September 9, 2007 - Pentecost 15, Year C
Saint James Episcopal Church, Saint James, NY

It’s dinner time,
and the guests are settling themselves at the table. One by one
they find a place to sit,
checking out the other guests,
looking to see who else is there,
and then carefully choosing
a seat which will not only give them
interesting conversation partners
and good table service,
but will place them in a position of visibility
and prominence.
They are uniformly well dressed,
sober suits, crisply pressed shirts
and well shined shoes,
and a scattering of elegant older women,
pearls and diamonds at the ready.

And in the end
there is just one seat left, right by the door,
just around the corner from the restrooms.
There’s not a lot of point worrying about conversation partners there –
between the clanging of pans in the kitchen
the flushing of the toilets
and the clatter of trash cans out in the alley,
there’s not much chance to hear anything softer than a shout.

It’s a familiar scene,
whether at a political convention,
or a celebratory dinner
and nothing
strikes us as unusual.

Until we see the host,
looking a little uncomfortable. He whispers to the man sitting beside him, the one in the pinstriped suit and paisley tie,
flashing a large gold ring,
who in turn flushes a deep beetroot color.
And then slowly
pushes back his chair, stands up
and begins to walk
towards the back of the room,
the host
just ahead of him.

The empty chair
by the door
has been filled now.
A young guy, in jeans and a t-shirt-
clean enough,
but could do with a shave.
Those who had noticed him
had presumed he was a last minute ring-in,
some junior employee or student intern
invited to make up the numbers,
who hadn’t had the chance – or perhaps the social finesse –
to get home and change.
He doesn’t look
very comfortable.

And it is in his direction
that the host is heading,
with the man in the pinstriped suit
trailing awkwardly
behind him.

Every eye is on them, when the host reaches the young man,
claps him on the shoulder,
and leads him back
to the head of the table,
while the man in the pinstriped suit
humiliated
sits in the recently vacated seat
right there
by the back door.

Jesus said “All who exalt themselves will be humbled,
and all who humble themselves
will be exalted.”

Being humble
is not something
we talk about very often, even in church.
Largely, I suspect, because its hard to know what to say.
Even the dictionary struggles — under “humble,” it tells us
“not proud or haughty, not arrogant or assertive.”
Which tells us what it’s not, but not a lot
about what it is.

And perhaps that’s why
when Jesus wanted to talk about humility
he told a story.
It’s something to do
with not grabbing hold
of the best for yourself,
not thinking too highly of yourself.

But I wonder
how literally
Jesus meant us to take this story.
Did he really mean it to be
an elementary lesson
on Christian etiquette,
or was it something else
altogether?

I would give anything
to have seen Jesus’ face that night,
as he sat at the dinner table at one of those parties
that people would have paid to get into,
sat there with the religious leaders
and their honored guests,
and told this story.
Was he stern
and serious,
speaking words of great weight?
Or was there a flicker
in his eyes, a hint of a smile,
as if this is almost
a joke.

Because no matter how you turn it,
if you take this story
as a simple ethical lesson,
you just can’t win.
Because if you take the best place,
you’re condemned for your pride,
and banished to the worst,
but
if you know the story, and deliberately choose the worst place,
in the hope of being lifted higher,
then you might as well have taken the best place,
because you still think
you deserve it.
It’s pride
either way, and either way
you lose.

So what was Jesus talking about?
Social etiquette?
I think not.
I think
he was talking about
the kingdom of God.

The kingdom of God
is something
that Jesus talks about
a lot.
The kingdom of God
is like a mustard seed;
the kingdom of God
is like yeast.
And the kingdom of God
is like a banquet
where all the usual rules of etiquette are suspended.
Important guests
get seated last
and beggars and the poor
are treated as honored guests.
Some people
are too busy to attend,
and others
are so desperately hungry
that they’d be happy
just to get the scraps.
But the invitation
is for everyone. It doesn’t matter
whether you’re rich or poor,
whether you think you should be sitting at the top table with the host
or by the back door, listening to the kitchen noises.
It doesn’t matter, because there’s nothing
we have done
or can do
which will earn us an invitation, because
we’re all invited.
And once we’re there, there will be more than enough food
for everyone,
and we’ll no longer care
where it is
we are sitting.
Because we’ll be in the presence of God;
Christ himself
will be our host
That’s
the kingdom of God.

