Friday, September 20, 2013

Changing God's Mind (Proper 19)

Exodus 32:7-14
7 The Lord said to Moses, "Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely; 8 they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!' " 9 The Lord said to Moses, "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. 10 Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation." 11 But Moses implored the Lord his God, and said, "O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? 12 Why should the Egyptians say, "It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth'? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. 13 Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, "I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.' " 14 And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.

            I know some might think it’s silly, but often when I read a book, watch a movie or television show, or hear a story, I ask myself, “what if…?” My mind begins to unwind all the possible paths a story’s protagonist might have taken if she or he had made one or two critical decisions differently in the narrative. What if…Dorothy had struck a bargain with the Wicked Witch of the West and simply handed over the ruby slippers in exchange for a safe ride back to Kansas? What would have become of the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodsman, and the Lion? What if…the Joad’s had just left Jim Casy back in Oklahoma instead of bringing him along for the ride to California? Would Tom Joad have ever been involved in any controversy that would lead to his fleeing from the law, abandoning his family? What if…Voldemort had actually succeeded in destroying Harry Potter? Would someone else rise up to defeat him, or was Harry the only one ever capable of standing up to him? What if…?
            Some might think it a wee bit sacrilegious, but I also find myself asking “What if…?” when it comes to the stories we find in the pages of the Bible. What if…Adam and Eve had just obeyed that one, small rule in Eden? Would they have lived out the rest of their days in paradise, or would something else tempt them in the years to come? Would one of their children have been the first to fall? What if…Noah had taken a pass on the whole “go build an ark” thing? What if Noah had just said, “Nah, I think I’ll wait it out with my neighbors and see what happens”? Would God have miraculously buoyed the bodies of Noah and his family to the surface of the flood waters, or would God have moved on down the list of righteous persons until God found the person willing to build a boat big enough for creation? What if…Abram had said “no thanks” to the call to father one nation and bless all nations? What if…David hadn’t killed Goliath or took advantage of Bathsheba? What if…Jonah never went to Nineveh? What if…John the Baptist never made it to the Jordan? What if…all those people following Jesus had actually gotten the message—actually understood the whole “Kingdom of God” thing—and what if the Romans caught on too? What if…Saul of Tarsus had chalked up his Damascus road experience to a bad burrito from dinner the night before? What if…?
            It’s the kind of question that can cause our minds to chase ideas down endless trails with innumerable forks, and it is precisely because such a question opens our minds and expands our questions and even our doubts that I think it’s a healthy question to ask. So, it’s the very question I bring to the text before us this morning.
            To just sort of sum it all up, the Israelites—descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Israel)—were bond in slavery in the Egyptian empire for four hundred thirty years. Then, Moses comes along (after an intriguing backstory that involves the slaughter of babies, an Egyptian princess, murder, and a burning bush) and God uses Moses (along with his brother Aaron) to liberate the Israelite slaves through a series of pleas and plagues. Once these newly liberated Israelites are free from Pharaoh, they immediately begin complaining: they complain about not having any bread; then, when God gives them bread from the sky, they complain about not having meat; they get meat, and I’m sure some folks complained that it wasn’t steak! They complain about the journey; they complain about their leader; they complain about having to walk across the desert when Egypt looked so nice in hindsight. Eventually (despite all the complaining), they all make it to the mountain to which God told Moses to bring them, Mt. Sinai/Horeb. Once they get there, God calls Moses up the mountain for a little one-on-one time.
            Now, here is where the story gets interesting. In fact, you can just read along with me the six verses that precede out text this morning (Exodus 32:1-6): When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered around Aaron, and said to him, "Come, make gods for us, who shall go before us; as for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him." Aaron said to them, "Take off the gold rings that are on the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me." So all the people took off the gold rings from their ears, and brought them to Aaron. He took the gold from them, formed it in a mold, and cast an image of a calf; and they said, "These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!" When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation and said, "Tomorrow shall be a festival to the Lord." They rose early the next day, and offered burnt offerings and brought sacrifices of well-being; and the people sat down to eat and drink, and rose up to revel.
