Enlarging the Guest List

Luke 14:1, 7-14
August 28, 2022
William G. Carter

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.

When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

A good friend was invited to offer the opening prayer at a banquet. It wasn’t a wedding banquet, but rather the annual chamber of commerce celebration in his city. Two of his friends heard he was going and said, “Why don’t you and your wife sit with us?” Sounded like a good way to spend the evening, so Rob said, “We’d love to sit with you.”

As the event drew near, it occurred to him that he’d better check and see what the seating arrangements were going to be. He preferred to sit with his friends, out in the crowd, but maybe there were other plans that he didn’t know. The safe thing to do was to check with the organizers who were, after all the hosts. 

Not wanting to be presumptuous, he asked his secretary to call the chamber office. She said, rather sweetly, “Dr. Elder wants to know if you plan to seat him at the head table of the banquet.” What followed was a real monkey chase. The planner at the chamber hemmed and hawed, and said, “We will call back and let you know.” The secretary said they sounded as if they were embarrassed, so Rob said, “Just call them back and say, ‘Actually we’d like to sit with our friends; we were only going to sit at the head table if that was the plan.”

Too late, as he found out. The leaders of the chamber of commerce, not wanting to offend him, moved heaven and earth to get him a better seat. They didn’t want to him to “sit too low,” by the standards of Jesus’ parable and the inscrutable standards of chamber of commerce protocol. He didn’t know what they did, whether they added a couple of seats at the end or moved one of the other dignitaries closer to the kitchen.

All he knew is that somebody assumed the Rev. Dr. Pompous and his wife had to sit up front. And sitting at the head table is never what it’s cracked up to be. You’re up there on display, in a straight line at a one-sided table. Spotlights in your eyes as you squint into the dark. You can’t talk to anybody, except for the spouse you talk to every day. You can’t yawn or slouch in your seat if everybody’s watching. And in Rob’s case, the friends he wanted to sit with were clear across the room, all because somebody didn’t want to insult him by seating him “too low.” As he summed it up, “Importance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

Now, I don’t know if you’ve had an experience like this one. But some of you have told me about the icy stare you’ve received if you dared to sit in a church pew that someone thought belonged to them, not you. And I’m sure that happened in some other church, not this one. We are open minded and completely hospitable, right? Yet we can surmise that seating arrangements suggest something about prestige, prominence, and celebrity.

No doubt, that’s just the sort of thing Jesus is noticing, too.

He’s at the house of wealthy Pharisee. How do we know he’s wealthy? Because the host is a Pharisee, a well-educated religious leader. And he’s a leader of the Pharisees, so he has some community clout. And he’s in a house big enough to seat a lot of guests – which distinguishes him from most of the kinds of people who lived in most of the towns where Jesus lived and worked.

Notice, of course, that Jesus is eating with him. Jesus loved the poor – but he also loved the rich. He did not distinguish. In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus eats with everybody. In the next chapter, chapter 15, that’s exactly how and why they will criticize him – he eats with everybody. It’s OK if he eats with them – the well-educated, the affluent, the cream of the crop - but only if he eats exclusively with them. That seems to be the assumption

But he sees something else going on. A striving for the good seats. A choosing of the seats of honor. Let me ask you – where would those seats be in this room?

Look around the room. Would the best seats be in the back row, so you could watch everybody else? Over by the aisles, so you want to make a quick getaway? Up in the choir loft, so you can get out of here without someone passing you an offering plate? Down front, where you can deeply focus on the wisdom pouring from the pulpit? (Hmm, I always wondered why nobody sits up here.)

One day, I was exploring a closet in my first church and discovered they had kept a chart. That’s right – a seating church. Once upon a time, instead of passing the offering plates, the Session collected pew rents. You had to rent a pew. I guess this is how some people got the notion that a pew was theirs – they rented it! I’m not making this up.

I suppose you believe all the pews cost the same. Oh no! There were inexpensive pews, medium-priced pews, high priced pews, and yes, two expensive pews. The cheap seats were off to the sides with an obstructed view (hard to sell, so they were discounted). Medium price was in the middle somewhere. The back two rows of the sanctuary was expensive, the price driven by supply and demand. A couple of prominent pews a respectable distance from the front also had a hefty price tag; the long-term elders sat up there where they could be noticed.

Do you want to guess where the most expensive pew rent was? Third row over here, immediately behind the row reserved (and discounted) for the minister’s wife and children. They put them up front where they could be watched – and commented upon, over Sunday dinner. And the row right behind them was the primary observation perch.

What are we saying when we assign seats, especially if we assign them with a certain value? We are saying some people are more important than others. Or that they think they are. And that’s the lesson in a nutshell.

At a dinner party at a Pharisee’s house, Jesus sees some of them jostling for the best seats. And he says something ridiculous, “When you get invited to a wedding banquet, don’t sit in the places of honor.” No kidding! You leave the places of honor for the people getting married, and then the tables for their families, and then the honored seats for the bridesmaids and ushers.

