In Slovenia, Easter has a very distinct aroma. Of smoke, ham, potica, and horseradish that hits your nose even before you sit down at the table. The table is full, plates are overflowing, the fridge is packed. And are people together?

If someone were to observe Easter only through our homes, they would hardly guess it’s one of the most important Christian holidays. They would sooner think it’s a spring slaughter.

We often read that we have “emptied” holidays, lost touch with their essence, and that only the outward appearance remains. But if we look closely at the Gospel, we notice something surprising: many things happen right at the table there too.

Jesus doesn’t only work in temples or on hills. He often sits with people. He eats with them. He breaks bread. He drinks wine. The Last Supper – one of the most essential moments of Christianity – doesn’t happen in silence or solitude, but in community, over a meal. Even after the resurrection, his disciples recognize him precisely at the moment he breaks bread.

As if food was always more than just food, a way for people to connect. Is it still like that? Do we still have the ability to see meaning in these simple things?

When celebrating Easter, we can encounter two realities. One is the idea, the other its realization. The first is the church – rituals, symbols, words; the second is the celebration – the table, family, food… But a void can quickly open up between the two.

Once, the table was a place of community. Not just the immediate family, but a wider circle of people. People visited each other, sat together, shared time, not just food. Today, however, we each live at our own pace, in our own space, often in our own world. Life used to be different. People needed each other. In extraordinary situations, such as floods or windstorms, people quickly realize their smallness and helplessness. That’s when it becomes clear that community is necessary for life. The community of family and the community of the village. Older people know and understand this, while younger generations have no idea about it. Is it because they are more self-sufficient and efficient?

And then the holiday comes.

The table is full. There’s more than enough food. But the community that should give meaning to this table is often gone. What remains are individuals who gather for a few hours – and then each returns to their daily routine. What they have in common is perhaps a social network where they share pictures of laden tables, or the IP addresses of people sitting at the table.

A table is more than just a piece of furniture. It’s also a barrier. Something that separates people – and at the same time keeps them together.

The French philosopher Fabrice Hadjadj once wrote that a table is more than just a piece of furniture. It’s also a barrier. Something that separates people – and at the same time keeps them together. When we sit at a table, we can’t just jump at each other’s throats. Something stops us. It forces us to stay. To look at each other. To talk. But it is being replaced by the tablet, which has the same root, but unfortunately not the same functionality.

Thus, the table is not just a place for eating. It is also a place where closeness can happen. But physical closeness is not enough. Our attention is also needed.

What, then, is the point of a laden table? If the table (with food) is no longer a bridge between people, but merely a habit, then it loses its role. All that remains is a ritual without content. Something we repeat because we are used to it. And perhaps this is where the greatest distance from what Easter should be lies. Not in how much we eat. But in the fact that we no longer truly know how to be together. If Jesus broke bread to connect people, then today the bread remains – but the connection is disappearing. Bread is no longer enough.

The question that Easter raises much more than any other:

Not what we have on the table, but how and why should we sit at it? If the table (with food) is no longer a bridge between people, but merely a habit, then it loses its role. All that remains is a ritual without content. Something we repeat out of duty.

If Jesus broke bread to connect people, then today the bread remains – but the connection is disappearing. Bread is no longer enough.

Perhaps the problem is not that we have lost something, but that we have merely approached an extreme form of freedom, self-sufficiency, and efficiency, where patient socializing, which requires patience, no longer has a place.

A person who no longer needs anyone.

Institutions provide security. Apps provide conversation. Algorithms, which know us better than our own spouses, provide entertainment. Everything that was once intertwined with relationships can now unfold without them.

And here an uncomfortable question arises.

If a person no longer needs another person – what does community even mean anymore?

Classical theology understands man as a being of relationship. As someone who cannot realize himself alone, but only in relationship – to another, to the community, to God. The Jewish philosopher Martin Buber expressed it simply:

“Man becomes I only through You.”

The breaking of bread was not merely an act, but a revelation of this truth: that life is not something we possess, but something we share.

Today we live as if this no longer holds true. As if relationship is a choice, not a condition. As if the other person is an addition – not a necessity.

In such a world, the table loses its meaning. It becomes a relic of a time when the other person was still needed. When you had to sit with them, listen to them, tolerate them – and in doing so, shape yourself. Today, that is no longer necessary.

And it is precisely here that perhaps the deepest distance from the Easter message lies. Not in the fact that we don’t understand the symbols. But in the fact that we no longer live the reality that these symbols presuppose. Therefore, the question is no longer just why we don’t have community. The question is whether we are still capable of living in such a way that community would be necessary.

Easter speaks of resurrection. Of a new beginning. But resurrection is not just a promise, but also a challenge. It means a return to relationship. And that is precisely the hardest thing today. Perhaps the problem is not that we have forgotten how to sit at the same table. Perhaps the problem is that we have realized that we no longer need to.