Annie and I were married eight months ago. One of the great joys of the day after our wedding was realizing we would never have to plan a wedding again.

Wedding planning is hard. One of the hardest parts was creating the guest list. We had decided to have a small wedding, which meant there were more people we wanted to invite than there were chairs available. So we had to make difficult decisions. Who should be there? Who had supported us, encouraged us, loved us, and walked with us through life?

Now imagine having to make a guest list while knowing exactly how every person on it would eventually let you down. That’s essentially the situation Jesus faced at the Last Supper.

In Luke 22, Jesus gathers with his disciples on the night before his crucifixion. He knows what is coming. He knows Peter will deny him. He knows Thomas will struggle to believe. He knows Judas will betray him. He knows that when he is arrested, his disciples will scatter.

And yet, he sets the table. That may be the most beautiful thing about this meal. Jesus doesn’t wait for his disciples to prove their loyalty. He doesn’t tell them to come back once their faith is stronger or their failures are behind them. Instead, he tells them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you.” Then he takes the bread and says, “This is my body given for you.” He takes the cup and says, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.”

For you.

Jesus knew exactly who was sitting around that table. He knew their failures before they happened, and their failures didn’t cancel his desire for them. That is grace. The table isn’t a reward for people who have behaved well. It’s an invitation for people who know they need Jesus. And that matters because we often struggle to believe the invitation applies to us.

We know our own stories. We know the things nobody else knows: the thoughts we’re ashamed of, the choices we regret, the promises we haven’t kept, the ways we’ve failed God and hurt others. We may wonder, “If people really knew me, would I still belong here?”

The answer of the Gospel is that Jesus already knows. Your failure doesn’t surprise him. Your doubt doesn’t surprise him. Your weakness doesn’t surprise him. Your past doesn’t surprise him. Your future won’t surprise him. And still, Jesus says, “Come.” But grace doesn’t stop with receiving it. People who receive grace are called to extend grace.

So there’s another question for us: Who have we decided doesn’t belong at our table?

Maybe it’s someone who betrayed us. Someone who hurt us. Someone whose beliefs are different from ours. Someone whose personality gets under our skin. Someone we simply don’t want to forgive.

Jesus doesn’t only make room for people we naturally love. He makes room for people we struggle to love. None of us comes to the table because we deserve to be there. We come because Jesus made room for us. And if Jesus made room for us, we can make room for others.

The next time you come to the table, remember this: I am here because Jesus made room for me. Who might Jesus be asking me to make room for?