There’s an empty chair there at your table. I don’t have a table because mine was destroyed by you. And when I try to sit at your table, you remove the chair and let me fall. You always sit at the head of the table, and you sit there alone. You’re the only one with a table, by the way. So everyone has to come to you when there’s a problem; we have to sit at your table, where you’re the head. Well, the rest of us, we sat in a circle because we didn’t have a table… or chairs. And we discussed amongst ourselves that we would build a table and sit together and be a family. But, here came you, and you didn’t want us to have a table because you like being the only one with a table. You found our blueprints and burned them, you found our supplies and confiscated them. At every turn, there you were, ready to steal, kill, and destroy just like your father.
You’re a lot like your dad, you know? Your disguise is impeccable! Your words are like honey laced with poison, laced with destruction. Yet, the honey is so sweet that I am on my deathbed when I realize what you’ve done to me. You find new ways to tempt me, to get me to fail, all for a seat at your table! But I’ve been down that road before; you pull the chair from under me every.single.time. I try to sit with you. And you know what? You tell me I’m the one with the problem, I’m the one with the attitude?! I’M THE ONE IN THE WRONG, I’M THE ONE WHO NEEDS TO FIX MYSELF, I’M THE ONE WHO IS DESPICABLE, I’M THE SELF-RIGHTEOUS ONE!
I almost started to hate myself. After all, you’re the one with the table, the chair, the comfort. And you like being there. And You’ll do anything to stay there. That’s why you thwart the building of my table. It’s all about you! You don’t think of anyone but yourself.
You have plenty of room at your table; it’s spacious, but it’s lonely. No one wants to sit with you. You thought we did, but we never wanted to. It’s just that you were the only one with the table and chairs. Where else were we supposed to sit? And in order to sit at your table, we had to do good by you. We had to be like you. But it’s sick and twisted because when we were like you, you rejected us anyway and banished us from your table.
And this god of your’s. He’s just.like.you. All the things you love, he loves (only you), and all the things he hates, you hate (everyone but you). You and your father must be one, huh? Y’all have some special connection or something? Your god doesn’t love me. He said that I don’t look right, I don’t talk well, I need to fix myself in order to be loved by him. He doesn’t want to help me. I tried to be loved by him; I denied myself to be like you. And you- I mean he- still rejected me.
And after all of this, I don’t want to do what you’ve done to me. Believe me, I thought about it for a while. I would come in with a hatchet and destroy that table and those chairs and knock you down to my level. And the funny thing is, you’d probably still find a way to say you’re better than me, “Well, at least I used to have a table and chairs!”
So you can have that table, and you can keep those chairs. And you can sit at the head of the table where everyone has to worship you in order to be tolerated. And they do. They worship you, but they don’t love you.