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.”
Luke 14:1,7-14
My sermon from the 12th Sunday After Pentecost (August 28, 2016) on Luke 14:1,7-14.
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So when we’re in our cars, who picks the music that we hear? The rule, in my household, is that whoever’s driving picks the music we’re listening too. It’s a system that usually works but I’ll admit that, when I pick the music, my habits can annoy the other passengers in the car. I’m not the type of person who just hits play and let the music flow. I’m the type of person who skips around. Even when I put on my playlist labeled “all-time favorites,” I can’t just hit “play.” I have to search for the music that is speaking to me today – and that sometimes means listening to the first 3 seconds of 20 songs before I find the one I want to hear. And one song I keep wanting to hear lately is from the an older pop-punk band called the Smoking Popes. They’re from Chicago, they still tour, and they mix the power and energy of punk music with the crooning vocal style of a Tony Bennett or Frank Sinatra. And the song I keep searching for is from 1993 and is called “Let’s Hear It For Love.” That’s an uplifting title for a song. That’s that a title that seems to celebrate the bliss and passion and positive experiences love can bring. But, once the vocalist starts singing, we hear a song centered on the other side of love. It begins with the lines “Let’s hear it for heartache. Let’s hear it for pain.” And after we hear the chorus a couple of times, the main there for the entire song comes through: “Let’s hear it for letting someone totally ruin your life. Let’s hear it for love.” That’s a bit depressing. But I value this song because it points to something that is necessary for love: it points to vulnerability. It’s impossible to truly love unless we risk that this relationship might leave us with a broken heart.
And that, I think, is at the center of Jesus’ words today. Jesus is at a dinner party. He walks through the front door and everyone, immediately looks at him. Now when I walk into a room and everyone stares at me, that makes me feel pretty uncomfortable. But not Jesus. He, instead, stares right back. He watches as people where they are going to sit. He notices that some are picking seats next to their friends so they would have some to talk too. Others don’t really care where they sit as long as they don’t sit next to that one person they can’t really stand. And some are picking, what I would call, the “cool kids” spots and others are elsewhere, sitting at the 1st century version of the kids table. The people at this dinner party might not know everyone’s name but they know where everyone is supposed to sit. It’s basically like…high school…with a social dynamic that still matters in our lives even if high school happened to us years ago. This dinner party is more than just a few friends hanging out. It’s a place where people network, where they talk, and where the cool kids know everyone will be sucking up to them for some kind of favor or influence. And those uncool kids, well, they know they’re going to be asked to do something to prove why they should be there. This party is a social engagement where everyone is trying to figure out just what they can get from each other.
And then there’s Jesus… who doesn’t seem to follow the rules. He leans over to his friend, to the one who invited him, and tells him a very un-high school thing to do: When hosting a dinner party, don’t just invite your friends. Don’t invite someone special. Don’t invite anyone who could ever invite you to a dinner party of their own. Instead, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. Invite those who might never have a room to host a party in or extra food to share. Invite those who no one expects to be there – those who can never give you anything – because that’s what the kingdom of God looks like.
The more I sat with this text…the more the word “invite” got to me. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has invited people to events knowing, or secretly praying, that they wouldn’t come. The word ‘invite’ can, in some ways, get us off the hook because the people we ‘invite’ can always say no. But Jesus isn’t saying just invite the poor – he’s saying they’ll come. They’ll be there. And when they come, don’t expect they’ll know all the rules we know. They might not know where to sit, they might not know which fork to use, and they might talk about things they’re not supposed to. They might share stories or experiences that don’t match our own or challenge everything we believe. And if they are differently abled or injured or incapacitated in some way, they might not eat the foods we want to serve. They might not even be able to chew at all. But we promised them a dinner party – so that’s what we do. A dinner party for those who can’t give us anything is a dinner party for the vulnerable. And the only way we can throw that kind of party is if we become vulnerable too.
God’s kingdom isn’t a kingdom centered on what we can get. It’s center on what we can give. When we sit at the table with someone who is different from us, we’re invited to have a relationship with them. We’re called to get to know them, to understand their fears, their struggles, their joys, and what makes them who they are. And that knowing only works if we take a risk and let this other person, this vulnerable person, make us vulnerable too. At this kind of table, there is nothing that we can get. There is nothing this other person can give us that will improve our social capital, our standing among our peers, or make us look good in the eyes of our friends. At this table, our expectations aren’t enough to set the rules because we’re sitting with the unexpected. For that relationship to fully matter, we have to take the risk of being vulnerable.
And that’s God’s table. God’s table is a table of vulnerability. It’s a table where risk happens and where love…well…where love doesn’t run away from heartache. It’s a table where love doesn’t hide when it’s confronted by pain and where love doesn’t stop when someone ruins our life. Love, at God’s table, just keeps loving because that’s who God is. God is love which means God takes risks. God doesn’t run away from vulnerability. God sits, at that same table, risking pain, risking heartache, risking ruin. And we know this because when Jesus invited his friends around that one table for his last supper, he didn’t only invite the good, the solid, and the most faithful ones. He ate with the one who would betray him. He shared bread with the ones who would abandon him. And he had a drink with the ones who would doubt Mary when she told them what she saw. God’s table isn’t for the strong; it’s for the vulnerable. God’s dinner party isn’t for the perfect; it’s for all. We are not here to limit the possibilities of God’s kingdom but to see how God’s kingdom show us all of what’s possible with God. So let’s take a risk. Let’s be vulnerable. And in everything we do, everything we say, and in everything we share – let’s do that one hard thing – and that’s love.
Amen.
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