at the dining table, they can happen anywhere—hotel lobbies, balconies, decks, cars, or even church pews. I deeply value sobremesas because some of the most meaningful conversations I’ve had have occurred during this time. It’s a time that has allowed me to know others more deeply, to exchange ideas and fears, and to dream out loud. The most memorable sobremesas I’ve experienced have been around a table—a space that feels safe, open, and inviting. This is a space that Jesus Himself sanctified, as He established a holy sobremesa for us at the table.

However, at times this sacred space can be desecrated, defiled, or disrespected. A sobremesa meant for connection and communion can devolve into a place for verbal abuse, a battleground of words that leads nowhere. Instead of fostering connection through shared experiences and hopes, it can create division and disconnection.

When Testing Replaces Sobremesa

A few Sundays ago, I shared with you that, often, when I hear people tell their stories, I notice that we humans tend to cast ourselves as the heroes of our own narratives. In stories of conflict, we frequently present ourselves as the victors—the ones who had that perfect "gotcha" moment, where the other person could no longer argue. But is that really a conversation? Is that a sobremesa?

Our passage for today tells us that Jesus left Capernaum and went to the region of Judea and beyond the Jordan. Crowds gathered, waiting to hear Him, and once again, He prepared to teach. Don’t picture a formal setting like a classroom or synagogue. Instead, imagine Jesus surrounded by people who wanted to hear Him speak, to have a sobremesa with Him—conversations without concern for time.

Then, the passage tells us that some came to test Him, asking, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” Some scholars suggest they were trying to pit Jesus against two rabbinical schools with differing views on divorce. Others propose that they sought to trap Him into making a statement critical of Herod Antipas, as John the Baptist had done (Mark 6:18).

Speaking about divorce, both then and now, can be controversial. The question of whether divorce is permissible among the faithful remains a topic of debate. However, I don’t want to read this passage from Mark, as Joyce Ann Mercer suggests, "as a manual for individual discipleship." I don’t want to reduce the Bible to a book of permissions and prohibitions, because that misses the larger message at play. Mercer observes, and I agree with her, that...

 “Jesus’ teachings concern the nature of community life and of just relations between persons, with particular attention to those who are vulnerable to abuses of power. Since intimate relationships of marriage, family, and children lie at the heart of a community’s life, this passage holds both personal and deeply social implications.”[1]

What are the personal and deeply social implications of this passage? For me, it speaks to the conflict-filled conversations we often have with those who do not share our beliefs, opinions, experiences, or values. Rather than creating spaces for vulnerability and openness, we sometimes turn these moments into “theological and moral” battlefields—seeking to impose our beliefs rather than listening to one another.

So, how does Jesus communicate in this passage? Let’s examine two key elements:

Shift the Perspective: Instead of responding defensively or getting caught up in a legal argument, Jesus shifts the conversation, encouraging His listeners to think about the bigger picture of God’s vision for human relationships. Jesus is known for answering questions with questions, a technique designed to make people reflect on why they believe what they do. In this instance, rather than launching into a long, judgmental sermon or speaking about Himself in the third person, He simply asks, “What did Moses command you?”

I was recently struck by a post on Facebook that challenges journalists—and anyone seeking to have meaningful conversations—to focus on responses to social issues, rather than just highlighting the problems. The advice offered guidance on how to engage in conversation with people who disagree with you. Here are some of the key questions to help guide such discussions:

• Which life experiences have shaped your views?

• Imagine for a moment that you got what you wanted in regards to this issue. How would your life change?

• For those who disagree with you, what would you like them to understand about you?

• What do you want to understand about those with who you disagree?

• Why is this personally important to you?

In the cultural practice of sobremesa, conversations often move from superficial topics to more intimate and challenging subjects. Ideally, this should be a space for vulnerability and openness. However, if you approach it with a spirit of testing, of trying to "play gotcha," or with a mindset of anxiety, testing, and conflict, there is no way to truly enter into those deeper discussions. Tough issues can only be explored in a spirit of trust and understanding.

Focus on the Vulnerable: Jesus’ decision to welcome children into His arms at the end of the passage serves as a powerful reminder of the importance of making space for the vulnerable, especially in moments of conflict. Often, the most marginalized voices in a conflict are the ones that most need to be heard. By bringing the vulnerable—the children—to the center of the discussion, Jesus offers us a model for ensuring that all voices, especially those most affected, are included in conversations of conflict.