Sometimes it’s awkward if the bride has two fathers, or if the prodigal daughter surprises everyone by showing up. The fact is – can I just say this? – it’s always awkward; it often is for me. (Where do we put the minister? Let’s put him next to Screwy Uncle Louie. He recently found the Lord, so I’m sure they will have something to talk about. And the minister says, “Oy vey!”)

Where it gets really awkward is when Jesus speaks up and calls out the whole thing as a bad exercise in sorting human beings who are essentially equal in the sight of God. There’s that little parlor game of returning invitations to those who invited us first. You know it, they know it: they invited us to dinner, now we must invite them for dinner. He took me golfing, so I must take him to the club for a lunch that costs just about what my greens fees cost him. And so on and so forth.

“If that’s the pitiful sum of your participation in the human race,” says Jesus, “then you are missing a real blessing.”

Oh, I remember my college classmate Sherry. She got her masters in social work and took a job with an agency in Philadelphia. When she found out that I was studying to be a minister, she found my address and wrote me a letter, “I hope it’s going well for you and will pray for you.”

I wrote back and said, “What are you doing with yourself?” She wrote back, “I’m having the time of my life. Yesterday I took two homeless men to lunch. We sat in the diner and talked all afternoon. They have had such interesting lives!” I looked up from that letter, curious, startled. I never saw any homeless folks in that high-priced town where I studied in New Jersey. Maybe I was missing out on something. Yes, I was.

Where do you sit? Who sits at your table? Such simple questions, and they reveal so much. I would encourage you to look around, see who’s here, and ask who’s not here.

And if I really wanted to mess with you, I’d invite you downstairs for the church picnic, and ask, “Are you merely sitting with the people you know?” Or are you willing to step out of your comfort zone and welcome somebody new?  I know, I know; now I’m meddling. It’s only fair – Jesus meddled with us first, and he never promised to stop.  

For he is the One who says, “When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.” Oh, listen to that. “They cannot repay you,” or to translate in a way we all can hear, “they are in your debt.”

“Invites the ones who cannot repay you.” Show them grace regardless of their circumstances. Pass them the same potatoes that you are going to eat. Include them at the abundant table that you first received as a gift. Lift them up, don’t hand them down. Always sit beside them, not ahead of them.

For this is the essence of grace. You can tell it is grace, because the one thing we know about grace is that it always removes disgrace.

And to get in a proper frame of mind and spirit, I remember the wisdom of my friend Rob: “Importance isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

Hearts and Treasures

Luke 12:22-34
August 7, 2022
William G. Carter

Jesus said to his disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? 

Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you - you of little faith! And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well. 

Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." 

 

67, 45, 57, 36, 13, and 14. Have all those numbers? If so, you would be a billionaire! 

There was plenty of excitement surrounding last week’s Mega Millions lottery. The jackpot had reached 1.28 billion dollars. It’s an extraordinary sum, enough to make your eyes circle in both directions. What would we ever do if we won that kind of money? It’s good question, one discussed at a lot of dinner tables.

Years ago, I would have purchased a reliable car, pay off my college debts, and get fitted for some nice clothes. These days, I would buy reliable cars for my kids, pay off their college debts, tell them to buy their own clothes, and then pre-pay my nursing home. All of that, of course, after visiting our financial planner and asking my attorney how we could stay anonymous.

It’s fun to speculate what we would do with all that money. That’s why a man named Louis Barry bought a hundred tickets in a California liquor store. He’s been hoping he might land on Easy Street. Mr. Barry is 79 years old, so that street isn’t very long. Alas, he didn’t win. The winning ticket was sold in an Illinois gas station to someone who has wisely not revealed their identity.

What would you do if you had enough money that you could do whatever you want? Maybe you should start making a list.

Before you do, harken to those stories of others who have hit it big. Like Bud Post, who hit the Pennsylvania Lottery in 1986. His brother hired a hit man, hoping he would gain the inheritance. His ex-girlfriend successfully sued him for a share of the winnings. Even though he won $16.2 million, he died one million dollars in debt.

Or Evelyn Williams, who won the New Jersey Lottery in 1985. That wasn’t enough, so she tried again in 1986 and improbably, she won again. Total winnings were $5.4 million. But that wasn’t enough. So she went to Atlantic City to keep gambling. She lost everything. Every last cent. What did Jesus say? No thief came near. No moths got in her closet. No, her purse “wore out.”

The lure of riches is strong. And not only for the lottery winners. Fifteen years ago, we encouraged Clarks Summit parents to read a book by a psychologist in San Francisco. The book was titled, The Price of Privilege: How Parental Pressure and Material Advantage Are Creating a Generation of Disconnected and Unhappy Kids. What Dr. Madeline Levine discovered is that if we give our children everything, it can really mess them up. A lot of those kids who park expensive cars in the high school parking lot have “epidemic rates of depression, substance abuse, and anxiety disorders.” She was writing these words fifteen years ago.

Maybe you’ve noticed I’ve sneaked in the back door so we can talk about the teachings of Jesus. Why are you worried about your life? That’s his question. This kind of anxiety fuels so many of our misfires and malfunctions.

