Jesus, The Glutton and Drunkard

Or, why "social distancing" was always doomed to failure

Photo credit: me

(A five-minute read.)

John Mark Comer, in his recent book, Practicing the Way, reminded me of something I had come across almost a decade ago but had forgotten. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is either going to a meal, at a meal, or coming from a meal.

Eating together, sitting at the table, was a really big deal to Jesus. It was, in many ways, his “mission strategy,” as Tim Chester puts it. Indeed:

Christ’s mission strategy was a long meal, stretching into the evening. He did evangelism and discipleship round a table. . . Jesus didn’t run projects, establish ministries, create programs, or put on events. He ate meals. . . . [For Jesus], doing lunch was doing theology.

In fact, Christ went to so many dinners that he became known as a “glutton and a drunkard.” He was, in some ways, as I’ve heard Jeff Vanderstelt say, a huge “partier.”

To be clear: I’m not sure Jesus was truly a “glutton and a drunkard.” But he seemingly kept a lot of company with people who were, and attended enough events that were characterized by a “good time” to the point that he apparently earned this reputation (or so that’s what he pointed out).

In so doing, Jesus was, I believe, showing the kingdom of God breaking in. He was pointing to the idea that, in God’s kingdom, fellowship, connection, and relationship are the point. Sitting at the table together has a way of breaking down barriers, removing hostilities, and binding hearts.

And it’s for this reason, among others, that I’ve sought to organize my ministry around this principle. As I wrote back in April for my denomination’s “flagship” journal, I’d rather sit at the table with people than have them “sit under” my preaching (just as an aside, that term, “to sit under” someone’s preaching, is a phrase I find many Reformed-minded evangelicals use, and it bothers me so much).

As I shared:

When we sit together, we communicate the relational heart of God. We show that God’s character is one of loving persuasion—expressed through joy-filled conversation and laughter—rather than one-sided coercion. We show we’re all equal at the foot of the cross, as we value each person at the table, inviting them into the orbit of God’s embracing love.

I’m not trying to act as though we have it all figured out or have arrived, but a few Saturday nights ago my family and I put on an “Open House” and invited our neighbors. The only agenda was to eat food, enjoy a few non-alcoholic beverages, and pursue fellowship and connection.

One of the things I was a little stressed about was whether people would be discouraged by how small of a gathering space we had and perhaps stay for only a short time. I quickly discovered my fears were misplaced as, at one point, 15-20 of us were just huddled around our kitchen island, probably all within a 100 square foot area, talking, laughing, having a good time.

One of our neighbors who attended subsequently invited us to her place a few days later for a “Friendsgiving” party. Again, at one point, there were probably 20-25 people all huddled around their kitchen island in an even smaller space, enjoying connection.

As I stood face-to-face with one neighbor, probably no more than two feet from him, I said to him, “We’ve come a long ways since COVID!”

It occurred to me later, as I was reflecting on the experience, that the idea of “social distancing” was always an idea that was doomed to fail. As much as prioritizing good health is a good and important strategy, human beings actually value—and need—connection even more.

Indeed, having good and healthy relational connections is perhaps the single most important contributor to good health (there have been myriad experiments conducted along these lines that have demonstrated that good, healthy, skin-to-skin connection is perhaps a more important factor in maintaining good health than whatever particular hygienic practices we follow—though doing both is good, of course).

What’s my point in all this?

Let’s be people who sit at the table with others. Let’s extend fellowship and offer connection and be people who learn others’ stories.

This is true for all people—as I believe any of us can simply commit to being “good neighbors”—but it’s especially relevant for those of us who are trying to embody the ways of Jesus and invite others into his kingdom of love.

As I challenged my church members to do this last Saturday, let’s become people who are known as “partiers” (following the example of Jesus who, as I pointed out above, earned the reputation of being a glutton and a drunkard). In fact, let’s just throw neighborhood parties all the time (I told my wife, after our “Open House” was done, that we should just do this every week—though even I know that’s not realistic).

In so doing, we are serving as “sign posts,” as N. T. Wright calls it, of God’s coming eternal kingdom.

Yes, there’s definitely a place to be more direct in our missional appeals. There’s a place to invite people to explore the story of Scripture with us and encounter our convictions about truth.

But never, I don’t believe, outside the context of fellowship, of sitting at the table together—ever remembering that we were ultimately created for community and connection (as I’ve repeated a number of times recently: we were created by community [that is, the triune God] and for community).

So let’s get on with the God’s kingdom work, sitting at the table with people—beginning, perhaps, with Thanksgiving in two days (for those of us who are American).

Postscript: I’m infinitely aware that throwing “parties” and sitting at the table with others is very much an experience of privilege, especially in light of the life-and-death challenges that many, many people around the world are going through.

However, I don’t think practicing radical hospitality—of doing all we can to connect with and love those who are closest to us—and attending to the needs of our “neighbors” across the world are mutually exclusive. We can take seriously the task of alleviating suffering in other places around the world while still loving our literal neighbors well. In fact, I might even argue that loving our neighbors around the world well starts with loving our literal neighbors well—as the latter can ripple out to the former.

After all, there was plenty of suffering going on in the world when Jesus was carrying out his ministry, yet he focused mostly on his local context (healing many people, of course), choosing to organize much of what he did around the table and at parties.

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Shawn is a pastor in Portland, Maine, whose life, ministry, and writing focus on incarnational expressions of faith. The author of four books and a columnist for Adventist Review, he is also a DPhil (PhD) candidate at the University of Oxford, focusing on nineteenth-century American Christianity. You can follow him on Instagram, and listen to his podcast Mission Lab.