But the kingdom of God
is not just about
some heavenly banquet
way off in the future.
The kingdom of God
as Jesus explains it
is beginning right now,
here among us.

Because at the same time
as he is talking about that heavenly banquet
Jesus is talking
about life here and now.
The Kingdom of God has come near,
was what John the Baptist had proclaimed,
and with the advent of Jesus
it has arrived.
“When is the kingdom of God coming?”
the Pharisees asked him, not long after he told this story.
And he answered,
“The kingdom of God is among you.”

“Your kingdom come”
we pray every week, every day,
“your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.”
On earth as it is in heaven.
What we do
here on earth
is to be a mirror,
a foreshadowing
of that heavenly kingdom,
that heavenly banquet.

And so Jesus follows up
his story
of the humbled guest
with advice
to his host.
“When you give a meal,” he said,
“don’t invite your friends or your family, or that neighbor you just met who might be able to get you a good deal,
when you give a meal
drive over to the nursing home
and invite a couple of the folks
who have no family,
go down to the soup kitchen
and invite someone who looks like they need a good meal,
walk down the block
and invite everyone you see.”

Of course, that’s the last thing we want to do.
It’s all very well
if Jesus wants to welcome everyone to the kingdom
as long as it’s the kingdom of heaven.
And even there, we kind of hope
that some people
won’t accept the invitation.

But when it comes to the kingdom
here on earth,
it’s not so easy.
We don’t really want people around us
who make us uncomfortable.
We don’t want people
who look or act different.
We don’t want people
who we can’t really trust.
We just don’t want them
around us.

And it’s true of me
as much as any of us.
I have to admit
that when I see someone coming to the door of the office
obviously looking for handouts
my immediate reaction
is to want to lock the door
and hope they’ll go away.
The last thing I’d think of doing
is invite them for a meal
let alone join us at church.
Because we want this
to be a safe place for us,
we don’t want to be challenged
or made uncomfortable.
And yet, and yet Jesus demands something different.
He demands that we ignore social convention
ignore even common sense, and invite everyone, everyone
to join us,
not just try to fix them
but to welcome them
as people dearly beloved by God,
to welcome them
and love them
for their own sake,
to make them part
of our community.

I am profoundly grateful
that the churches I grew up in
really did try to live this out.
There was Sue, who was developmentally delayed,
and would great everyone with a hug and huge slobbery kiss,
and make noises during the service,
and David, who would climb over pews in the middle of the service
and every so often would get so agitated that we’d have to call for a psychiatric intervention team,
and Charmaine who would occasionally show up for the women’s spirituality group and always for the midweek Eucharist
carrying an assortment of bags
that were her life’s worldly goods.

It wasn’t easy. But looking back, I learned so much from those people
that would ordinarily be
outsiders.
MY life
was richer
because of them.

But it takes humility
to be a place where everyone
is welcome.
Because pride tells us
that we are a place for important people
and they should be lining up to get in.
Pride tells us
that we have resources
that we can use with generosity
to make other people’s lives better.

But living with humility means
that we hold our history, our heritage, our importance
lightly. Living with humility
means opening our door to everyone
and opening it to them
as equals.
People of God
just like us.

Maybe
it’s particularly appropriate
that we read this gospel
as we begin our month
of serving at the food pantry
in Smithtown.
It’s easy for us
look at the people who come in
and think ourselves superior to them.
We haven’t let ourselves get to the point
where we have to beg
for food.

But they are people just like us, they are people love by God
just as we are.
And you know, I’ve filled in forms
for government benefits,
I’ve stood in line
for secondhand furniture at the Salvation Army,
I’ve worn other people’s
rejected clothes,
I’ve eaten rice for days on end, and if there had been a food pantry available
I’d have used it.

And so maybe this month
as you buy food for the food pantry
think of the people who will receive it
as our brothers and sisters.
Buy them the food
that you would like
to eat.
And if you have the chance to serve at the food pantry
do it, remembering that these people
are as much loved by God
as you are.
And think about how you can share that love of God with them.

Christ who came not to be served
but to serve,
and to give his life
as a ransom for many — us included.

Because you know
there’s room for us all
in God’s kingdom,
there’s room for us all
at God’s banquet.
There’s room for us all.

©Raewynne J.Whiteley, 2007