            Now, something that is lost in translation in this passage is the notion that the Israelites aren’t necessarily asking Aaron to build them an idol to a new, or different god—at least Aaron seems to be under the impression that this golden calf is YHWH, or at least an object upon which YHWH will be seated. In short, these complaining, impatient people have grown tired of waiting for Moses to show back up with some word from God, so they attempt to invoke God’s presence by putting God in a golden, calf-shaped box.
As we know from the verses that follow in our text for this morning, the whole “let’s build a golden calf and call it YHWH” thing doesn’t exactly thrill the Almighty. God becomes furious. At first, God tells Moses in verses 7 and 8:"Go down at once! Your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have acted perversely;  they have been quick to turn aside from the way that I commanded them; they have cast for themselves an image of a calf, and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it, and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!' "
Did you happen to notice what God did there? He tells Moses, YOUR people, whom YOU brought up out of the land of Egypt…”  God seems to be playing that game parents play when their child misbehaves: “Your son hit another kid on the playground at school…your daughter called another kid names…” God is sort of throwing Moses under the bus! YOUR people, whom YOU brought up out of the land of Egypt…”  Moses is silent: maybe because he’s stunned by what the people are doing or maybe because God has just dumped them into his lap. Either way, before Moses can muster a response, God says in verses 9 and 10: "I have seen this people, how stiff-necked they are. Now let me alone, so that my wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them; and of you I will make a great nation." In other words, “I’m through with these hard-headed, complaining people. They’ve angered me to the point where I can’t see straight, so I’m going to kill them all—get rid of them—and guess what, Moses; I’m starting all over with you.”
You can imagine the mix of feelings rushing through Moses’ mind: confusion, disappointment, fear, excitement, maybe even a little bit of pride (after all, God wanted to start over with him). This time, however, Moses musters the ability to respond to God’s proposition in verses 11 through 13: “But Moses implored the Lord his God, and said, ‘O Lord, why does your wrath burn hot against your people, whom you brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? Why should the Egyptians say, ‘It was with evil intent that he brought them out to kill them in the mountains, and to consume them from the face of the earth'? Turn from your fierce wrath; change your mind and do not bring disaster on your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, how you swore to them by your own self, saying to them, ‘I will multiply your descendants like the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your descendants, and they shall inherit it forever.' "
You noticed what Moses did, right? He flipped the script on God, pulling that same pronoun punch: “O Lord, why does YOUR wrath burn hot against YOUR people, whom YOU brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand?” Moses reminds God that Israel is God’s people, and Moses reminds God of the whole reason they’re all there in the first place: because God showed up the gods of Egypt (including Pharaoh). If God destroyed them all now, the Egyptians wouldn’t see God as that much of a threat; in fact, they may have simple seen God as an inconvenient deity who consumes its own followers. Moses even reminds God of the covenant God made with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, perhaps in an attempt to remind God that God shouldn’t promise Moses something God isn’t willing to follow through on with those first patriarchs.
Then, it seems as if Moses does the impossible—Moses changes God’s mind! It’s not heresy; it’s not speculation. It’s right there in the text, in verse 14: “And the Lord changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring on his people.” Moses was able to change God’s mind, to turn God’s mind away from destruction and annihilation, towards forgiveness and mercy. It’s here, though, that my mind wants to ask, “What if…?”
Now, don’t jump to any conclusions. Sure, there’s the question, “What if God hadn’t changed his mind about the disaster that he planned to bring to his people?” But that isn’t where I’d ask the question, “What if…?” No. You see, I tend to identify a bit more with Moses in this story, but not necessarily with his actions.
Put yourself in Moses’ place in this story for just a minute. Remember, you’ve led these hundreds of thousands of complaining, irritating, helpless people out of bondage. You’ve been the one who’s had to hear every complaint about how great Egypt was, how much better it was in their old place, how much they hated the sudden change of having to relocate. You’ve been the one they’ve come to whenever they had stupid arguments about insignificant issues in the desert. You were the one that was called away from a comfortable life of tending your father-in-law’s sheep on other side of the wilderness, just to stand against the most powerful man in the world, with the very real threat of death in your face. You were the one who’s had to hear God say that God wanted to wipe them all out and start over with you…
What if Moses had said, “OK”? Maybe God was testing Moses. Maybe God was trying to see where his true concerns were. But what if Moses had said, “OK”? Would God have wiped them all out and started a new nation with Moses? Would the nation of Israel have been called “Moses” instead? I don’t know, but when I ask myself that question about this story, the other question I ask is, “Why did Moses reject God’s offer and try to change God’s mind?” I believe it’s for the very same reason Christ said from the cross in Luke 23:34: “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing."
