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. 

Proper 13C - Let's talk about stewardship

Today we’re going to talk about stewardship. Yes, I know this well in advance of the “stewardship campaign”, but to be clear, I’m not talking about a campaign.  Rather, I want to talk about  stewardship itself. 

Stewardship is the act of caring for something belonging to someone else.  It’s when we assume the role of caretaker, even though we don’t own what we’re caring for.  We are stewards of the earth.  We are caretakers of our children. Stewardesses, or now flight attendants, take care of the people on the plane.  Stewardship is serious business that requires a serious commitment to care for something, while at the same time a serious detachment to what you’re stewarding. Anyone who has had a teenager, or been a teenager for that matter, understand.  There comes a point when a teenager makes it very clear they are not owned by their parents.  And they aren’t.  As parents, you care for, but don’t own.  

Stewardship is hard for us to do, because we are responsible for something, without actually having ultimate authority over that thing. And our brains seek parity between these two.  We try to make the authority and responsibility equal when they aren’t.  Sometimes this happens when we reduce our responsibilities to better align with the amount of authority.  If we have no authority over something, it’s sometimes easy to disengage, and stop having that sense of responsibility. I’ve been in jobs where it is clear my authority was limited or non-existent.  It was too easy to wash my hands of the responsibility.  We lose our commitment.   
  

On the other hand, sometimes we level this out by increasing our sense of authority over something, to match the responsibility we have.  I’ve seen this with teen-age kids.  We don’t really own them, but we sure have a lot of responsibility for them.  So during those tumultuous late teen years, as they’re figuring out how to be adults, sometimes we tighten our grip, and increase our sense of authority over them.   But I’ve not seen that work consistently. 

Stewardship, that sense of care without ownership, responsibility without authority, stewardship is what the Gospel story is talking about.

We hear the story of the man who’s appealing to Jesus to divide the family wealth.  Jesus’ response is to caution the man against all kinds of greed, and to remind him that one’s life doesn’t consist of an abundance of possessions.  Jesus goes on to tell the parable of the rich man who has nowhere to store his abundant crops. The man decides to build a bigger barn.  After this, he is pretty self-congratulatory, saying “soul, you have much stored up.  Relax, eat, drink and be merry.”  He also consults the one person he thinks the most highly of - himself.   But God tells the man that that very night, he will perish, so what good was the bigger barn, the abundance of crops, the eating, drinking and merry-making. 

Often, this story is turned into an anti-wealth story.  You should feel bad about the things you have. Let’s rail on the 1%.   But I don’t think that’s what’s really at issue here.  We start with the man asking Jesus to split his inheritance.  We don’t really know the context of his story, but in response to the simple request, Jesus warns the surrounding crowds to beware of greed, and an abundance of possessions so it feels reasonable to assume there was some excess wealth.  Jesus then tells the parable about the man with the grain. Whether it’s money, as in the man who approaches Jesus, or possessions, as in the man in the parable, I believe this Gospel reading is about stewardship gone awry.  It’s about an inflated sense of self determination and authority over money and possessions that the men do not really control, and in fact, cannot take with them when they die.  These are gifts from God that the men were to steward, not own.
 
Back to stewardship, these are things, money and stuff, that we are temporarily given to steward for God.  We have a great deal of responsibility, but ultimately little authority.  They are on loan from God for our use while we are here. But because all things – us, our skills, our luck, our inheritance, our very life - all things come from God, so does all of our stuff and our wealth. 

I must admit that as a young adult, I heard this statement in some stewardship sermon and got a little upset. That suggestion that my paycheck or my first house was in any way not mine.   No. This is my first real job. My first real paycheck.  This is not God’s paycheck.  Or God’s apartment. Or God’s stereo. So if you’re bristling at this, I’m with you. 

But stick with me because assuming a sense of stewardship is sooo much healthier, so much easier than the current mentality that IT’S MINE.

You see, ownership assumes a sense of authority that, in itself has some heavy costs.  Take owning a home vs. renting.  When you rent, you have very little authority over the space, although you have some responsibility to keep the apartment in good shape, lest you lose your deposit.  Responsibility, without authority.  If you own a home, you have that same responsibility to not mess things up, and you have increased authority over things – what color to paint, landscaping.  So when you own your home, it seems there is more parity between responsibility and authority.  But actually, not really.  Because while you have increased authority, that authority comes with its own added responsibility. You need a new appliance, or have to make major decisions about remodeling.   In addition to responsibility of just keeping the place clean, like a renter would, there is a significant cost in having the ultimate authority over the space. 

