"First Come, First Serve(d)"
September 2, 2007: 14th Sunday after Pentecost, Year C
The Rev. John MacIver Gage, senior minister
United Church on the Green, UCC: New Haven, CT
www.UnitedChurchontheGreen.org
Scripture:
Luke 14:1, 7-14
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 Jesus 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." Jesus 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."
Friends, God is still
speaking to the world. May our hearts be opened to listen and respond.
Amen.
Sermon:
It's possible to get so wrapped
up in the historical-sociological context of a particular Bible passage
that you end up missing the actual point of the story entirely. Such
is the case with this morning's reading from the Gospel according
to Luke. It's possible to focus so much on the layout of ancient Near
Eastern dining rooms of the Roman era—what with their reclining couches
arranged around three sides of a central serving area and the meticulous
attention paid to the seating of guests in proximity to the host according
to social standing—that the sheer seeming foreignness of it
all imposes an insurmountable barrier to deeper, personal connection
with the story itself. Of course some historical knowledge is helpful
when engaging the Biblical narrative—very—but we tend to slip all
too easily into Discovery Channel documentary special mode. We can become
so fascinated with the various historical details and differences of
some 2000 years that we miss the connection with a lively word Jesus,
the Gospel communities, and the Holy Spirit intend.
Truth is, most of these stories
are more easily accessible than we give them credit for, if we'll
just drop the firewall of historical exoticism for a moment and read
them for ourselves, with our own innate expertise in human nature; after
all, customs may differ, the furniture may have been rearranged, but
the basic foibles of human beings haven't changed all that much since
Jesus' day.
Take this morning's reading,
for example: sure, our dinner parties aren't served on the couch,
in a semi recumbent position—we save that for late night snacking
in front of the television; nonetheless, we recognize this scene. Guests
today still jockey for the places of honor at table or orbit around
their hosts. We like to be recognized as special, as members of the
inner circle. We like to show that we can smoothly through the social
environment, that we know the password and the secret handshake, that
we're in on all the jokes and up on the latest gossip. We want to
know, and demonstrate, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that we belong. And
not only that, but we're willing to pay for the privilege, to exchange
invitations with the right tight circle of friends in a tit-for-tat
dance of mutual recognition and self-congratulation.
And, such behavior isn't
limited to the dining room, either. We are human creatures of habit,
and we take our social-climbing selves with us wherever we go, even
to God's house. Even in the church, some look to maintain their privilege
and extend their advantage over others by rigidly enforcing some arbitrary
seating arrangement that keeps them at the head table—at God's table,
yet!—squarely "nearer, my God, to Thee" than those "less desirables"—women,
poor folk, queer folk, people of color—whom they relegate to the foot
of the table, or better yet, out in the kitchen, or best of all, begging
at the back door. Like the metaphorical muscle-bound bouncers in our
own famously banned television ad for the United Church of Christ nationally,
these ordained and elected and self-appointed watchdogs vigilantly patrol
the velvet rope that divides less-than from more-than, lest some of
them sneak in and take our places.
By now, you're probably thinking
to yourself, "Oh, but John, that happens at other churches. We
know it does—it happened to us! But that doesn't happen here at
United Church on the Green! We've come a long way toward our goal
of welcoming all persons, no matter who they are, no matter where they
are on life's journey. We're an Open and Affirming congregation,
extending a special welcome to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender
persons. We're a Just Peace church, renouncing violence and working
for justice in the world. We're out there on television and in the
newspaper and on the internet spreading the good news of the gospel
of life which is for all people.
"Even
just physically, here in our meeting house, it's been more than a
hundred years since we ended the practice of selling
the seats in our pews—and you can bet they didn't all go for the
same price. As with any real estate, it was all a matter of location,
location, location. There was a map of the meeting house, with prices
written in, and those who couldn't afford the rents down here—widows,
orphans, slaves in their day—were consigned to hottest and coldest
seats up the balcony. Now we've installed a lift to make sure the
meeting house is physically accessible to all. And no one could deny
that any stranger who wanted a seat up here in
the front pews likely wouldn't have a hard time finding one.
We like to sit in the back, so, 'Friend, go on, move up higher!'
We're so good!"
Kinda. Friends, we're
headed there, but our Gospel Train hasn't pulled into Kingdom Station
just yet. Even here at United Church, we still fall pray to the same
human temptations—they just look a little different on us. But a bird
with only one wing—right or left—still limps. And like our sisters
and brothers in other churches, we are still limping along, looking
to secure places of honor for ourselves. We still try to manage our
anxieties about belonging, about who's in and who's out, by seeking
places of comfort, places of privilege, places where we can take pride
of place—they just may not be in the pews down front.