Moses knew those people at the base of the mountain, those people reveling and dancing around that golden calf. Moses knew those people were irritating; he knew they were complainers; he knew they were idolatrous; he knew they were stiff-necked and hard-headed; he knew they were capable of wicked crimes and sinful actions. Moses knew all those things about those people he helped to bring up out of Egypt, and he knew he wasn’t any better. He was just as guilty as they were, and he knew he had no right to the title of “father of a nation.” Moses could have stepped back and watched as the wrath of an angry God consumed those sinners at the base of Sinai…but he didn’t.
I think we could learn a thing or two from this scene in Moses’ story. Too often it seems like we would rather stand aside and allow (or even pray for) the wrath of an angry God to consume all those people we’ve deemed “sinners.” Too often it feels as if we would rather cast judgment on our brothers and sisters and wait for the lightning bolt to strike them or the finger of God to flick them from existence. Too often we take the offer God put before Moses, and we wish God would just start over with us, the “real Christians,” while God’s wrath burns hot against those who aren’t in our camp, those who aren’t like us. I’m afraid we Christians have gotten way too comfortable with pointing fingers and not nearly comfortable enough at putting ourselves in the place of love and forgiveness, of compassion and mercy—the place between God and our brothers and sisters.
May we learn this lesson from Moses. May we strive to be people of compassion, people who do not seek to condemn others to the wrath of God, but people who seek to live in and share the forgiveness of God through Christ Jesus our Lord.
Let us pray…

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Decisions, Decisions...(Proper 18, 2013)

Deuteronomy 30:15-20
15 See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. 16 If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess. 17 But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, 18 I declare to you today that you shall perish; you shall not live long in the land that you are crossing the Jordan to enter and possess. 19 I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, 20 loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.

            I remember an interesting conversation I had with a friend a few years ago. We were talking about the usual things friends talk about when time and distance have kept them apart: family, memories of old times, etc. After we had exhausted such pleasantries, my friend looked at me with all the seriousness one can muster when revealing a precious secret, and he said, “Chris, I’ve got this amazing idea that I think will make me real rich, real quick.” I took his bait and replied, “OK. Well, what is it? I promise I won’t steal your idea; you’ve just struck my curiosity.”
“I’m going to open a restaurant,” he said with a straight face.
“A restaurant? That’s your ‘get-rich-quick’ idea? You know restaurants are one of the most difficult businesses to start, right? They fail all the time. Exactly what kind of restaurant are you thinking about starting anyhow?”
“It doesn’t really matter,” he said. “It doesn’t matter if it’s American, Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Italian, or Mediterranean. It doesn’t matter if it’s fast food with a drive-thru, a sit-down diner with laminated menus, or a fancy place with real cotton tablecloths and napkins. It doesn’t really matter that much where it’ll be located, just as long as the road is paved to get there and people can see it from the road.”
At this point, I was pretty sure he hadn’t thought this “brilliant” idea through, but I had to know what it was that made him so sure this was a singularly wonderful idea. “Well,” I said, “I suppose if none of that matters it doesn’t matter what you call the place either does it?” That was when his face lit up with the fire of his self-assured genius.
“That’s the part that’ll make me a ton of money, Chris. You see, while it doesn’t matter the kind of food, the style of restaurant, or even its location, the name—the name—is the crucial, money-making part of the equation.”
I couldn’t take the suspense anymore, so I asked the question you’re all asking right about now: “Well, what are you going to call it?” He looked me square in the face and said (as sure as I’m standing here), “I don’t care.”
“But I thought you said that was the important, money-making part of this idea, so why don’t you care what you call it?”
