Saving the World Over Dinner
A Simple, Revolutionary Act of Connection
Saving the World Over Dinner
Recently, my friend
joined me live to chat about staying calm in uncertain times, the power of connection, and sharing peace with everyone you meet. In case you missed it you can watch the replay here (30 mins).I confessed during our chat that I’ve felt a sense of powerlessness recently. It often grips me after I’ve scrolled through the headlines or watched the news.
Of course it would. The world is a bizarre place, and nearly everyone I know is feeling the human family’s dysfunction in full force. They all have the same look in their eyes, like they’ve been handed a bucket and told to empty the ocean with it or risk drowning in the coming tide.
It’s an impossible task. What can any one person do to ease the collective suffering of the world? If you’re looking “out there” at the vast geo-political arena of planet earth, the honest answer is not much on the macro-level.
But not much isn’t the same as nothing at all.
There is something you can do. Something I believe we must do if we want to create a more beautiful world. If it’s revolution you want, the true kind that transforms society, it almost never starts in the streets.
It starts around the table.
A Table for 10
Many years ago, when we lived in Nashville, my wife and I bought a dining table that could fit ten people around it.
At the time, we were part of a local church, and that church needed couples to lead small study groups. We volunteered and were matched up with four young married couples, most of whom were strangers to us and each other.
At the leader orientation, the pastor responsible for supervising us handed us a book, smiled and said, “When you get the group together we want you to teach this.”
“This” was a 100-ish page long doctrinal statement you might find on the required reading list at a seminary. We took the book, flipped through it while he talked, smiled, and then went home.
On the first night of our small group, the ten of us gathered in our living room. I held up the book we’d been given.
“We’ve been asked to go through this together,” I said. “But we’re not gonna do that. We have something else in mind.”
My wife and I then laid out our plan. Every month, instead of going through a book, we would have dinner. There was no agenda except “doing life together”. We would take care of the main dish and everyone else would bring something to share.
Everyone was in, if for no other reason than it sounded way better than the alternative.
In hindsight, that was the moment the revolution began. It would turn out to be one of the most profound choices, and greatest lessons, of our life.
“Doing Life” Together
A funny thing happens when you gather around food with others. They begin to relax, open up, and allow themselves to be seen and known. And when they feel seen and known, it makes them curious to see and know others more deeply, too.
As we shared our meals over the course of that first year, we talked about marriage, work, raising kids, and how difficult it is to just be a human. We also talked about Ultimate Questions of who we are and why we’re here. It all flowed organically, nothing was forced. They were some of the richest, most nourishing and vulnerable conversations we’d had in a long time.
At the end of that year, our group leader at the church invited me to lunch. While we ate he slid a piece of paper across the table to me.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Your evaluation results.” He proceeded to tell me that he had confidentially reached out to everyone in our group to grade us on how we were doing as leaders.
“Oh,” I said, “I didn’t know you do that.”
“It’s about accountability, you know. And I have to ask, what are you and your wife doing?” There was a short beat of silence. “No one has ever scored this high. Most other groups’ scores aren’t even close to this. I mean, you must be teaching the heck out of that book.”
“About that,” I said, between bites of food. “We haven’t even opened it.”
His brow scrunched. “So . . . what are you doing then?”
“We just have dinner together, eat good food, drink wine and, I don’t know, do life together.”
“Huh,” was all he could manage. He thought for a few seconds and then said, “I guess I can’t argue with the results. But you are going to eventually get to the book, right?”
“No. I don’t think so. We’re going to stick with what works.”
The Table Grows
Over time, word spread about Table for 10. We started hosting more dinners beyond our original small group. We’d conspire to connect people and families that we thought would be interesting to have around a table together.
There were lively conversations, debates, more grilled pizzas consumed than I can count, and many bottles of wine (we were in the wine phase of our youth).
Eventually, we moved thirty minutes south of Nashville to Franklin, and Table for 10 became less frequent. But the impact was already lasting. To this day some of our greatest memories, deepest connections, and growth can be traced back to that table and those dear people, our friends who were once strangers.
They still talk about it, too, and how the Table was important in their own lives in so many ways. Some of their greatest memories are around that table. It was a simple act of gathering, yet created an enduring connective tissue between us.
Often, as it was happening, I looked around the table and thought, “This right here is really how the world changes.”
I still believe that.
The Wisdom of the Table
We’ve forgotten how to gather together. To slow down and share a simple meal without our phones on the table, if we sit at a table at all.
The lessons the Table taught my wife and I are many, but the critical few are these:
Someone has to be the “first mover” and initiate. Everyone is waiting for someone else to make the first move. Be that person.
Be with people for the sake of it, without an agenda besides getting to know each other better.
Learn to listen. Most people don’t. Be curious. Everyone is fascinating and weird and beautiful if you will see them.
Intimacy is the compound interest of courageous connection over time. It is cultivated through showing up with care and intention.
The greatest gift you can offer anyone is your presence and attention.
Almost everyone is hiding their deepest struggles because they don’t feel safe enough to be themselves. Create a space of acceptance and people will open up.
Food is a catalyst for connection. Family dinner is the original form of therapy.
Everyone has deep wisdom to share, so seek out diverse friends in different stages of life. It makes for a richer life and more interesting conversations.
My Invitation to You
If you really want to change the world, don’t start by organizing a march on Washington or railing against your enemies online. Don’t try to convince anyone of anything or fight the establishment.
Instead, invite some neighbors over for dinner. Be the person who makes the first move. I’d venture a guess that some of you reading this don’t even know your neighbors’ names. You can change that. I invite you to change that.
We all want the world to change. We want peace and connection. And we can have it on our street, in our neighborhood, in our city. These are the places we can actually do something if we want to.
As I type this, I’m getting ready for a “Table for 8” tonight in our new hometown of Bend, Oregon. We moved here in the middle of the pandemic, four years ago, and haven’t been as connected as we want to be. Especially me. And gathering people these days can feel like herding cats that are on crack.
But someone has to be the first mover.
So I picked a date, got some guys from the neighborhood to say yes (most of whom don’t know each other despite living right here) and we’re beginning a new experiment tonight over a chili potluck.
I would tell you I don’t know how it’ll go, but that would be a lie. I already know because some of the guys have already said, “Thanks for pushing me to do this. I need this in my life.”1
We all do, don’t we?
The only question is who will make the first move. Maybe it’ll be you. I hope so. Ultimately, we have the world we want because we’re the ones who create it. You aren’t responsible for the entire world, but you can be responsible for the one just outside your door.
Post-Dinner Update (4/2/25): Last night, new friendships were sparked, I learned a lot about my neighbors’ life stories, and a new monthly Table gathering was started. So it begins. Next month: homemade pizzas. Also, plans are in the works for a neighborhood cookout to start connecting the families on our cul de sac. All it takes is one person who’s willing to start everything.
This is beautiful - inspired me to possibly do the same
Awwww beautiful. Thank you for sharing!