Table Manners

This sermon was preached on September 2, 2007, for morning worship at the Presbyterian Church of Laurelhurst. It is focused on the gospel reading of Luke 14: 1, 7-14.

In my translation of the Bible (the New Revised Standard Version) this section of Luke chapter 14 we just read is sub-titled “Humility and Hospitality.” That would be a pretty good sermon title, I think, and it’s an excellent summary of our text for today, in which we see Jesus invited to eat the Sabbath meal at a Pharisee’s house.

I don’t know if Jesus was the kind of guest the Pharisee expected to share a meal with that day. The text says that “they were watching him closely,” and he certainly gave them something to see and to talk about.

In his usual outspoken way, Jesus comments with stinging disapproval on the behavior he sees there around the table at the meal—guests jostling for the seat with the most honor—telling them, “all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” That’s our lesson on humility.

Jesus also takes on the Pharisee’s guest list, telling him that he’s invited all the wrong people—that instead of brothers, relatives, and rich neighbors, he ought to have invited “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” There’s our lesson on hospitality.

This is one of those passages that is deceptively simple to us, as we read it with our 21st century, American eyes. We’re from a culture where, at least in theory, food is plentiful and casually eaten, equality of persons is a cherished ideal, and societal status is conferred by wealth and individual achievement.

It’s hard for us to imagine the context of Biblical times, when meals such as the one Jesus attended at the Pharisee’s home were important community events, and who was invited and where they sat—or reclined, as the custom was then—was not only strictly ritualized but communicated a powerful message about social status, importance in the community, and value to society.

One Biblical scholar sums up the importance of presence and place at the table this way:

“Among the ‘rules’ for common meals of this kind in first century Palestine we often find correct order of seating. There is a place for the most important and the least important and everyone in between. . . in the ancient world, society was strongly hierarchical. There was a place on the ladder. For many it was a matter of survival to make sure they either stayed where they were or climbed higher. Position was not just a matter of individual achievement. It was a community value, in some sense given by the group. Your value was inseparable from what others thought about you. Most to be feared was to lose your place, to be embarrassed, to be publicly humiliated by having to take a lower place. Losing face could not be shrugged off as easily as for many of us who have grown up in a strongly individualistic culture. Losing face was almost like losing one’s life.”

I’m sure none of us have been to a dinner party where so very much was at stake. As I thought about this I came up with very few examples of times and places in our culture today where invitation and seating might be a matter of strict planning and protocol, and might convey some social meaning—State dinners at the White House—anyone here ever been to one of those? Or perhaps a little closer to home, Thanksgiving dinner, where Grampa always carves the bird at the head of the table and you know you’ve made it to adulthood when you’ve graduated from the kids table in the hallway to a seat at the main table with the grownups.

In Biblical times, when protocols of invitation and hierarchies of seating conferred so much meaning about who you were and how much you were valued by society, Jesus’ words about humility and hospitality at the dinner table would have stung the ears of his listeners with their power and counter-cultural impact. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind? Give up your seat of honor and go sit at the lowest place? In this parable about humility and hospitality, Jesus is proposing to the people at the Pharisee’s table a complete , and probably frightening, re-ordering of the world as they knew it—a prophetic proclamation of the value and place of each person in God’s eyes and at God’s table.

We don’t live in 1st century Palestine, so we aren’t going to experience this passage from Luke’s gospel with quite the same shock and surprise as those who heard Jesus at the table, or even those who heard it read or proclaimed in the days of the Early church.

But in some ways our understanding of this passage can be enriched by this very same distance of time and place.

Because no matter who we are and where or when we live, the dinner table, and the ritual of sharing food with family and friends around that table, still communicates meaning, still reveals who we are in a deep and even spiritual way, still tells us so much about ourselves and others. No matter who we are and where or when we live, we all have stories to share and meanings to add about “the table” and the messages of love and comfort, conflict and loss, that we have received there.

Time at the table points up differences between families and cultures. I grew up in a Southern home, where hospitality and caring was communicated through table excess: my mother always made twice as much food as we could eat, piled it high in the serving bowls, took pride in offering family and guests second and third helpings, and felt secure and comforted when the refrigerator was full to overflowing with leftovers and creative space management was required to fit in the last saran-wrap covered bowl.

Imagine my surprise when I went to dinner at my in-laws’ home and discovered a whole different sense of provision, comfort, and love. My mother-in-law hated eating leftovers, and so she prided herself on making just enough food to go around, and maybe even a little less--her care and love for her family was expressed in what dietitians would call portion control. In addition, she felt comforted and secure by the economy of not wasting food—an important contribution to the economic well-being and survival of the family.

A friend of mine in high school told me that her parents experienced a different kind of table culture shock when they got married. Her dad was from the East Coast, and for him dinner meant meat and potatoes and gravy over everything. Her mom was from California, and for her dinner meant salad and vegetables and fruits.