And before we work through the text, let me remind us that he was speaking to dirt-poor peasants. Are you worried about food? Look at the ravens – those ugly, worthless, scavenger birds. They don’t have big barns to store their food. (Here that? He’s giving an elbow and a wink to the idiot farmer in last week’s parable.) The ravens don’t produce anything useful. Yet they are God’s creatures, and he provides their food.

Are you worried about clothing? Look to the lilies. Or in my front yard, the blooming gladiolas. They are gorgeous, the handiwork of heaven here on earth. They don’t order their outfits from Talbots. They don’t do anything – but bloom, and God is glorified because they’re blooming. Here today, gone tomorrow, better dressed than King Solomon.

Anxiety does not feed the ravens. Worry does not dress the lilies. Give some credit to God and stop worrying. This is what Jesus said to the peasants who had nothing.

But what would he say to us, who have so much and want more? He would watch who buy the lottery tickets when they already have a roof over their heads. He would overhear the parents who say to their kids, “If you don’t work harder, you’re never going to get into a good school,” and then hand over the keys to the Beemer. Then he would simply ask, “What do you think you’re striving for?” And wait for an honest answer.

Anxiety lies at the heart of most of our striving. Maybe we are comparing our financial situation to somebody else – they have a bigger house, or they have a couple of bigger houses, or their kids seem better adjusted than ours, or whatever, whatever. Or maybe we measure ourselves against some impossible standard, like wanting to make more money than my parents did, or become more prominent than the neighbors, or whatever, whatever.

For what do you think you’re striving? It’s a tough question. Lately, I’ve been chewing on the charcoal of my obsessions. If I only spend another hour at work. If I only press myself to go a little longer or think a little deeper. Why do I find it so hard to relax? Why can’t I enjoy my friendships rather than posture for superiority? Why do I keep pushing? It’s summer, for God’s sake. There are birds in the sky, flowers in the garden, and plenty of fireflies that do nothing but glow.

And then I hear him say afresh, Where your treasure is, there is your heart also.

If the treasure is winning the lottery, it’s not going to save your life. If the treasure is feeding your anxiety, you will become addicted to your own neediness and miss our on the gifts of God. It the treasure is striving toward achievement, padding the resume that nobody will read, obsessing over the tasks you will neither complete nor perfect, what good have you done for God and God’s world.

So it’s time to exhale deeply. Take a breath. Receive and give. Receive – and give. This is the rhythm of restoration. This is the essence of grace.

We hear Jesus say it so clearly. Strive not for yourself; strive for God to rule over you and all things. Invest yourself in the same grace that re-creates the world every day. God is giving us “the kingdom.” We don’t have to work for it because the Kingdom is a gift. We pray, “thy kingdom come,” and God answers with the words, “It’s already on the way.”

We don’t make this Kingdom, but we can receive it and take part in it. We can invest ourselves in the same values that Jesus reveals about the character of God: graciousness, forgiveness, mercy, generosity, restoration. They are such wonderful nouns that we can turn into verbs. And they are completely free of anxiety. If there is any striving in God’s gracious dominion, it has been redirected to spreading the Kingdom.

And the specific advice that Jesus offers is to rethink our riches. Sell your possessions – that is, all the stuff you bought with your money – and contribute it to those with needs. Not to make them dependent on you, not to tempt them with the dark side of winning the lottery, but to release them from indignity, to lift them up, to announce that those who have struggled for so long are the royal children of God’s Kingdom.

And how do we do this? I don’t know. It’s not something we do once to relieve a guilty conscience for having so much when others have so little. Generosity is a habit to develop. Not only does generosity set others free – it sets us free, too. This is the truth of the cryptic phrase, “Make purses that do not wear out.” And this is the essential path to develop what Jesus calls, “an unfailing treasure in heaven.” We create a treasure in heaven by giving away what we have here on earth.

Once again, this is exactly what God does. God gives everything to us for free, with the hope we will give it away, too. The rhythm continues – receiving, giving, receiving, and giving. As we receive, we give, and anxiety goes away.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll spend a vacation Sunday among the Presbyterians of Eagles Mere. For several years, they’ve asked me to preach at a little summer chapel up there, about an hour and a half west in the mountains. If you promise not to tell them, I always take an old sermon, in the hope that if it was worth preaching once, it’s worth preaching again.

This year, they have a volunteer who has been sending out sermon summaries during the following week. Last Sunday, they heard a corker. The preacher talked about the same text we heard, the parable of the rich farmer who had too much stuff. And then, he offered an analogy that better fits our text for today, rather than the text from last week.

There are two seas in the Holy Land, he said: the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea. The Sea of Galilee has a river that flows into it and out of it. The Dead Sea has the same river flowing into it, but with no escape. The Sea of Galilee is alive and healthy. It has fish, vegetation, and abundant life. The Dead Sea is just that. The water is brackish, stagnant, and putrid. Nothing lives there. The water is slowly drying up.

The analogy is simply this: we receive, we give. This is the rhythm that keeps us healthy. That is where true riches can be found. Not in the empty help of a lottery ticket with all the right numbers, but in generous purses that never wear out.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.