Extending the Table—Healthy Growth in the Family of God

By Dr. Leroy Goertzen, Director, Doctor of Ministry Program, Associate Professor of Pastoral Theology

Everything I really needed to know about living in a growing community I learned at my grandfather’s dinner table. Pardon the spin on Robert Fulghum’s sentimental and humorous book, All I Really Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten, but it is true that some of life’s most remarkable lessons are conveyed through what appear to be the most modest of means.

Watching my grandfather extend the table and seeing my grandmother happily add extra plates for new members born or married into the family year after year left an indelible picture in my mind of what God intends for His family, the church. Families grow, and it brings great joy to Him and to us.

During my childhood in a small rural community on the plains of Nebraska, I had the opportunity to see my mom and dad’s sides of the family expand. My dad had six brothers and sisters and five half brothers. My mom had eight siblings, giving me 19 first cousins and nearly 60 second-cousins, and a horde of “in-laws.”

Unfailingly, while my Grandfather was alive, we would have dinner together right after church on Christmas and Easter. Since most of the family lived within our little Mennonite community and attended the same church, these holiday gatherings filled the ample house to overflowing.

To accommodate all of us, my grandfather used a basement room that ran the entire length of the house. Appearing a bit out of place at one end of this large room, was a round oak table—always covered properly with a hand-crocheted table cloth and four place settings.

I can still picture my grandfather and grandmother extending it, almost miraculously, as leaf after leaf was taken out of the closet and added to the table. As a young boy helping to carry those leaves, it seemed to me that the table grew endlessly as additional members found a place there. But although it could seat nearly 20 people when extended to its limit, the day came when we began eating in shifts—the men and boys first, and then the women and girls.

Eventually, just prior to my grandfather’s passing, our Christmas gathering was held at the community center. We just couldn’t fit into the house. It was a bitter-sweet occasion. Losing the familiar environment of that house with all of its peculiar smells and memories was glum. But seeing the growth of the family brought enough excitement to make up for the loss.

Growth in the family of God—the church—is also exciting and invigorating, but it doesn’t come easily. While it should be natural and anticipated, how many tables, fully extended and appointed, do we see? All around us and across America, churches that were once growing have plateaued or are in decline. According to David Olson, director of the American Church Research Project, over 3,700 churches are closing their doors for good each year.[1] It is estimated that 85% of the 400,000 churches in America have either stopped growing or are declining.[2] For them, table leaves are being removed and stored in closets, place-settings abandoned in the china cabinet, and extra chairs sold off at garage sales, pennies on the dollar.

At my grandfather’s table, I learned that although family growth was very good, it was not without problems and complications. Including new people often stretched our resolve to the core, demanding a re-ordering of much of what was considered dear and precious. My experience suggests that whether in families or in the community of faith, extending the table to include others requires an intentional endeavor, involving four key principles.

Let’s add another leaf to the table

Healthy families grow! Healthy churches grow! Healthy schools grow! Growth is built into the laws of nature. Or, at least, so it would seem. There are, of course, naturally-occurring reasons why growth can’t happen. But those are the exceptions, not the norm. The troubling reality is, however, that the DNA for some organizations includes genetically-altered information: “Us Four and No More.” Can’t you envision my grandfather’s table set beautifully for four, looking unbefitting in the spacious basement room designed for so many more?

The “us four and no more” mentality has been widely embraced. The church community I grew up in, as hospitable as it could be, was not well known for being inclusive. Table fellowship was more restrictive than one might imagine. It should be noted that hospitality and welcoming new people into the inner sanctum of our families are not the same, in the same way that being friendly is not the same as being a friend. Failing to extend the table can occur even in the friendliest, most hospitable setting.

Churches, like families, can adopt an “us four and no more” approach to ministry. There are many reasons why this happens. We’re more comfortable with people we know. We believe, falsely, that we can build deeper, more satisfying relationships by staying within the known circle of individuals. Some believe it is easier to maintain a corporate memory—a shared history—with those who have lived it. These reasons point to what church analysts have long referred to as “koinonitis,” the church focusing on self-serving fellowship.[3]

It is possible for a church to expend most of its energy appointing a table for four.  This is particularly true when those who have been around the longest pull up to the table to reminisce about the “good old days.”[4] Nostalgia, the mental and emotional regurgitation among those fortunate enough to have shared the church’s supposed prime time, hungers for the way things once were. Unfortunately for them, as Will Rogers once quipped, “Things ain’t what they used to be and probably never was.” But nostalgia “weakens our commitment to the present. This fact is a huge threat to declining congregations. Nostalgia leaves little energy for today.”[5] We know that families only feign interest in growth when the necessary accommodations are noticeably missing. If growth is natural, we ought to prepare for it. If we intend to extend the table to include more than our little group, why is it set for just four?

