Convocation Address: "At the Table"

Sept. 7, 2023

Today, we've just honored a pastor who birthed a ministry that lives out the very best part of what a table offers. I've decided to frame my address in table terms—this university, a student and community experience, and some aspirations, with attention to parallel attributes of the table.

Now, it's possible, and reasonable, that the first minute of this address will get me uninvited from any future home-cooked dinners at which I could possibly be a guest. After explaining why that may be so, I'll offer an excuse, and further, I'll confess why that makes me a bad person. So, here are the qualifiers: I truly and deeply appreciate the time and care and love that goes into the preparation and serving of a meal. I greatly appreciate the taste of good food. But I am not a foodie. I am on the other side of that continuum. At this point in my life, my ideal dinner is leftovers, respectably fresh, able to be nuked in 1 minute, eaten in no more than 2-3 minutes while leaning on the kitchen counter, followed by 1 minute to rinse my dishes and load the dishwasher. Food is fuel. Get it done. Onto the to-do list. I confess, there is nothing in that dining equation to commend to you.

To be fair—to me—I came by this "eat fast" habit honestly. When we had three little kids at our dinner table to tend to, the only way to get a few bites of warm food was to eat as fast as possible. So I did. Now, too often, when it's just me and Janice at home, I still do. And that's just poor form in so many ways for which I now publicly apologize.

My lamentable habits neglect the beautiful elements of what happens at a dinner table. That's what I'd like to suggest to you, students—what a table does to us and for us; to speak about the value of a table and meals as related to us in Scripture. And how the verbs of the Lord's Supper—took, broke, blessed and gave—are elements of this Whitworth table, the one at which you have taken a seat, and my hopes for the nourishment you are offered, what you then consume, and how you opt to participate.

A kitchen table is far more than a piece of furniture. Twenty years ago when we moved into a new home, Janice and I had this discussion about whether to get a new one—something a bit nicer, one that matched the newer and different trim, maybe a different shape to fit a different nook. But that old table represented something—thousands of meals together; a place where we prayed, where our children first offered their own prayers of gratitude for God's provisions; where we hosted friends and family; where stories were told; where we laughed; where we counseled; where heavy conversations took place; where we had dessert and where we also shed tears. It was the place where many big decisions were made; it was where, after the kids were asleep for the night, we shared dreams about what our future might hold; and, it's where our souls were sometimes laid bare. That Self-Service Furniture table we scraped by to purchase was symbolic of God's love and grace. That table was far more than four legs and 20 square feet of wooden top.

Sharing a table is one of the most uniquely human things we do. Sharing meals with other people reminds us that there's more to food than fuel. So much good can happen at a table.

Holy Scripture is rife with examples of tables and meals. In fact the table is referred to over 100 times in the Bible, making it one of the most significant objects mentioned.

You know the biblical moments: Jesus feeds 5,000 people with only five loaves and two fish. He tells us that when someone who is hungry is fed, that when a stranger is invited in, those are things done for him as well. Jesus offers an invitation to a great banquet to which no one chose to RSVP and come, so he extended the invitation to the others who never seemed to be on anyone's A List.

In Revelation 3:20, Jesus knocks on the door, and says that if anyone hears His voice and opens the door, Jesus will enter and do what? He will come in and eat with that person. Or as Eugene Peterson paraphrased in The Message, Jesus said, "I'll come right in and sit down to supper with you."

The cross is flanked by two meals. Before his arrest and crucifixion, Jesus suppered with his disciples. Theologian N.T. Wright says that God has a way of showing up at tables. He wrote, "When Jesus himself wanted to explain to his disciples what his forthcoming death was all about, he didn't give them a theory, he gave them a meal." At this supper, we are told that Jesus took the bread, he broke the bread, he blessed the bread, and he gave the bread. As the body of Christ, we are taken as God's own and we are given to the world. We are broken in our sinfulness, and we are blessed by God's mercy. Taken and given, broken and blessed.

And then a few mornings later, when Jesus made himself known to his disciples, he did so over breakfast, cooking some fish for them on the shore.

All that to affirm, tables and meals, and what takes place in those moments, have a prominent place in Scripture. There's something in that for us to pay attention to.

