On expanding the table.

I grew up in a large family, the youngest of six kids.

My mom is an excellent cook, among many other things, and our family had a regular rhythm of eating dinner together. It’s a simple ordinary practice that now feels countercultural and outdated. But this was before there was a TV in every room, a smartphone in every pocket, and social media on every mind.

We had a variety of school and sport schedules, church commitments, and evening activities, but most nights we gathered around the table for dinner. The dinner table has a way of bringing people together. Whether it’s the savory smells of one of my mom’s famous dishes, a conversation about work, faith, or the Blue Jays’ devastating game 7 loss, the table brings people together. It’s a place of belonging.

We all have a particular spot at the table—a spot that’s familiar and comfortable, that seems to fit your butt just right. Mine was next to dad. I barely have to close my eyes and I can picture my dad ever so slowly adding one shake of salt or pepper at a time to his meal, or lounging back in his chair with his legs crossed after dessert. We all have our spot.

But the table is also a place of inclusion. At our table, there was always room for one more. My dad made sure of this, custom building an additional leaf or two to add just in case the carpenter working on the house wanted to stay for dinner or good friends just “coincidentally” popped by for a visit around 6pm (which they always did). There was always room for one more. You’d be hard pressed to escape the premises of our house without a meal, even if you wanted to. That’s just how my parents live to this day.

The table brings all kinds of people together. Maybe this is why Jesus spent so much time eating with others around the table. Around the table, Jesus provided a place of belonging and inclusion for all—the religious, and the irreligious.

In Luke’s Gospel we get a clear summary of Jesus mission in his own words: “The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost” (Lk. 19:10). That’s the mission. We generally get that.

But Luke’s Gospel also gives us Jesus method: “The Son of Man came eating and drinking…” (Lk. 7:34).

Jesus was fixated on reaching those far from God, but the way he did it was by gathering around a table. Yes, he preached to the crowds and healed the multitude. But he always returned to the table, always eating and drinking to the point where people thought he had a problem. You don’t get called a glutton or drunkard by accident. It was a regular and intentional rhythm.

Tim Chester puts it this way: “His “excess” of food and “excess” of grace are linked. In the ministry of Jesus, meals were enacted grace, community, and mission.”

Here’s the point. Forgiveness, enemy love, hospitality, grace, friendship, and the radical welcome of those far from God may get proclaimed from a stage, but these ideals only ever get embodied and demonstrated around the table. For Jesus, the table wasn’t an offhand, pragmatic activity in between the important stuff. It was the important stuff, or at very least how the important stuff became reality for those who followed Jesus.

Somewhere along the way we lost sight of the table in our formation and mission. Maybe it’s time we rediscover it there at the center again.

This fall we’ve been gathering for dinner with those curious or committed to Garden Church. It’s been both ordinary, and beautiful. And while our group no longer fits around one table or even one living room, it’s a practice and value we’ll continue to live out together—gathering around the table with friends, strangers, neighbours, and everyone in between as we demonstrate the extravagant welcome of an extravagant God.

Maybe this Christmas your table could expand to include someone outside your nuclear family. Maybe your table could become a place where the good news of Jesus gets demonstrated to someone who needs it.