Leticia Guardiola Sáenz, in her commentary on this passage, observes that it is no coincidence Mark includes a story about children immediately after Jesus' teaching on divorce. She suggests that "perhaps this was a way of affirming the family in order to protect children and women from abandonment, challenging listeners with commitment, so those vulnerable within the union could be protected." Children are often deeply affected by divorce—they suffer through it, sometimes in silence. By focusing on the vulnerable, Jesus shifts the conversation from a legal debate to a real story of suffering and pain.

Most of the discussions I see on social media or television are framed as logical arguments or theological statements. Opinions are presented as facts, with little thought given to the human consequences. But what would happen if we put faces to those legalities and theologies? What would change if we focused on another’s vulnerabilities, not as points to attack, but as people to sit at the table with—to share a meal, to have a heartfelt conversation, and to embrace their points of view and experiences?

The Call of the Sobremesa: Respect and Love

In the book that we’ve been reading for our bible study, Obery Hendricks speaks about Jesus’s words in Matthew 25. He says that Jesus’ words…

“testify that what ultimately determines whether people are bound for heaven or condemned to hell is not what they do in the privacy of their bedrooms, or the regularity of their attendance at church or synagogue, or their degree of diligence in performing table blessings… According to Jesus here, what determines whether a person’s path leads to heaven or to hell is the way they treat others.”[2]

In another part of the book, it says, “Nowhere in the Gospel does it say anything about whom we should and should not love, only that we should love.”[3]

As I’ve mentioned before, I believe Jesus wouldn’t “unfriend” people on Facebook. Mark 10:12–16 challenges us to approach difficult conversations with honesty, compassion, and an awareness of the broader dimensions of conflict. It calls us to respect the life experiences of others, whether we fully understand them or not, and to create spaces for genuine conversation and listening. We might be surprised by what we discover.

Will & Harper

This week, I watched a documentary called Will & Harper. In it, actor and comedian Will Ferrell embarks on a cross-country trip with his friend of over thirty years, Harper Steele, a comedy writer. This trip holds special significance because Harper has come out as a trans woman, and she’s revisiting places and experiences from her past, but now as her true self.

You might be wondering why I’m bringing up a controversial topic in a sermon—but hear me out.

Throughout the film, Will and Harper engage in long, open-hearted dialogues, which, for me, capture the essence of sobremesa. Their conversations shift from light and humorous to raw and emotional, especially as Harper navigates her transition and the social challenges that come with it. Like sobremesa, these dialogues create space for mutual understanding and emotional connection, allowing both Will and Harper to confront complex feelings and societal realities in the safety of their friendship.

But the scene that moved me to tears wasn’t one of these moments of safety. Harper decides to go into a restaurant alone in Oklahoma—a place adorned with Confederate flags, potentially a hostile environment for a trans person. While eating, Harper begins a conversation with others in the restaurant. She shares her story. After some time, she invites Will to join her. People shake their hands. A young man approaches Will and says, “I like your support for your friend.” Then, a group of Native Americans in the restaurant break out into song in their native language, rejoicing in the cameras and the attention.[4] And Harper says something profound: “I’m not really afraid of hating these people. I’m afraid of hating myself.”

My eyes began to water as I watched all these people—each vulnerable in different ways—connecting beyond legal arguments, theological beliefs, or political propaganda. It was a beautiful moment of sobremesa, and it gave me hope. It reminded me that we can still have conversations around the table that lead to healing, love, respect, understanding—and that help us move away from hatred, both toward others and toward ourselves. May God grant us the patience to hope and the willingness to take the time to create such spaces. They are sorely needed. Amen.

[1] Joyce Ann Mercer. Jarvis, Cynthia A., and E. Elizabeth Johnson, eds. Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

[2] Hendricks, Obery M.. Christians Against Christianity: How Right-Wing Evangelicals Are Destroying Our Nation and Our Faith (pp. 49-50). Beacon Press. Kindle Edition.

[3] Ibid

[4] Greenbaum, Josh, dir. Will & Harper. 2024. Netflix.