​I get a number of requests each year to consider applying for the role of "fill in the blank" church's next Senior Pastor. Obviously they've never read the scouting report on me. They have no idea what they might be getting into had I ever decided to set aside everything I've experienced these past 10 years and taken a shot with their congregation. Even though I have no desire to ever get back into what I know they are obviously looking for, I do make it a point to always read the description of the position. It's become sort of a pastime for me. The more I do this, the more I become convinced that there is some template out there, possibly even a biblical mandate that I've missed that is specifically for pastoral searches. They are always looking for someone who will "Preach the Word". I don't even know what that means. Well ok, I do know what that means, or at least what they think they mean by it. Sometimes it is worded as "biblically sound teaching". They tend to mean the same thing. It can often be code for "teach us what we believe the Bible is saying", in the way we are most comfortable with. In that context the one who preaches is not allowed the space to wonder, to ask questions, to explore other possibilities or even mention what opposing views might exist in "those other churches", and rarely settling for a vulnerable "I don't know". Personally, I have always had the good fortune of being allowed to more honestly teach what I believe to be my own understanding of the text. Of course this includes what other scholars and people much smarter than myself have come to discover and understand about certain texts. The hearer has always been free to disagree of course, and more than welcome to share the same space within that disagreement. The difference between then and now is that these questions and disagreements are invited into a conversation while the teaching becomes collaborative effort of discovery. Some have deemed it less than as well as a surrendering of pastoral "authority". I actually have come to see it as more than and a sharing of whatever authority I may have. Trust me, I've been doing this for 30 years, it takes more preparation and confidence to teach as dialogue than it does to teach as monologue. You have to be prepared to think on your feet and bravely wander in to the unknown of open conversation. In years past, someone in the congregation may have disagreed with some or all of my message, but when they file out in the "liars line" ... the one people get in after the service to tell you what a great message it was ... they rarely mention those disagreements. 
The table changes all of that. Being at the table gives everyone a chance to weigh in, a chance for everyone to listen, to empathize, to be uncomfortable. At our table we all are given space to journey within the text alongside others on the same journey. They are all teachers, and I get to be their pastor in ways i've never been able to experience or appreciate.

​Our community goes against nearly every principal and model of the past few decades of Evangelical church history. Padded chairs arranged in the traditional Sunday morning rows now need to be  moved around the table in time for dinner, even while a great deal of activity is still happening around the food tables in preparation for our opening call to worship.  Our start time is fluid...we begin when we are ready.  After all, participation in the setup is a given so everyone is already here. Whenever we are ready, we are ready.  Wine and whatever else we are drinking has been poured while the laughter has been part of the preparation just as much as the furniture rearranging has.  Our beginning is marked by the tone of the singing bowl. A prayer is offered and instructions for dinner given.  I would say that this marks the formal beginning of worship for us, and it used to. Church for us at this stage of our lives actually began as soon as we turned on the lights and began preparations.  
Traditional churches have their welcome or greeting times, often at the beginning or shortly after.  It's a time to politely smile, say hi, or some other greeting prescribed by the person up front.  It's a time for latecomers to sneak in without drawing attention to themselves ... to look like they've always been there. Often they miss it entirely.  I remember one Sunday morning in a previous ministry one of our members approached the stage after service to chat with our worship leader, who happens to be my wife.  She began the conversation with an innocent and sincere smile, almost excitedly ... like she had discovered some new church growth secret.  "In our last church we did this really cool thing every week that helped us get to know each other" she said with a kind of shy excitement.  "Really?" my wife inquired.  "What was that?"  "Well we had this greeting time where everyone got to take a minute and say hi to each other and to meet new people" she shared. My wife, playing it very cool said "that's a great idea ... and actually we do it here every week. You just are never here in time to be part of it". It was true, this particular family always showed up about 15 minutes late each week.  They weren't alone either.  It became rather comical and frustrating to note that you could always tell the new people because they were the ones actually in the room at greeting time.  I've never been a fan of this formulaic and programmed form of social engineering that is often the recognized form of "community building". It's a time, though well intentioned, that visitors and first timers absolutely dread.  For those like myself, cringing at the thought of small talk, it is exceedingly uncomfortable to see that everyone else knows everyone else.  You're hoping to be ignored while at the same time longing for someone to acknowledge your existence with more than an awkward obligatory smile.  
Our Common Table community has never needed a greeting time.  We have never had those awkward handshakes and smiles.  Our hands are too busy with preparing for the gathering.  There are no spectators in our group and what has been painfully, and yet, refreshingly clear is that people looking for a "church" are very often uncomfortable in our setting, while at the same time people who are looking for "community" are drawn in by what they experience.  As someone who was trained in the Church Growth theory of the 90's, my biggest transformation and personal growth has been moving completely away from the marketing model that was driven into me and, like a good student, consumed two thirds of my ministry years.  According to those benchmarks we were fairly successful and well accepted in circles of our peers... me as preacher, teacher, leader, and my wife as a gifted and charismatic worship leader.  Week after week we produced the worship experience for increasing numbers of enthusiastic members.  We created programs that attracted people to our building.  Other leaders and faith based organizations welcomed us enthusiastically because we were able to keep the machine moving forward. Not so much anymore.  These days we are considered by the establishment to have completely lost our marbles on our road to certain failure.  Both of us began to feel that something was missing in all of the production and programs.  Cynically I wondered if it hadn't all become just about "the show"... not just in our setting but in nearly every part of what we were witnessing.  The skill and aptitude of marketing had accomplished what was the logical outcome but we had blindly ignored.  Instead of creating community we created consumers.