Not only is there a cost of that authority, it also warps our sense of “need”.  Rarely does a renter feel they “need” to upgrade the appliances, remodel or repaint.  All they “need” to do is directly related to the few things they have responsibility to oversee – keeping the place tidy, and not breaking things.  Home owners, on the other hand, precisely because of the increased authority, all of a sudden “need” things, that a renter in the same space wouldn’t.  The greatest difference between the two is that the renter is responsible for stewarding, and the owner has responsibility and authority.  That authority comes with a heavy cost, and many increased duties and worries. 

As self-determined independent Oregonians, we don’t like it when we don’t have authority over things.  We want to be in control. And like the home owner, when we have control, we “need” more.    More things. More money.  If we saw our stuff and our money more like we were stewarding them, without that sense of authority, maybe we’d be less attached, like the renter. Yes, we need to take care of our stuff and our money, but that doesn’t mean we need more of it.

The other problem with that sense of authority or ownership over our wealth and stuff is that it becomes easy to slip into the thinking that more is better . My big house is better than your small house.  That’s bad enough, but it gets worse. That thinking gets personal.  My big investments are not only bigger than your measly savings, but my big investments inherently makes me better than you.  I’m better than you, because my house is better than your Conestoga hut. 

Don’t misunderstand. Money and Stuff are good for some things.  While we are on this earth, money can help care for ourselves and families.  Money can repair the church roof.  Wealth  can be shared with others.  Stuff can be used for God’s glory.  But to be clear, money and stuff cannot get you closer to God.  Cannot make you better than someone else. And as we all know, at the end of this earthly life, you can’t take it with you.

Here’s where the reading from Colossians comes in.  In it, Paul is explaining that as people who follow Jesus, we need to put away whatever is earthly, including greed.  It’s human nature to be greedy especially over things we own, things we have authority over.  And to think that more is better.

he Epistle goes on to tell us that in Christ, there are no distinctions between people, no Jew or Greek, slave or free. Those were serious divisive distinctions in those times. Modernized it might be no republican or democrat, homeless or housed, black or white.  Christ is all and in all. Money or wealth or possessions or housing status or color does not change that.    Yes there are differences that can be used to describe people – rich or poor, homeless or housed.  But those differences are only to be used for description, not hierarchy. How I’m different from you. Not how I’m better than you.  

What is true, however is that sometimes, the conditions we find ourselves lend themselves to behaviors that CAN be judged.

A man with wealth is no different – no better and no worse – than a man without.  The presence  of assets, whether money or possessions, is a statement of fact, it’s a descriptor.  Being angry at the 1% simply because of the wealth should not be the point.  Society shouldn’t ascribe value to a condition.   Being rich is not and should not be considered bad.  However, the behavior of some people with wealth can be judged, and frequently is judged by Jesus. Like today’s story of the man who consulted himself, took care of his own needs, and was willing to eat, drink and be merry because of his myopic sense of what God’s gifted resources were for.  Elsewhere, Jesus tells the rich man to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor, or the rich man who did not care for the dying Lazarus and was sent to Hades, for apparently no other reason than the fact that he did not care for the dying man, who went to heaven.  Again, it’s not the wealth itself.  It’s all the baggage that comes with that sense of ownership and authority over that wealth that got the people crosswise with Jesus back then, and still today. 

A wealthy man is no better or worse than anyone else and should not be judged.  And the decisions he makes about how to utilize the money or resources absolutely is and should be, according to Jesus. 

So back to stewardship.  As a steward, or caretaker of someone else’s assets, we lose the sense that we need more, or that more inherently makes us better.  In short, we lose many of those earthly traits Paul warns about, including evil desire or greed. 

We can move ourselves into a place of talking about how to use God’s resources – the wealth and stuff we are asked to steward – to further God’s dream for our community and our world.  What would it look like if the people of St. Thomas considered our collective assets as God’s?  If we could loose the ties that bind us to this inflated sense of authority over our personal wealth by considering ourselves stewards of God’s gifts, freely given to us to steward for God’s purpose? If we could feel that sense of responsibility, without the great cost of authority? 

At the end of the parable today, the God tells the man he will die, despite having made provisions for all his stuff.  Eugene Peterson, in the contemporary bible, The Message, concludes this parable with the poignant statement from God to the man, “That’s what happens when you fill your barn with Self, and not with God”. 

What if we, at St. Thomas could change that ending?  What if we, heading into this next year, could act in a way with the wealth we are to steward, that God would say to us, “Well done!  This is what happens when you fill your barn with God, and not with Self.”

Amen.

Hosea 11:1-11

Psalm 107:1-9, 43

Colossians 3:1-11

Luke 12:13-21