What tables would Jesus flip today?

Since Blessed are the Undone came out, I’ve been invited to talk about faith deconstruction in classrooms, board rooms and churches – and once, maybe fittingly, in a working art studio, where every surface had a layer of colourful grit.

At the All Canada Summit in Kitchener, Ontario, on November 7, I wore a T-shirt my kids had given me. It was after lunch when someone said, “I’ve been trying to read your shirt all day, and all I could see was, ‘Don’t sit at tables’!”

The second half (and I admit, it’s a lot for one torso) was, “that Jesus would have flipped.”

“What tables would Jesus flip today?” a man came over after my workshop to ask. It was a good question.

“Trump’s banquet table,” I said. “His crazy Halloween feast. That one for sure. Basically, any table where people of power make plans that exploit or harm the powerless.” This was one week before the Epstein files came out linking Trump to the sexual trafficking of children, and somehow is still President. “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil,” as Isaiah says plainly (5:20).

Any other tables need flipping? I could have added pulpits where the language of faith is used to dress up xenophobia. Platforms where misogyny flourishes. The tables underneath the papers being signed by politicians – in Canada and in the U.S. – cutting humanitarian aid. Maybe also Bruxy Cavey’s desk, as he starts a new church where all donations go directly to him. “There is a path for repentance and redemption for abusers,” to quote Mennonite pastor Jonny Rashid, “but it starts with wholeness for victims, not with fundraising for a new ministry.”

By any number of metrics, we are living through a crisis of Christian witness in North America. In the face of that crisis, there’s a time for discussion and debate – and a time to stand up and act. A time to face the decisions that negatively affect vulnerable people while followers of Christ are silent.

But I have to admit that I hesitated to even wear that shirt. We live in weird times. The Church has become so divided that even relatively mild statements feel risky.

It’s “mild” in the sense that I was not wearing it with plans to incite an actual table-flipping army. I wore it because I think it’s too easy to forget our own tables of privilege and ignore the core of the gospel while we sit there. And I include myself here. As I’ve been nudged out of the comfortable seat of Writer to Person With A Microphone, I’ve been forced to think a lot about how we got here, and healthier ways for faith communities to function. But even those conversations are only possible if we escape polarized extremes and re-engage on some common middle ground.

Competing narratives

Historically, the Reformed tradition has contained such a wide spectrum of positions that once, years ago, a colleague who edited a publication for the Orthodox Presbyterian Church said, “I don’t know how you do it” – meaning, how you retain Christian Courier readers from all sides. Truthfully, I haven’t managed that, not perfectly, though it’s hard to know what “perfect” in this case would even look like. I can say, broadly speaking, that over 16 years of my time with CC the centre has shifted towards the Right, politically speaking, while space in the middle has shrunk – and not just in the Christian Reformed Church. In areas where I was once considered a moderate, I’m now labelled progressive; and space for individual discernment and thoughtful debate – in families, at universities, in ecclesiastical governance – is nearly gone. I miss the voice of the moderates. Without them, all we have left is schism.

I remember another time when I noticed the absence of the moderates. When I was a brand-new Editor, one columnist wrote every month on the threat of Islam to the Christian faith. He covered accounts of forced conversion to Islam, the risks to Christian missionaries in Muslim-majority countries, and Christian converts who had been persecuted and killed.

I remember arguing over the efficacy of that focus. As always, I wanted the problem put in context. How much does the average Christian in Canada know about the Islamic faith? What does this angle add, and what’s missing? Was the danger truly greater than it had been 10 years ago, or did we merely perceive it that way after 9/11?

The crisis de jour

In grad school, I had a good friend who was Muslim. She invited our family to her mosque at Eid, where everyone welcomed us and did their best to make us feel at home. That one small experience was invaluable later, when I debated with this columnist about whether all Muslims believed that part of the Qur’an saying infidels must die. My friend, at least, did not. It helped me begin to distinguish between extreme and moderate Muslims. But it did feel, in the early 2010s, that not enough moderate Muslims were speaking up. Maybe they were afraid. From the outside, it seemed the radicals like Osama bin Laden and ISIS were running the show. Now, more than a decade later, for better or for worse, Islam rarely comes up in CC’s pages at all. One recent piece highlighted the persecution of Christians in Pakistan, but there’s not the same sense that Islam is an immediate threat to the Christian faith (or life), at least not here in Canada.

Now the threat is secularism. Or fundamentalism. Or immigrants. Name your issue and you can find Christian groups divided over it, climbing hill after hill to die on over it. Making that one thing the litmus test of faith, the defining feature in their narrative.

And I still struggle to put things in context (the task Blessed are the Undone gave itself). What is at the root of our ecumenical battles? Is Danger [fill-in-the-blank] truly greater than it used to be, or is it merely perceived that way?

Some days, I feel overwhelmed by the layers of complexity in the world and my own finite knowledge. But other days, the core of the gospel rings as clear and true as it ever has. And it doesn’t seem complicated at all.

Feed the hungry. Welcome the stranger. Care for those in need.

All of that happens at tables, too.

This Christmas, go and fetch that extra leaf from storage. Wiggle the sides of God’s table out, and it will split right down the middle – which might be just as disruptive as being flipped, and I apologize for that. Be patient. It’ll look as good as new in a minute.

Pull it wider again, until there’s space for everybody to find a spot. Drop that extra leaf into place.

A good table was made to extend beyond what seemed possible.

What’s next, after CC?

If the Canadian church had its own version of CBC radio’s “Canada Reads” (we could call it the Sunday Edition), which contemporary books would you put on the list? Well, I’ve picked five to get the discussion started! They’re the core of a brand-new online course I’ll be teaching through the Institute for Christian Studies starting January 2026, open to “lifelong learners” (which is to say, anyone!).

I’ll also be doing more speaking gigs related to Blessed are the Undone throughout the winter, and I plan to start sharing my writing through Substack, a good option for any CC readers who’d like to stay in touch.