When I was a Bible student in Chiang Mai, Thailand, a missionary once shared a simple but formative insight: relationships happen around food. From that moment, the meaning of food in Thai Christian gatherings became clear. Shared meals do not require a special occasion; any meal may become a feast. 

In the early days of church planting, every Sunday after worship, that missionary would take us out for a meal. At the time, I was simply happy to eat something good and did not yet understand why it mattered. For me, that missionary later became a trusted spiritual mentor; relationship, not status, gave him authority—an authority shaped through shared life, not control, that makes space for those normally overlooked. 

Some years later, serving among Thai and Lao migrant communities in Auckland, I began to understand more deeply. Every Sunday, food is brought and shared. People cook generously, and leftovers are carefully packed to take home. A church leader who has lived here for many years once said, “You cannot stop this. Cooking and sharing food are how they express belonging.” 

In Thai and Lao churches, these same dynamic takes shape around the table. As we gather week after week, we laugh and cry, learning to accept and support one another. In many Asian cultures, shared meals form family, lower hierarchy, and open space for shared life. 

In the first century, table fellowship was about more than food. It expressed relationship and identity, and it marked boundaries between who was “in” and who was “out.” 

In Luke 5:29–32, Jesus eats at Levi’s house, surrounded by tax collectors. The Pharisees and scribes complain, asking why he eats and drinks with sinners. The issue is not simply sin, but boundary-making. These people existed outside the moral and social framework of the religious elite. Jesus’ welcome comes at a cost, unsettling religious authority and challenging those who controlled access to the table. 

Jesus does not begin teaching. He begins by sitting at the table, offering presence before instruction, acceptance before transformation. A similar pattern appears in Luke 24 on the road to Emmaus. Two disciples walk with Jesus yet do not recognise him. It is only when they sit at the table and he breaks the bread that their eyes are opened. Understanding emerges in the context of shared table of fellowship. 

For many Asians, sharing food is a language of inclusion. It communicates welcome and dignity. Yet the table also exposes our limits. In many communities today, migrants with limited English, the poor, and those whose presence disrupts our comfort are often quietly excluded. 

In the Gospels, Jesus’ table is a table of inclusion. By eating with those labelled “sinners,” he reimagines belonging and redraws God’s family boundaries. A truly inclusive table disturbs comfort, control, and the systems we organise to protect ourselves. Without such a table, many would never glimpse the kingdom of God. 

We are invited to examine our own tables. Who is missing? Whose presence would unsettle us? To follow Jesus is not only to believe faithfully, but to welcome generously opening our tables, our lives, and our hearts to those God longs to gather.