At the table we reveal who we are. And for those of you who might be on the dating scene, may I suggest—pizza? On our first date Mark and I went to a pizza place and it was very instructive. No olives for me. No onions for him. Sausage, yes. Anchovies, no. Thin crust or thick crust? Medium or extra large? By the time we had settled on the kind of pizza to order, we knew a lot about each other!

If some of you watch the TVLand or Nickelodeon TV channels, you’ve probably seen a public service campaign urging people to gather around “The Family Table.” It’s a campaign aimed at giving kids the family support they need to succeed in school, resist the pull of gangs and drugs, and make them feel secure in the world. The campaign recognizes that simple fact that we all know from our own experience—that at the table with others we nurture relationships, communicate values, comfort and support one another, and transmit family stories from one generation to another.

At its best, the dinner table is for us a place of equality and self-discovery, a place where love is expressed in word and in deed, a place where we share who we are and what we have with others in mutual vulnerability, a place where we experience what it means to truly be a community.

And, of course, our worship lives as Christians—and the architecture of our churches--are organized around a table—the communion table (Presbyterians never call it an altar). Holy communion, one of our most meaningful times as a church family, is experienced as a shared and sacred meal around a table.

So in a sense, our 21st century perspective can add to and enrich our understanding of Jesus’ call to humility and hospitality in our Luke passage for today.

Jesus says: “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends, brothers, relatives, rich neighbors. . .invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.” In other words—“change who you invite to the table.”

Have you ever heard people talk about historical figures they’d like to invite to an imaginary dinner party? I read a blog on the internet recently where people were making up lists of the perfect dinner guests. One person put together this list: Marie Curie, Jane Austen, Helen Keller, and Marie Antoinette. Wouldn’t that be a fabulous conversation! Another person chose Amelia Earhart, Mark Twain, Florence Nightingale, Benjamin Franklin, and Annie Oakley. But one person contributing to the blog had a different idea. She said:

“I don’t want famous historical people. Not even the D list. I’d want the estranged sister of the second footman. You know, ordinary people from history—the bitter, gossipy people, the ones who had to pick up after the tantrums. You know, what did Joan of Arc’s childhood playmates think? What’s it like to work in a castle a pair of Princes just disappeared from? How many times did you catch someone sneaking out of the palace at midnight?”

I think this is the kind of thing Jesus is talking about in the gospel passage today. Don’t invite all those people you already know. Don’t invite all those people who can do something for you later. Don’t invite the rich. Don’t invite the famous.

Instead, invite the ordinary—invite the ones you don’t know, the ones that society and history say don’t matter—because they do matter in the eyes of God, and they should matter to you. Invite the ones you can share with and be generous to. And be attentive to their stories at the table—their experience of lameness, of blindness, of poverty and disability—because you will learn so much about the world, about the life and ministry of Jesus, about your own call to your own ministry –ministry at the table, at church, and in the whole of your life.

Jesus says, “When you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, for all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” In other words, “Change where you sit.”

My colleague Larry tells a story from his days of prison ministry that beautifully illustrates this point. Larry was having a conversation with a prisoner about his life and his experience of being incarcerated. The prisoner was telling Larry all about his arrest and trial, including his trip to court in Portland in the back of a police paddywagon. “You know,” the prisoner said, “I’ve been down I-84 hundreds of times since I was a little kid, but I-84 sure looks different from the back of a prison van.”

Change where you sit, Jesus says. As he does so many times in the gospels, he is inviting us to move to a different place and experience a different perspective. Give up your seat on the first row and see what the show looks and sounds like from the second balcony; try Thanksgiving dinner at the kids’ table; eat for a month as if all you had was food stamps. Change your perspective and you will learn so much about the world, about the life and ministry of Jesus, about your own call to your own ministry –ministry at the table, at church, and in the whole of your life.

Change who you invite, and change where you sit. And prepare to be changed, as we are changed any time we encounter Jesus, at the table or elsewhere.

And know that just as we are humble and hospitable at our own tables and in our own church community, Jesus welcomes us--the imperfect and the undeserving-- to feast eternally with him in the Kingdom of God through the humility of his sacrifice on the cross and the hospitality of his saving grace.

Medieval theologian and saint Bruno of Segni puts it this way:

“We are all invited to the wedding feast—all of us who have received faith in Christ and the seal of baptism. This table set before us is that of which it is said: You have prepared a table before me in the sight of those who trouble me. Here is the showbread, here the fatted calf, here the lamb who takes away the sins of the world. Here is the living bread come down from heaven, here placed before us is the chalice of the New Covenant, here are the gospels and the letters of the apostles, here the books of Moses and the prophets.

"It is as though a dish containing every delight was brought and set before us. What more then can we desire? What reason is there for choosing the first seats? There is plenty for all no matter where we sit. There is nothing we shall lack."

The dinner table—and the life of faith-- where Jesus is host and we are guest is, at its best, a place of equality and self-discovery, a place where love is expressed in word and in deed, a place where we share who we are and what we have with others in mutual vulnerability, a place where we experience what it means to truly be a community—a place where we are offered eternal life—a place where we truly sit at table in the kingdom of God.

Amen.