My grandfather planned for his family to grow. He intended that there would be room at the table for all. There was always another chair, another plate, an extra fork. My grandfather didn’t cook for four—it was hardly worth dirtying the pans. He prepared food for a crowd. I was convinced that he believed that a family grew into the number of servings he had prepared.

Sitting at the table doesn’t feel like it used to

When new members are added to the family, our place at the table is likely to change. I remember well the day I had to give up my “chair” to my younger brother. I was scared! There was a peculiar sense of entitlement that came with sitting next to my father at our farm table, surrounded by a bunch of strapping, hard-working siblings. Eating family style meant everyone was responsible to fill their own plate. Darwin’s theory of the survival of the fittest was in play, and as a young boy, I was not the fittest. Unprotected, my survival was questionable! It seemed that meal time prayers barely ended in “Amen” when forks began stabbing and hands started grabbing. I was sure I would never see another drumstick on my plate!

I learned quickly that a growing family meant change—and some of it felt harsh. But I, as did all my siblings, somehow managed to survive and thrive.

Growth-related change tends to be hard for organizations as well. Some churches struggle because they can’t envision it. They say they want to grow, but the commitment is to the idea of growth, not to the unpalatable changes typically required to initiate and nurture it. Some common scenarios include:

“We can’t have two worship services! I won’t know everyone!”

“Do we really have to sing choruses? I can’t even hear myself sing. Why can’t we just sing the good-old hymns of the faith—like they did in Jesus’ day?”

“What? I wasn’t selected for the new worship team? I’ve been singing in the choir for 25 years!”

Extending the table always means a new seating arrangement. This can lead, however, to considerable angst amongst long-term members of a church. Some begin to feel they are losing control of “their” church because enough newcomers have become involved to threaten their power base and ways of doing things. “An ‘us-them’ and ‘we-they’ mentality develops between the newcomers and old-timers.”[6] Apparently, someone is no longer getting to sit next to dad!

But healthy churches, like healthy families, realize that not working through issues and changing the seating chart may result in an empty table. Sadly, the people who’ve been hanging around the table of four often like things just the way they are, and they work, even inadvertently, to keep them that way. There is a better approach.

In many ways a church is like a family. There is a system in place with spoken and unspoken rules on how everyone is to relate and behave… In a healthy church…the structure processes and adapts to the feedback from the members. Change is highly valued, and stability comes from the positive values gained rather than from negative values feared. Healthy systems are inclusive rather than exclusive, accepting newcomers and assimilating them into the system.[7]

Extending the table requires a willingness to make room for others, even if it means being displaced from a position of tenure and privilege. If new members are ready and available to fill those chairs, they should be welcomed to bring who and what they are to the table.

When the table gets extended, another change we can expect is to sit with people who aren’t like us. It is one thing to invite new people to take a place at the cherished family table. It is quite another to choose to sit and eat with them.  Common responses may include:

“I don’t know those people. Who invited them?”

“They’re not from around here are they?”

When sitting next to new people at the dinner table, we may realize that they think differently than we do. This can be trying, since newcomers don’t necessarily understand or respect our traditions, our inside jokes, and how we go about preserving entrenched social arrangements—spoken and unspoken. Striking up conversations with new people tests our ability to invite them into our lives.

In our family, in-laws were immediately welcomed with open arms. They enjoyed a moment of celebrity status.  However, everyone within the family circle knew that a “sizing up” was going on. How would the new person fit in? With whom should they sit at the table? I remember this well when I introduced my fiancé to the family at our first Christmas gathering.

“Why, how could a city girl from California fit in? What is he thinking?”  “Well, at least she has a Mennonite name!” “Do you think she knows how to make verenika and zwieback?”

When a church is intent on extending the table, it seems obvious that new people would want places to sit where they hope to build relationships. Likewise, they bring their own experiences, traditions, stories and language. Conversations at the table will never be the same. Could it be that we may have to engage in uncomfortable discussions that take us beyond our conversational comfort zones? Is it possible that our parochial ideas won’t find the ready, listening ear and agreeing nod we need to reinforce our viewpoints? The changes that new people bring can threaten our ideas and practices. Alas, new people are typically different people, that is, different from us and different like us. It is the church membership’s job to look beyond themselves and their own needs and to engage and integrate newcomers into the family.