“No,” he said,” you misunderstand. ‘I Don’t Care’ will be the name of the restaurant. Think of how many times friends, couples, families have had the same conversation on Friday or Saturday night: ‘Where do you want to eat tonight?’ ‘Oh, I don’t care.’ They’ll think they mean my restaurant; people will come out of sheer confusion and miscommunication! I’ll make money hand-over-fist and have enough to get out of the business before people ever catch on!” As silly as his idea was, it was rooted in a very present reality; people do often have a hard time deciding where they’ll eat if they eat out.
Choosing a restaurant is just one of the choices we make on an ever-growing list of life’s decisions. We wake up each morning faced with the new decisions that come with a new day: what clothes to wear, what words to say, what actions to take at work. And we wake up each morning faced with the same decisions we’ve faced for so many days that they hardly feel like decisions at all: which road to take to work, how we’ll take our coffee, when we’ll head home for the day. Then there are those exceptional times in our lives when we are faced with decisions that could very well alter that course of the rest of our lives: to risk the surgery, to quit the job, to go back to school, to adopt a child. The truth is, there are many times in my life when I wish the path was clearly laid before me, when I wish the hours and years were programmed and I could just go along for the ride, trusting the program. I’m afraid, however, life isn’t programmed for us, and the way of God is often shrouded by the dark fog of our own sin.
If anyone has ever known about the shrouded way of God, it was that group of Israelites that followed Moses through the winding wilderness towards the Promised Land’s milk and honey. They also knew a thing or two about decisions: in fact, their whole story up to this point in our text today has read like a “choose your own adventure” novel. When the Torah (the books of the Law, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament) begins in Genesis (appropriately enough) with the words “In the beginning…” it isn’t too much longer before we hear about a decision being made about whether or not to eat from a certain tree in a certain part of a certain garden.  Then we hear about decisions being made about which gods to worship, about whether or not to sell birthrights and brothers, about whether or not to let a few hundred thousand slaves walk freely out of the most powerful empire on Earth…you get the idea. As much as the Torah is about laws, it is about decisions, so it is only appropriate that, as the Promised Land looms over the horizon, Moses gives a grand exhortation to the Israelites to reinforce the necessity of one very important decision.
            The wandering Israelites have found their way to Moab, where they have renewed their covenant with YHWH after witnessing all the wonders in the land of Egypt and the miraculous ways in which God had provided for them in their wilderness wandering. It’s there in Moab that Moses addresses the people with words about the importance of continuing in the covenant, of following God’s ways and obeying God’s commands. In the verses preceding our text today, Moses even goes so far as to tell them that the covenant they have made with God is not some lofty, unreachable ideal. Rather, he says in verse 14, “No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe.”
            They knew the way; it resided within them. Even so, Moses knows that a cognitive recognition of God’s way is not enough to abide in it—knowing God’s commands and obeying them are two very different things. That is why Moses says to the people then (and to us now) in verses 15 through 18: “See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. If you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the Lord your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the Lord your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess. But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, I declare to you today that you shall perish…” Moses knew it was one thing to hear the well-put words of a divine covenant and click the box that says one agrees to the “terms and conditions,” and that it was a completely different thing to hear those words and follow through with them in one’s life.
            How often do we make decisions based solely on the terms set before us? How often do we allow ourselves to enter into actions simply because we believe we have all the facts straight and can follow through simply because “the math works out”? How many times have we told ourselves that something is going to be easy, simple, only to find ourselves in waist-deep, with seemingly no end in sight, wondering how we ever allowed ourselves to get in such a mess in the first place? Judging from the recent economic crisis, the rate of high school and college dropouts, and the percentages of marriages that end in divorce, I’d say we’ve made these sorts of decisions more times than we’re willing to admit.
            The Israelites were no different. They happily left Egypt, following Moses into the wilderness, only to spend the next decades in a cycle of complaining. Some wanted to go back to Egypt where they had food and shelter, while others were ready to simply give up and be consumed by the wilderness. I believe Moses knew how those people thought—how we still think—so, in verses 19 and 20, Moses calls witnesses to verify the people’s decision to follow God’s way and obey God’s commands. He says, “I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the Lord swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.”