​5:30 comes late on another Sunday afternoon in January.  It's dark and its damp as we trudge up the sidewalk along the front of another congregation's building.  Ann is already there.  One of the loveliest people I have ever had the pleasure of being in community with, she has gotten there just before us with a good share of tonights dinner.  We are carrying a wine bag and the keys to the building that our host congregation has entrusted to us.  The alarm box is mounted above the left hand corner of the double doors.  A quick 90 degree movement of the lock and the building is disarmed.  Once inside the foyer, a routine of light switches and unlocking doors ensues.  In just a moment the main room is lit as more of our community arrives to begin the preparation for the evening.  
Tables must be carried, shuffled or dragged  from the open closet in the foyer. Some get lined up along the wall of the sanctuary for the food that is here and still yet to arrive. The familiar long white eight foot tables are set up more in the center of the room, side by side, to accommodate our ever growing group.  On this particular evening it looks as if we will need to expand what had been our usual set up by another table. That is an encouraging thought to those of us who have been around awhile. It's not that numbers are all that important, but increasing numbers helps a bit with the anxiety that there is something wrong with us or that this sort of "church" is not a "real church".  We are not a "small group" even though we may be a bit small.  We are not a "home group" even though on a number of occasions we have met in homes.  We are not a "bible study" even though a study of scripture is a central piece of every gathering.  We are proudly and undeniably a church that, even though we now meet in a church building, happens to gather around a table.  A good many congregations in the past few decades have begun to recognize the value of smaller groups and added them to their programming.  A number of them in recent years have even begun to emphasize tables and meals and added them to their offerings.  We have just chosen to go straight to the point and create our worship opportunity as the meal gathered around the table in a setting that is, by design, smaller.  When we get crowded, we don't need a bigger building ... just a bigger table and a few more chairs.

“This is what Gods kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes. And there’s always room for more.                                                        (Rachel Held Evans)

Many people wonder about Common Table  ... what is it really?  Sometimes we ourselves are not even sure. Descriptions of it over the course of our history have led people to believe that it's a "home group" or a bible study.  It can't possibly be a church ... can it? Where are the rows of chairs?  There are no kids program, no student ministries, no women's or mens or singles groups.  There is no stage or platform. There is no one standing in front. There are no offerings.  There is no attendance taken. Most of the marks of what we in our culture have come to identify as a church are evident in our community.  That is entirely true.  However, we would argue that there is so much more that we do have more closely identifying us with the actual idea of a church community.
Rows for us have been replaced by a table central to our identity.  It is around that ever expanding table that we share meals, wine, water, bread, laughter, tears, prayer, liturgy, teaching, questions, conflict, and resolution. We conspire to do good. We share life, milestones, grief, and loss.  We identify with the Jesus of the gospels more than the contemporary version.  We don't listen to scripture, we wrestle with it.  This journey has been 10 years in the making ... filled with all of the above.  What follows in this blog is a sometimes rambling account of how I came to be the somewhat reluctant pastor of this beautiful mess of a gathering and a defense of our claim to absolutely be striving to be church in its purest form.  Welcome to our gathering.