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…
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