            It was common in those days for the gods of those parties entering into a contract to be invoked by the mediator of the contract. For the Israelites, however, the name of God was not to be used in such a way (this is what is meant by the fourth commandment in Exodus 20:7, “You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the Lord your God, for the Lord will not acquit anyone who misuses his name”), so Moses symbolically calls heaven and earth as witnesses.[1] He has set before the people a decision—one which is not to be entered into lightly—and to show just how serious the decision is, he literally puts the weight of creation on the table.
            Moses knew the people had jumped at the chance to leave Egypt so they could save their own skin. He knew they had made rash decisions about the shape and manner of God in the wilderness in order to boost their own levels of comfort. And just as those people were quick to make decisions in order to feel better about themselves, we too are quick to make decisions that boost our ego and give us some piece of mind about our spiritual wellbeing. Whether it’s making the decision to buy groceries for the family behind us in the checkout line, whether it’s making the choice to buy organic/fair-trade coffee, whether it’s the decision to put an extra five in the offering plate, or whether it’s choosing to join a church, if we make such a decision to help ourselves feel better about the kind of person we are, we miss the point. If we make such decisions because we feel as if the choice itself is enough to classify us as a so-called “good Christian,” we miss the point.
            You see, the Promised Land was just around the corner for the Israelites: the sweet scent of milk and honey may have even been wafting in the breeze. They may have thought the end was in sight, the consequences of their decisions not too far off. But Moses knew better. He knew it wasn’t as simple as agreeing to be God’s people and simply possessing the land. There were going to battles, struggles, droughts, famines, and enemies, just as there had been in Egypt. Their decision to follow the way of God and obey God’s commandments would not be an easy decision to follow through. That is why Moses emphasized the people’s decision, and that is why he called heaven and earth as witnesses, because this decision to follow God’s way was not going to be an easy one.
            And now you and I sit on the other side of Moab, on the other side of the Promised Land of Canaan. We sit in this room knowing the rest of the Israelites’ story, of how they fought terrible wars with the peoples waiting in Canaan, how they turned aside to worship other gods, how they longed to be like other nations, how they were conquered and carted off by different empires. We sit on the other side of history with their decision; we sit with the same perspective as those who once gathered around Jesus, knowing what happened when the Israelites reached the Promised Land. Those people were faced with a similar decision from Jesus. In Luke 14:27, Jesus turns to a crowd that had been following him and says, “Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.”  
We are faced with the same decision. We are faced with the same decision Moses put before the Israelites, the same decision Jesus put before the crowds that followed him: it is not a decision to be made, hoping that it will simply change our eternal destination; it is not a decision to be made in order to feel better about ourselves. The call to choose life…to carry the cross and follow Jesus is a decision one does not make lightly. There will be dark times, there will be difficulties, and there will be pain. In the end, however, we will find that God’s way—the way of the Cross—is and has always been the only way. May you choose today between life and death. May you choose today to take up your cross and follow Christ—and may you never take such a decision lightly.  Let us pray…




[1] J.A. Thompson, Deuteronomy: Tyndale Old Testament Commentaries. Inter-Varsity Press: London (1974) p.287.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

The Best Seat in the House (Proper 17, 2013)

Luke 14:7-14
7 When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. 8 "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; 9 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. 10 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. 11 For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." 12 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. 13 But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. 14 And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

            The fifty-yard line, field level; half-court, right behind the bench; row A, right behind home plate; first row, first class, window; front row, right smack-dab in the middle; the back row of just about any church or college lecture hall. What do all of these places have in common? Well, they are considered by most to be the “best seats in the house.” They’re the seats people mark, the seats people save, the seats for which people pay a higher price. They’re the seats everyone seems to want, but only a fortunate few can get. If we all had our way, every time we went to the ballpark we’d sit directly behind home plate, close enough to hear the mumbled exchange between the catcher and the batter. If we all had our way, every football game we’d be sitting on the front row of the fifty yard line. At every concert we’d be front and center, on every flight we’d be in first class in the seat with the most legroom. And if most of us had our way, there would be enough room on the back pew for everyone and floors and doors that didn’t give us away as we tried to quietly excuse ourselves early during the benediction. The “best seats in the house” are the best seats because they’re the seats that put us in the place we most want to be, the place we can take in the most action, the place where we believe we’d be most comfortable.
