Crumbs from your Table...

You speak of signs and wonders, but I need something other.
I would believe if I was able. But I'm waiting on the crumbs from your table.
-U2

I haven't spoke with Bono personally about the meaning of this song. But walk with me a moment. In your mind's theater place a table. It is one of those long tables, solid oak with a cherry finish. Gorgeous. There is an embroidered runner that spans the entire length of the table, jutting off of the ends to hang only a few inches. Upon this table is a feast for the ages. Delicacies abound and those seated are gorging themselves without restraint. Puddings, duck, roast beef, steamed vegetables at just the right tender-crispness; they're all there.
Those seated are well dressed, mostly. Some are a bit more casual. They each have their place, marked by a card with their name. They laugh and chat with one another as old friends. From your vantage point, away from the table, you can see that some of them steal from others' plates, even though the spread seems unending and there is more than enough for any of them. Upon closer listen, they aren't all laughing. Some are arguing. There is a bit of rage in their voices and they continue on, arguing the same points over and over with no conclusion in sight.
Now look around you. Here, seated on the floor, are more people. Each them with glassy eyes stare at the feasters. They don't seem like beggars and they don't look hungry in a physical sense. But their eyes say something else. The faces of the masses of observers are twisted in confusion and some in anger. Some have terror and others sadness. You can follow their gaze to the table and see that though there are many chairs around the table and each is taken, there is plenty of room for more seating. Still, the unpleasant aroma of pride rises from the table and its conversations. Still, the observers look on, unseen or unheard.
The conversations, the arguments are theological in nature. The arguments are over silly things like dress, musical styles, tolerance, sin, and money. Stories are shared of how God has blessed these who take of the meal, the gluttons who write books for others to buy and read and hopefully change to be like them and get the blessings, too. And someone says, "But look around you." The voice is loud and commanding. The eyes of the observers are still on the table. The heads of those who feast swing around to the voice's owner.
"Look around you. Look at those faces. Some hunger for food. Some hunger for health. Some hunger for acceptance. All hunger for love. What can we do about it?"
The feasters turn back to one another and begin again to argue on what the best way to take care of them would be.
All the while, the owner of the voice sits back down, beaten.
"There is only one way," he thinks. "I've got to leave my seat. I've got to get up and take my full plate to them." And so he does. But only a small number of the thousands of observers get to eat.
"It's hopeless alone. I can't do it without help."
And the song rises. Those around the table hear, "You speak of signs and wonders, but we need something other. We would believe if we were able, but we're waiting on the crumbs from your table."
While we put together teams for ministry inside our homes and churches, good things yes, we leave out the observers. These are the ones who see mostly selfishness when they see the church. They see that we will help, but only as much as the rest of the world. As we talk our religious talk about being born again, they are dying before birth. They don't understand how God can be so great and his followers so self centered. To be honest, I don't get it either. I am an enigma to myself. Much like Paul when he said, "I do what I don't want to do and what I want to do I don't do." Something like that.
All we need is a balance of grace and action in faith. We grow by serving. Is this right?