The Table of Identity

Walt Bettinger, the longtime CEO of Charles Schwab, developed an interesting way of interviewing people for high-level positions. He called it the “wrong order test.”

Near the end of the interview process, he would invite a candidate to breakfast. But before they arrived, he would get there early and ask the restaurant staff to intentionally get the person's order wrong—not just once, but multiple times.

Why? Because a résumé could tell him what someone had accomplished, but it couldn't necessarily tell him who they were.

He wanted to see how they responded when something didn't go their way. Would they become angry? Would they belittle the server? Would they remain patient and kind?

The table became a place of revelation. I think that's true for all of us.

There's something about a table that reveals what's really happening in a family, a friendship, or a relationship.

Proverbs 17:1 says: “Better a dry crust with peace and quiet than a house full of feasting, with strife.”

In other words, you can have the best food in the world and still have a terrible table.

In Hebrew culture, you weren't necessarily rich because of what was being served. You were rich if there was peace around the table. And you weren't necessarily poor because all you had was a dry piece of bread. You were poor if your table was filled with strife.

Atmosphere is more important than food.

That's why I think the table can be one of the greatest thermometers of a family.

It tells us something about the atmosphere.

But here's the good news: the table isn't only a thermometer.

It can also become a thermostat.

A thermometer tells you the temperature. A thermostat helps change it.

And maybe one of the quickest ways to begin changing the culture of our homes and relationships is to change what happens around our tables.

Every Table Tells a Story

Tables aren't silent.

Every table is telling a story about the people sitting around it.

And when I talk about a “family table,” I want you to think broadly. Family may be your spouse and children. It may be your roommates. If you're a college student living far from home, it may be the people you're studying with, your teammates, your church community, or the people in your residence hall.

And the table doesn't have to be the dining room table in your house. It might be a coffee shop, a restaurant, a commons area, or another consistent place where people connect.

But increasingly, that kind of connection is becoming difficult to find.

We're eating more meals on the go. We're spending less time sitting together. And even when we do sit down, there's often a television playing in the background or a phone sitting within reach.

The family table is shrinking. And I think we're losing more than a place to eat. We're losing one of the places where identity is formed.

The table is where stories are told, values are transferred, questions are asked, laughter happens, memories are created, and people learn where they belong.

I remember growing up with a lot of family nearby. On weekends and holidays, we'd have twenty, thirty, sometimes forty people eating together.

When I was young, I sat at the kids' table with my cousins, brothers, and sisters. Most of our conversations involved making fun of each other and trying to eat fast enough to get seconds.

But eventually, you got older. You didn't quite fit at the kids' table anymore, and somehow, by invitation, you migrated to the adult table.

I remember sitting there and listening to stories about my uncle who was a Vietnam veteran. I heard stories about my family's childhood. I listened to the way they interacted with each other and with guests. I was learning without realizing I was learning.

A world was being shaped around that table. That's what tables do.

The table isn't just a place where we eat. It's a place where identity is shaped.

Wisdom Sets the Table

So how do we recover this?

Proverbs 9 gives us a picture of wisdom preparing a meal: “Wisdom has built her house; she has set up its seven pillars. She has prepared her meat and mixed her wine; she has also set her table.”

I love that picture because wisdom leaves nothing to chance.

She builds.

She prepares.

She sets the table.

She sends the invitation.

If we want our tables to become places where meaningful relationships are formed, we have to be intentional about creating them.

For some of us, that may begin with one meal.

One consistent meal every week dedicated to being together.

Put it on the calendar. Protect it. Decide that this is going to matter.

And when you gather, move from the tablet to the table. Put the phones away. Not face down on the table. Not sitting next to your plate where every notification can steal your attention. Put them somewhere else.

Then don't rush.

For some of us, this may feel uncomfortable at first. We've become so accustomed to eating quickly that after twelve or fifteen minutes, we may genuinely wonder, What do we do now?

Stay. Talk. Enjoy each other's company. And learn how to ask better questions. Not simply, “How was your day?” “Fine.” “What did you do?” “Nothing.”

Go beneath the surface.

Ask exploratory questions. Share stories. Laugh together.

You don't need every meal to become a Bible study or a deeply emotional conversation.

Sometimes the question can be completely ridiculous. The goal is to create an environment where people talk and, more importantly, where people know they're being heard.

Implement, Invite, Initiate, Invest

As we walk through this series, I want us to think about our tables in four ways: implement, invite, initiate, and invest.

First, implement. Create consistent rhythms. If the table is going to become a priority, something else may have to move. Usually, we don't create meaningful rhythms by simply adding another thing to an already overcrowded schedule. Sometimes we have to subtract something.

Then invite. Don't spend your life waiting for someone else to invite you to their table. Extend the invitation yourself.

Then initiate. When people sit around your table, help create the conversation. Ask questions and listen.

The table isn't your platform to tell everybody everything you know.

Ask. Listen. Learn.

Finally, invest.

That may mean investing in some practical resources, but more importantly, it means investing in relationships.

Ask yourself: Who needs to be sitting at my table? Be intentional about it.

Don't Let the Scoreboard Name You

Gregg Popovich became one of the most successful coaches in NBA history during his years with the San Antonio Spurs.

But one of his secret weapons wasn't a basketball strategy. It was a meal.

After particularly difficult losses, Popovich would sometimes gather his team around tables. He understood that after a loss, the temptation was for his players to allow the scoreboard to determine their identity.

But they didn't suddenly need to become better basketball players. They were already great basketball players.

They needed to remember who they were.

So they ate together, talked, and reconnected. They remembered the person sitting across the table from them.

The sting of the scoreboard began to lose some of its power because they were reminded that they were more than the score.

I wonder how many of us need the same reminder.

There are a lot of scoreboards in life.

Your bank account can become a scoreboard.

Your career can become a scoreboard.

Your grades can become a scoreboard.

Your relationship status can become a scoreboard.

Your successes and failures can become scoreboards.

And if we're not careful, we'll allow those things to tell us who we are.

But one of the final things Jesus did with His disciples before going to the cross was gather them around a table.

He took bread and told them: This is My body, broken for you.

He took the cup: This is My blood, shed for you.

Jesus served them a meal that reminded them whose they were. And He does the same for us. Whatever is currently on the scoreboard of your life, it doesn't get the final word about your identity. Jesus does.

At His table, I'm reminded that I belong to Him.

I'm reminded that His body was broken for me and His blood was shed for me.

I'm reminded that before I'm defined by my success, failure, job, accomplishments, mistakes, or circumstances, I am a son or daughter of God.

That's the power of the table.

It's a place where stories are told. It's a place where relationships are strengthened. It's a place where values are transferred. It's a place where identity is formed.

So set the table.

Put down the phone.

Slow down.

Ask questions.

Listen.

Tell stories.

Invite someone in.

And most importantly, keep returning to the table Jesus has prepared for you.

Because when the scoreboards of life try to tell you who you are, the table reminds you whose you are.