Unlike most institutions, the church cannot confine its attention to certain groups of people. Rather it endeavors to respond sensitively to all comers, caring for them from the cradle to the grave. At the same it must also give high priority to reaching beyond its ranks to meet people in every walk of life, to demonstrate the love of Christ in practical ways and invite them to join their ranks in following Christ the Lord and Savior.[8]

For many, the change that growth brings is received as an opportunity for further growth; extending the table leads to further extensions. But for others, sitting at the table just doesn’t feel or “taste” the way it used to.

Crazy things happen around the table

Change is messy. Think of a counter and sink full of dishes after a holiday dinner. There are those who would have us believe that change can be laid out so carefully and thoughtfully that it is virtually imperceptible—the dirty dishes vanish magically from the table into the dishwasher and back into the cupboards spic-and-span. Don’t we wish!  Realistically, change is rarely inconspicuous; it can rarely be concealed.  It has the inscrutable ability to trifle with the very aspects we hold sacred and dear.

Every family has its cherished traditions. For holidays, my grandfather always served the same meal—a menu that reflected his German heritage and originated in the old country, but had been adapted to accommodate food selections in America, including: ring baloney, cold ham, baked beans, and fried potatoes. As the table was extended to people who came from other traditions, new menu items suddenly appeared—which delighted some and appalled others.

“What’s wrong with the menu we’ve always served?” “How can you not like our Christmas dinner; we’ve been serving it for five generations? We all like it!” “You can’t call this a family Christmas if you don’t serve baked beans and fried potatoes. What next? Jello!?”

A scandal just as great as changing the menu often occurred when new-comers tried to fit in by simply going with the plan. Inevitably, they botched the recipe because they didn’t know how to make baked beans like they did in the old country. Worse yet, some didn’t even ask for the recipe. Unimaginably, some had the audacity to intentionally alter the recipe!  One new family member even brought baked beans from a can.  We asked ourselves, “What were they thinking??”

When we extend the table, new people will inevitably want to be included in our family’s sacred practices. Churches, like families, can be overly protective of traditions and positions. As a result, they can be slow to incorporate new people into vital areas of ministry. This is warranted, of course, when there has not been ample time to test a newcomer’s character or his/her willingness to embrace the church’s vision and ministry philosophy. But things are usually messier than this. Some fear that new people will displace those who have come to “own” particular ministry responsibilities. Others are concerned that their cherished methods will be discontinued. These fears often undermine the prospect of incorporating people into the church’s ministry.

Seventy-five percent of those who become active in a church do so within six to twelve months of first attending. In most cases it is a mistake to encourage newcomers to sit on the sidelines for a year or two before getting involved in a ministry. After sitting for that length of time, quite a few new people never transition into Christian service. Churches hoping to assimilate new people for the long haul find it wiser to recruit and involve newcomers in a ministry within three to six months of their first visit.[9]

And yet, we are astonished when they don’t stay or seem reluctant to get involved when we protect our traditions and positions. We are communicating that people are welcome to eat with us and join in our conversations, but aren’t permitted to partner with us in sacred traditions. This insinuates not so subtly that we’re unsure they are really one of us, or that they are concerned with our issues, and whether they will continue in the ways we’ve established. These are table manners few newcomers are willing to endure.

When people are invited to the table, they need to be viewed as more than consumers who need to be fed or whose contribution is leaving behind a stack of dirty dishes. Each one has gifts that are a part of their unique design,[10] that when allowed expression, work to generate a fusion of the tastes and sensibilities of the whole group—a group that is ever growing and changing! Paul’s use of the body metaphor, with its manifold gifts of the Spirit given for mutual edification and witness to the world, describes and advocates such a view.[11]

Believers are to be mobilized, activated and released for ministry. Statistics show that churches with more than 55% of their people serving in identifiable ministry roles are usually growing; if 54% or less, they are plateaued or in decline.[12] For churches, this means inviting participation and investing in newcomers’ ministry development by helping them understand and buy into the church’s vision and philosophy of ministry, and enabling them to discover and employ their spiritual gifts and passions in sacrificial service to each other and to lost people.[13]

Ultimately, extending the table is about inviting and engaging people in God’s mission, not preserving our traditions or positions. The conditions and circumstances in which this occurs are risky and ever-changing, guaranteeing a messy table and a sink full of dirty dishes.