But everybody knows the Whatchamacallits
always sit over there, and the Whosiwhatsits are over on the aisle,
and the Thingamajobs way back there. Everybody knows you don't have
to arrive for church at United until a comfortable 8-10 minutes into
the service. Everybody knows you dip your bread into the cup at communion,
then hold on to it until everyone's been served. Everybody knows "The
Lord be with you" really means, "Please sit down now." Everybody
knows my name, so I don't have to wear a name tag. And, of course,
everybody thinks about the war and the economy and marriage equality
and inclusive language and immigration and globalization and capital
punishment the same way I do—well, everybody who's anybody,
at any rate.
Of course, there's nothing
wrong with being comfortable and nothing wrong with hanging out with
likeminded folks; however, we run into problems when we confuse what
makes us comfortable with what brings us closer to God. Because, you
see, God's love isn't doled out according to proximity, or orthodoxy—even
our sort of rather un-orthodox orthodoxy here at United. God does not
operate according to the strict prescriptions of the social register
or even on just a first-come, first-served basis. God's grace is wilder
than that. It may even seem ruthless, as the world reckons such things.
For, you see, there's nothing
we can do to make God love us less, and nothing we can do to make God
love us more. You and I may think we've got an "in" on God's
grace, a seat at the head table, by virtue of who we are or what we
believe or how we practice our faith, but, watch out, because according
to Jesus, that's just when God comes along and asks you to give up
your comfortable seat and scoot over to make room for the least likely,
maybe even the least loveable person you can imagine. It's completely
up to God, and God will bloody well love whomever God chooses to love.
The good news is that God chooses
a lot of people—a lot of people; in fact, God chooses to love
the whole wide world and everyone in it. And God being God, there's
more than enough love to go around. There is indeed a wideness in God's
mercy, like the wideness of the sea, which means there's no wait for
a table in God's good graces, no reason to hustle and wheedle and
try to work our way up to the head of the line, because there is
no line. We don't have to worry about losing our place in God's
affections, because God's abundant love reaches out to embrace each
of us, all of us, equally.
That sort of radical grace
can be unsettling, frightening even, accustomed as we are to living
according to the world's model of scarcity. The world tells us there's
never enough to go around—not enough money or food or land, even love.
And that existential fear makes us all competitors in a cutthroat race
for the winner's circle. But grace makes us family. Fear keeps us
huddled, hoarding behind the walls of our gated communities. Grace makes
us neighbors. Grace frees us to share everything we are, everything
we have, even the very most precious love of God, with the world. Because,
just as in this sanctuary, the Gospel truth is there's plenty good
room in God's house for all, if only we will get ourselves—our anxieties,
our baggage, our egos, even just our old, ingrained habits of mind and
body—out of the way long enough to slide over and make room.
This is an important point
to remember as we head into Homecoming next Sunday and a new program
year this fall. In the coming months, God willing, we will have an opportunity
to receive many new guests to our United Church community, some only
passing through on their way to some place else, to be sure, and some
looking to settle in a new church home. And I'm sure that some of
those new folks are going to make us feel uncomfortable. Maybe they'll
sing too loud or off-key or shout amen; maybe they won't listen to
the same radio programs or read the same newspapers we do; maybe they'll
sit in our favorite spot, because they'll get here before 10:30;
or maybe they'll just be toosans-serifwhatever—too poor, too crippled,
too lame, too blind, too new and different.
But, no matter who they are,
no matter where they are on life's journey, we will make room for
them all, not out of some misplaced sense of largesse, not because faith
has anything to do with packing the pews or just so we can increase
our bottom line come budget time; not even because it's good for them;
but because, as maturing followers of Christ, it is good for us to do
so. It is good for us to get out of the way and go out of our way to
welcome others into the very same grace we have received. We are called
to grow the body of Christ—and ask any teenager: growth is always
a messy, ungainly process—not so others will admire us or envy us,
as a kind of self-aggrandizing witness to who we are in ourselves, but
rather as a sign of the transforming power of God's love at work among
us and in and through ussans-serif and, honestly, often in spite of us.
And so we run the television
commercial and pay for the newspaper ads and print up postcards and
write notes to newcomers and hand out water at the New Haven Road Race
and talk about our commitments to full inclusion and peace and justice—we
might even cross the aisle to pass the peace or talk to strangers at
coffee hour or give up our accustomed seat, our place of honor—because
this is the next step on our spiritual journey as disciples of Christ.
First we came here seeking to be served, to be welcomed at Christ's
table and to taste once again, or for the very first time, the goodness
of our God. And, thanks be to God, we have received all that. Amen.
Now it is our turn to turn and welcome others in Christ's name, to
serve them out of the same abundant, amazing grace, to whisper in their
unbelieving ear, "Friend, move up higher. There is a place saved there
for you."