This Feast

Notes from Tom

This Feast began with a simple thought I had one Thanksgiving many years ago:
Isn’t the table God sets for us in Holy Communion the truest feast of all? Not a feast for the body — but for our soul.
This song reflects the reverence and joy of that moment. It draws from Isaiah 25:6–9, where the Lord prepares “a feast of rich food for all people,” and from the Words of Institution we hear before recieving Holy Communion: “given for you… shed for you… for the forgiveness of sins.”
At this feast, Christ is the Host. Christ is the Meal. And Christ is the one who invites us — not because we’ve earned it, but because we need it.
The Lord’s Supper is not symbolic. It’s not abstract. It is the true body and blood of Jesus, given for real sinners. We may not fully grasp how, but we don’t need to. This is God’s work, not ours.
Luther beautifully describes the mystery of the Eucharist: we receive Christ’s true body and blood in, with, and under the bread and wine. You’ll hear those comforting words echoed in the song.
Each time we come to this table, He fills us again—with forgiveness, with peace, and with communion: both with our fellow believers and with Christ Himself.

A note on the music

This song is built around an intimate, virtuoso guitar line — a kind of quiet virtuosity that never shows off, but slowly draws you in. I tested quite a few styles of music for this one while searching for the right mood. I wanted something that was reverent and that reflected the awesomeness of the what happens in the Lord’s Supper. But as I explored, most of the songs I was coming up with sounded too “religious” (whatever that means, that’s the only way I can describe it.)

Some felt too ethereal. Others too ceremonial. But this one finally landed just right for me. It feels grounded, reverent, and still deeply personal. In fact, I like it because it reminds me of that first Holy Communion — not in a grand cathedral, but in an upper room. A quiet Passover meal transformed into the most sacred feast in history. The disciples were likely tired. Their feet had just been washed by the very hands that would break the bread. Their robes were dusty. Judas hadn’t left yet. And Jesus — knowing all that was to come — still gave Himself fully. Intimately. Not with shouts or grand theater, but with a simple “take and eat, take and drink.” “This is my body and blood.”
That’s the feeling I wanted in this track: not pomp and pageantry, but presence. Not performance, but peace. A simple table. A Savior who serves. A song that lets you sit in the moment and receive what He alone can give.