            When I was growing up, however, I had a different idea of what was “the best seat in the house.” In fact, there were two such seats I recall from my childhood. One of them stood in the corner of the living room at my dad’s house. It was a brown, worn-out, grease-stained, La-Z-Boy. Everyone knew that was “Dad’s chair.” It was off-limits—even if dad wasn’t in the house. As kids, we’d dare each other to sit in that chair while Dad was outside and we’d see who had the guts to stay in it the longest.
            At my maternal grandparents’ house there was also a “best seat.” Most of our family gatherings at Ma and Pa’s house took place in the dining room (which was open to the kitchen). The small dining room was filled with a huge, oblong dinner table that took up so much room one couldn’t get from the back door to the kitchen if someone was sitting at the table. Around that table were the same, vinyl-padded, wooden chairs, but at the head of the table—on the kitchen end—was a slightly different chair. That was Pa’s chair; it was built just like the other chairs except it had arms! No one but Pa sat in that chair, even for a while after he passed away.
            I remember the few times I sat in Dad’s recliner or Pa’s chair as a kid. I remember feeling special, like I had instantly grown up just because my posterior occupied the same cushioned areas as my dad’s and pa’s. I had the best seat in the house, the most comfortable seat, the most important seat, the seat everyone (including myself) knew was reserved for only the most important person of the house.
            You know, in Jesus’ day there was this concept of having “the best seat in the house,” especially when it came to big dinners and grand banquets. Like dinners at my grandparents’ house, there was a seat reserved at the head of the table for the host, and to either side of the host were the seats for the honored guests (who often arrived late). In fact, all the seating at a banquet was sort of ranked, with those guests of higher honor seated nearer to the host and those of lesser honor seated farther from the host.[1]
            In chapter fourteen of Luke’s gospel, Jesus finds himself at the table in the house of a leader of the Pharisees (v.1), and he has no doubt witnessed this sort of seat ranking taking place. Actually, Luke tells us that he has in verse 7: When [Jesus] noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable.” Jesus was reclining at dinner table on the Sabbath and noticed how the guests were coming in and claiming seats based on what they thought of themselves, how important they believed they were. Now, it’s important to keep in mind, their actions aren’t necessarily malicious or driven by swollen egos. No, these first century Jews are not archaic examples of mean-spirited teenagers prowling the school cafeteria for their reserved lunch table. They are simply following the custom of the day, a custom handed to them by a culture that valued honor, legacy, and societal connections. But just because someone or some group follows a custom—even a well-meaning religious or societal custom—doesn’t mean that such a practice or attitude is just. Jesus noticed how these guests were choosing the best seats in the house, so he (in classical Jesus fashion in Luke’s gospel) responded to the situation with the telling of a parable.
            Now, I have to say, this parable we’ve read isn’t exactly Jesus’ most creative work, but it effectively gets the point across. At first reading/hearing, Jesus’ words read like a practical commentary on Proverbs 25:6-7, which says, “Do not put yourself forward in the king's presence or stand in the place of the great; for it is better to be told, ‘Come up here,’ than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.” The words of Proverbs are practical; they are words that teach one how to avoid an embarrassingly awkward situation in front of a very important person.[2] Jesus’ words in verses 8-10 of our text sound very similar to those words from Proverbs: "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.”
            These words make practical sense: sit in a lower seat so as to avoid embarrassment when you go to a fancy wedding. But, is that all these words from Jesus have to say? Is this really only a parable of protocol practicality? Well…no. You see, with Jesus’ subtle words (and Luke’s naming them a parable) he is peeling back the layers of engrained, cultural sin. You see, this whole “best seat” thing had its roots in good, old-fashioned pride. Ranking the guests at a banquet reeks of self-aggrandizement. Think about it: if you wanted to get the rundown of who the fat-cats were in the community, just show up to a wedding banquet. You could simply start with the host of the banquet and look down the line, the power and influence decreasing as your gaze drifts from the host. It was a cultural practice that literally ranked human beings, placing one over another, and it was a cultural practice that called on an individual to rank him or herself above or below someone else.
            Whenever we judge another human being to be better than another—or worse yet, whenever we judge ourselves to be better than someone else—we commit an egregious sin! So, while it may seem like Jesus is offering some practical, social advice to those listening to his little parable, in reality Jesus is calling out the sin that takes place when people rank themselves, regardless of whatever criteria that may use.