And why? Because of what a table offers and represents. Let me suggest at least these things, helpful categories and some thoughts, informed, in part, by Barry Jones of Dallas Theological Seminary.

First, hospitality.

In Deuteronomy, the Lord reminds the Israelites that there is a spiritual discipline in entertaining strangers, inviting them into our homes and spaces. That they, the Israelites, were once aliens; they were wanderers whom God took in. We have an obligation to do the same. To turn strangers into guests; to invite someone in from the outside who could use that invitation. To provide others with a meal and rest, whether physical or metaphorical. Time for coffee. A walk. Simple conversation. Stretching those muscles and attitudes of help and hospitality.

For the Apostle Paul, hospitality was among the highest virtues. Hospitality is the act of opening what we have, whether much or little, and sharing it with someone else. Hospitality is inviting someone into our space, a practice that can be intimate and healing. Meals put people at ease.

At a table, in our seats, we face one another. We engage. Just like what happens for a potluck dinner, we bring something of ourselves to a conversation. And so, I wonder, what might that sort of hospitality look like among us. What might we learn from one another, facing each other, unhurried, with a spirit and posture of invitation and sharing?

Second, the Table is a place of fellowship and connection. It is a place to be in the presence of others. And perhaps that presence involves aspects of our brokenness.

You know this, students, but I'll say it anyhow: Many things in our culture work against the formation of real community. We're conditioned in so many ways to think and act only as individuals and not as members of any group beyond ourselves. Even our individual relationships can be thinly-formed because they are based on images rather than presence and proximity. This is the opposite of how we are supposed to live.

We are better when we are fully present in community. It is good for us to be involved in accountable friendships, in deep relationships with other people where we live.

We were built for relationships. We want and need to have other persons in our lives who are unconditionally and unselfishly with us, and us with them.

Perhaps one of the most important spiritual disciplines for us to recover just might be the discipline of table fellowship. In the tech-saturated culture in which we live, it is good to recover the art of a slow meal around a table with people we care about.

And so, I wonder, what might that table-type fellowship and connection look like in a classroom or discussion, especially a tough one, one in a residence hall lounge on subjects about which we have strong views? How might our connections with others be made deeper, getting proximate to others?

Third, the Table is a place of Joy and Fulfillment.

I think it's safe to argue that the table is a type of love language. My web browser informs me that the average person has about 10,000 taste buds. God didn't have to make us capable of experiencing such delight. He could have made us the sort of creatures for whom food is merely fuel. But our 10,000 taste buds are a display of grace, an expression of his love.

For some people, few things bring them more pleasure than working in the kitchen to prepare a meal for others they care about. Doing so is one of the primary ways to show people they are loved.

I trust, students, that you'll find joy and fulfillment in suppering with your professors on the classroom and laboratory meals prepared for you—on the receiving end of culinary love, academic style, in the form of knowledge and skills and expertise; experiencing supper as both a noun and a verb—having an intellectual and relational supper, while suppering in the company of others.

So here you are, students, at the Whitworth University table, at the start of a new academic year. You are stepping into an intellectual, residential, relational, spiritual feast that has long been in preparation for you—for many of you here for the first time to supper on all that is being offered to you, via an invitation, with hospitality, in our brokenness, and given with joy and with expectation in who you will become through this experience.

As I make use of those glorious verbs used to describe the Last Supper—take, break, bless and give—please consider this encouragement. Know that this Whitworth faculty and staff consider it a privilege to be with you, to take you into our classrooms, labs, practice spaces and offices. We acknowledge that we are all broken in certain ways, individually and collectively. At our best, in that brokenness, we convene around a table; we face one another and we lean into relationship. Consider the ways that you will be blessed by the gifts and talents of the people who teach and mentor you. They have spent their adult lives preparing themselves to do the work they do, for you, for your futures, in support of who you will become. And in being here, they give of themselves in wonderful ways, dispensing knowledge and counsel, offering a presence, granting you their time.

That all happens at this university table. Might ours be one that resembles the very best of what Scripture promises—rich in relationship, where all are invited to have a seat, seasoned with Shalom, and where our good and gracious God is present and suppering with us.

Amen.