Proper 17C August 28, 2016 - The Dinner Party

250 words  That’s it. That’s all today’s Gospel reading contains. But it’s amazingly filled with several life lessons, all wrapped up in a narrative story.  You have to marvel at the succinctness and precision of Jesus’ parables. 

Parables give us a human-now glimpse of what eternity is like. They provide us with present examples of what we should do now, and use very mundane and real events as teachable moments.  Jesus uses settings such as the vineyard workers, the dinner party, the mustard seed. These were all things very familiar and common. The people hearing the stories, and subsequently reading the stories could immediately relate.  He was able to use common language, paint a common picture and use it tell a universal truth.  When Jesus told the story, there was something magnificent in the midst of the mundane.

And this was important because he was pointing to a truth about an unknowable and unfathomable kingdom yet to come.  People couldn’t understand what he was talking about  - resurrection life, kingdom of heaven. But they could understand a story about a vineyard, or seeds planted in fertile ground, or a dinner party.

Even though there were commonplace events, people and things, there was always something new in the story. Something jarringly unexpected.  Perhaps this is because the settings were so familiar, the context was so mundane,  the outcome so anticipated.  Listeners and now readers are lulled into a sense that they know this story, and know how it’s going to end.  But when Jesus told the story.. whammo… he’d turn the story on its head.  And what people expected, was absolutely not what they got.  It’s not that Jesus’ teachings were new.  It’s that through these everyday things, Jesus deconstructed what had developed into a wrong-headed teaching or acting. Jesus was able to correct the common-place thinking and acting, with unexpected outcomes to common-place stories.   

Today’s Gospel story and parable is about a dinner party.  Jesus is invited to dinner with the upper crust of his time, at the home of a leader of the Pharisees. As he comes in, the other guests are watching him. Jesus already had a reputation as a rabble rouser, so the establishment was watching.  Closely. 

Jesus notices their glances, but he notices something more.  He notices how people are jockeying for their place at the table. And true to his reputation, he had some rabble to rouse. He chides the other guests for their jockeying.  Instead, he suggests that guests should be humble. Don’t presume to sit in the place of honor.  If you do, you might be asked to leave, and how embarrassing would that be!  What he suggests to the guests is that instead of trying to take the place of honor, they sit in a lowly space.  That way, you might be asked to move up.  And how cool would that be!

To be clear, this isn’t about getting a seat so the guests could see or hear better.  Jesus isn’t critical of the seating chart, but rather the hidden values surrounding the seating.  It has more to do with our presumption that our position in a room, in a meeting, at the dinner table inherently gives us more cred. The seating makes the man, or woman. Think about a long corporate boardroom table.  The chairman of the board often sits at the head of the table.  But if someone else came in before the meeting, and sat in that seat, that wouldn’t make them the chair.  The same goes with other positions or seats.  And why do we care about the best seat, the most prestigious meetings or clubs? 

In our society, no, in our humanity, we have an addiction to externally validated honor. We see it in self-aggrandizing Facebook posts, with name droppers, and social climbers.  This isn’t a new problem. Jesus had this issue with his disciples.  Who among us is the greatest, the disciples asked.  Let my sons sit at your right and left, a meddling mother suggested.    

And here’s an example that’s very close to home for me.  In a previous job, there was a group of managers that routinely meet with my boss.  Mostly, I was not in the room invited.  And for the first few years, I felt like Linus, tagging along with the big kids, “Hey, wait for me. What about me?” Sometimes I’d go in the room, figuring it was ok because it was my boss’ meeting. Clearly they’d need me.  Clearly I mattered.  I’d sit in that meeting room feeling important.  Until one day I was asked to leave.  Ouch.  After that, they’d file in for their weekly meeting, and I sit in my office and wait. If they wanted me to move up to the table, they let me know.  And honestly, being in that meeting or not didn’t change my job or my real worth at all. 

It could have changed my sense of worth, IF I worried about what others thought. If I bought into the social norm and expectation that power and prestige matter, and that where you sit, what meetings you’re in matter.   And of course I do sometimes.  We all do, sometimes. 

But why?  We are loved and known by God as perfect just as we are.  If that’s the case, why should you let someone else decide what you’re worth? You already know. Why would I give the power to anyone else to assess my worthiness?  Don’t give them that power!

Through this story of being invited to dinner, Jesus taught a great lesson about humility, based on the behavior of the guests.  But he didn’t stop there.  The story continues as he tells the hosts of the dinner that they shouldn’t just invite the rich and powerful.  Jesus is warning them not to invite important people just to receive credit because they’re honored, or because they might reciprocate.  Again, it’s not all about honor.  Jesus suggests that they should be finding and inviting the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. These people wouldn’t normally be running in the same circles. They’d need to be sought out and found.   And they wouldn’t be able to repay the honor of being invited. Invite them.  Be hospitable to them.

Paul adds to this theme of hospitality.  Be hospitable to all.  You may entertain angels unaware.  This sense that that we might not recognize the Holy in our midst is pretty compelling for me.  This, plus our commitment to seek and serve Christ in all people is what drives me to be personally involved with the community breakfast, with Rahab’s Sisters dinners, in having been a foster parent. It’s why Fr. Doug enjoys the interactions at the Food Pantry on Campus. It’s more than giving them a bag of food, or breakfast. It’s interacting with the people.  Those broken people, those people in need are children of God.  Christ is in them.  And maybe one of them really is an angel.  More than charity or writing a check, this is why service, personally connecting with other people is so critical.  

In this story, Jesus is providing some great human, present-time examples of how we should be treating each other.  He’s also hinting at the way things will be in the eternity of the resurrection. Maybe you won’t be honored now by your lowly seat at the table, or by the guests you invite who are poor or crippled. But these are exactly the traits that are honored and valued in eternity – humility, graciousness, kindness to all, welcoming to all.  Through this parable, Jesus is showing us what “thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” really looks like.

This is what we are expected to do, how we are to behave. Not because we “have to”, but because this is what our forever looks like. We have the opportunity to practice it here.  At the heavenly banquet, everyone is invited, and there is no prized seating arrangement.   The Pharisees, the blind, the crippled, the homeless, the bankers.  It’s a big messy, socially mixed up party.  Start practicing now, so it’s not so awkward then.  The rules will change. The humble, hospitable, poor, lame, outcasts will be present, honored and loved, just as we will be.  Let’s start practicing for that party now.