The extended table is a place to say “grace”

In the Jewish community of the first century, table fellowship was a cultural sensibility that was practiced judiciously and rigorously. In plain words, you didn’t eat with just anyone! Who you broke bread with—who you sat down at the table with—pretty much summed up who your friends were and where you fit on the social ladder. And since humanity has always been prone to assess values and worth on the basis of social status, it can become relatively easy to marginalize entire groups living among us. And so it was in Jesus’ day as the religious leadership had managed, in their pursuit and practice of (self) righteousness, to separate themselves from the common and ordinary members of the Jewish community. Many of these were labeled as “sinners”—individuals with whom a common meal would result in impurity. Yet it was among these very individuals that Jesus lived and ministered.

After this, Jesus went out and saw a tax collector by the name of Levi sitting at his tax booth. “Follow me,” Jesus said to him, and Levi got up, left everything and followed him. Then Levi held a great banquet for Jesus at his house, and a large crowd of tax collectors and others were eating with them. But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law who belonged to their sect complained to his disciples, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and ‘sinners’?” Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”

(Luke 5:27-32)

The situation could hardly have been messier for Jesus than playing honored guest at a banquet designed to fellowship with “tax collectors and others.” The Pharisees’ question highlighted what everyone already knew: Jesus was choosing to violate religious and social protocol.  “In his message and table praxis, eating with anyone who would eat with him challenged the central role played by table fellowship in reinforcing boundaries and statuses widely believed to be sanctioned by God.”[14]

Jesus acted counter-culturally. In doing so, He transformed the role of the table from one of preserving ethnic and religious purity to one of announcing grace and acceptance … from enforcing exclusiveness to offering inclusiveness … from marginalizing “sinners” to welcoming them to repentance. Jesus’ action had no real precedent, and it was done at the expense of severe criticism and potential alienation and censorship. Table-fellowship, then, serves as a cultural lens through which to interpret and understand Jesus’ mission.[15] On this, and other occasions, it was during table-fellowship that Jesus announced His salvation. It was at Zacchaeus’ table that Jesus spoke grace into his world, “Today salvation has come to this house, because this man, too, is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save what was lost.” (Luke 19:9-10).

In similar fashion, the church must catch the vision of Jesus’ inclusive, welcoming presence among “sinners,” where God’s transforming grace can be shared in word and deed. “Hospitality entails not only a seat in the church, but a place at the table. The missional church is one that welcomes all comers, regardless of their lifestyle and beliefs, but always with a view to their radical transformation.”[16]

When families are healthy, they grow.  When they grow, dynamics change, and often get messy. When things get messy, the need and opportunity for grace is made evident, and I believe the best response is to extend the table. Yet there are always those who get stuck along the way and suggest that we stop extending the table, go back to the way things used to be, and create rules to make sure no one messes with the menu. Some church members consider starting their own family tradition—to keep things pure—the way they used to be. I contend that these alternatives are often bereft of grace, incapable of being lived out redemptively after the example of Jesus.

Looking back to my grandfather’s table, I realize the growth that instigated change—mired in messiness—absolutely required grace.  And where there was grace, there was room at the table for all, and all could join in with joy.

A table reaching into eternity

Occasionally, I revisit my childhood memories and return to the place where it all began, sitting with my uncles, aunts, and cousins around my grandfather’s oak table. Amid the lively conversation, snorts of laughter, wild gesturing, and pleas to pass the baked beans, I can still see a picture on the wall behind the place where my grandfather would sit, at the end of the table. It portrays a magnificent dining hall supporting an enormous oak table, extending as far as the eye can see, appearing as though it stretches into eternity. It is meticulously but garishly appointed with gold and silver tableware and other lavish adornment. The table appears to groan under the weight of foodstuffs, and communicates the imminence of a sumptuous banquet put on by someone of substantial means.

The table is decked with fruits, breads, and meats of all kinds, and cups overflowing with wine. To see it is to want to be there! But that is the apparent glitch of the painting: there is no one in attendance.  It appears that the picture seeks to paint a thousand words regarding the much-anticipated marriage supper of the Lamb. But in actuality, it seems that the few words inscribed on the gold placard at the bottom of the print truly convey its meaning. The inscription, attributed to Jesus, says, “Come, for the banquet is ready.”

I have always envisioned the Father’s joy in preparing for those who would attend—counting the names of those who had accepted His invitation of grace, putting out a place-setting for each one, determining that the ones invited and compelled to come would equal the meal prepared.  I imagine that adjacent to the grand dining hall of heaven there is an enormous closet, filled with leaves ready to be added as the Father and His Son extend the table in anticipated readiness for their imminent family gathering, a readiness that includes a gracious appeal and invitation to all. May we as the church reflect this example, offering others a generous welcome in light of that which is extended to us.