The gravity of Jesus’ words is most clearly heard through the prophetic, eschatological tone of verse 11: “For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted." The passive way in which Jesus says the exalter will be humbled and the humble will be exalted, implies that God is the one who will bring the self-exalters low and raise the humble up.[3] What seems like a practical parable dealing with proper seating arrangements at a banquet turns into a grave warning against arrogance. With this parable and the words of verse 11, Jesus speaks against the sin of judging oneself to be of greater importance than another; his words speak against the sin of judging oneself to be great in any sense. After all, we are not the ones who can judge others or ourselves, such judgment belongs to God. In effect, what Jesus is saying in this little parable is that humility is always the best route to take when dealing with others (and with God). Let others recognize your influence and point it out; let God be the judge of your and everyone else’s importance, for it is nothing short of sinful to think too highly of yourself.
However, I’m afraid that those who need to hear such a word are often struck with temporary bouts of deafness, while those who have already found their seat at the end of the table feel as if they are not worthy to occupy the chair. Truth is, I think Jesus had a similar concern too, for he doesn’t just leave this short little parable in verses 8-11 to hang in the air alone. Just in case there were any gathered there around him in the home of the Pharisee, or just in case there are any gathered in this room this morning, Jesus says in verses 12 and 13: “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.”  
Perhaps Jesus, as he noticed the guests haggling over the best seats in the house, took note of the absence of diversity. Perhaps Jesus looked around the table and noticed every single person looked similar to the person seated next to them. Maybe Jesus, on his way to the Pharisee’s house that Sabbath, passed by the beggars lining the dirt streets, the men and women who hobbled on crudely cut crutches, and those who had to be led by the hand because they could not see where they were going. It’s possible Jesus looked around that table and noticed the lack of those who were deemed by the law and culture to be unclean, unfit, dirty, sinful, disgraceful, or just plain wrong, and in seeing such an absence, issues those words in verses 12 and 13.
The poor couldn’t afford to be there in the first place; the crippled were considered cursed; the lame were looked at as less than worthy; the blind were seen as victims of their own sinfulness. None of these—the poor, crippled, lame, or blind—were invited to such banquets because it was common sense that they would never be able to return the favor to the hosts. That’s why Jesus says in verse 14: “you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous." Jesus says in effect, “invite those who can’t repay you, those you previously deemed unworthy, and you’ll be repaid in the end.” And here’s is where I think we need to lean in a little bit more to really hear what Jesus is saying.
You see, it can be pretty easy to take Jesus’ words from this passage we’ve heard today as instructions about how to get ahead, how to play the system in order to be recognized and invited up the ladder or success. It can be easy to hear these words of Jesus with the ears of the prosperity gospel and play nice with the poor, crippled, lame, and blind in order to get something divinely “anointed” in return. But understand this: Jesus’ words are NOT words about how to play the system in societal recognition, and his words are NOT words instructing us on ways to earn holy riches or material blessings. Jesus’ words are about changing the very way we think about ourselves and others. Jesus’ words are about putting ourselves last—not so we may be recognized as “the most humble,” but—so that we may lift others up. Jesus’ words are about making room at the table for all of God’s people—and that means ALL OF GOD’S PEOPLE! For when Jesus says to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind, he is saying to invite those you would never invite on your own, and for us—for you—that may mean you invite old, young, black, white, Hispanic, poor, rich, gay, straight, ugly, pretty, stinking, Republican, Democrat, Jew, Muslim, atheist…it means that at the table of Christ’s kingdom we take the lower seat to make room for everyone else. Because, in the end, while we may not get the “best seat in the house,” the truth is, it is only by the grace of God in Christ that we have a seat at the table at all.
Let us pray…



[1] Darrel L. Bock, Luke: Baker Exegetical Commentary on the New Testament. Baker Academic: Grand Rapids, MI (1996) pp. 1262-3.
[2] Rodney S. Sadler, Jr. “Proper 17: Luke 14:1, 7-14,” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisvile, KY (2010) p.23.
[3] Bock, p.1265.