A Place at the Table

Luke 14:1, 7-14

August 28, 2022

 

            I am very fortunate to have good relationships, good friendships really, with my older sister and brother. And I’m not just saying that because one or both could be watching this right now. I’m saying that because they were both older than I was, we didn’t experience the sibling rivalry and arguing that other siblings do. My kids, who are much closer in age, fought like the proverbial cats and dogs when they were younger. But that wasn’t true in my case. There was older sibling to younger sibling teasing, some taking of my hands and playing the “Stop Hitting Yourself” game, which was always my favorite. But we really didn’t argue. Until …

            When I was about 15, Jill came back home for about six months to work and save money before she and my brother-in-law got married. She would have been around 26, and as I mentioned I was 15 and a very 15 15-year-old, and I was not about to be bossed around by my big sister. So, even though we’d never squabbled or argued before, now we were.

            One argument that I remember centered around the family table. Mom made dinner. We were sitting down to eat, and I went to sit in the spot that I had been sitting in for a long time. Jill came in to sit down, and said, “That’s my seat.”

            And I said, “No, it’s mine.”

            And she said something to the effect of, “Amy, that’s my seat. It’s always been my seat.”

            And I responded with something like, “No, Jill. It’s my seat. It’s been my seat for a long time now.”

            And then she said, well you can imagine the rest. I don’t remember how the argument ended. I don’t know if I gave in and sat in another chair or if she did, or if one of our parents took that spot and made everybody move. It doesn’t really matter. It was a silly argument as you can tell. But I suspect there was a lot more going on underneath the silliness. Jill was home again, and this was how home was supposed to be, plus who was this teenager who had taken the place of her little sister? And to my thinking, Jill had been away from home a long time, and things change, like that was now my seat.

            I’ve often tried to imagine the scene Jesus would have been watching in this story Luke tells. All we read from our text is that Jesus was watching how the guests chose the places of honor at the table. Does that mean they were jostling and pushing and elbowing each other out of the way? Or does it mean something more like one guest saying to another guest,

            “Oh, would you look at the strange bird over there?”

            And when the other guest looks, they jump into the desired seat and say,

            “My seat now, Chuckles. You snooze, you lose.”

            This was a meal at the home of a religious leader, which would mean that person had significant status in that society, so it’s hard for me to imagine that etiquette would have allowed guests to push each other out of chairs. But because this was a meal in the home of someone with societal status, to have a seat of honor was a big deal, so maybe they did push each other around to get to the best seats.

            Clearly, there was a hierarchy to the seating arrangement. There were seats of honor and there were seats of, if not shame, then much less honor. It seems as if the lunchroom rules that dictated my Junior High experience – in which some kids had the status to sit at the cool table and some, most, kids didn’t – did not begin with my Junior High. They have been in place for a long, long time. And it was this hierarchy, these rules that Jesus observed at this meal.

            “When Jesus noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. When you are invited 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.”

This doesn’t read like other parables we’ve heard, does it? But something in the guests behavior must have compelled Jesus to speak about what he witnessed at this dinner in a way that would make the guests both recognize themselves in it, but not stop listening because of that recognition. Therefore, Jesus tells a parable that at first glance may seem as though he is promoting a kind of lunchroom mentality and table hierarchy. There are places of honor, there are special seats, and there is indeed a cool table, but don’t expect that you belong there. In that context, where you sat at a banquet signified not just how cozy you were with the host, but your status in society. It was, indeed, a hierarchy. There were some on top, some in the middle and many at the bottom. As I said before, at first Jesus seems to be supporting this hierarchy by encouraging people to take a lesser seat. Or was he pointing out to them that at another table, the true table, the table within God’s kin-dom, those who sought to put themselves at the top of the food chain or at the top rung of the social ladder, were the ones who would be humbled. Their social hierarchies won’t work at God’s table.

“For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” 

Let’s also remember, that the very first verse of this chapter tells us that Jesus was being watched by the Pharisees. I do not want to paint the Pharisees with such a broad stroke that we assume they were all watching Jesus with malicious intent. Some of them might have been, true, but others may have been watching him just to see what he would do next, what he would say next. After all, everything this man did and said was counter to their culture, radical to their way of thinking. He healed on the Sabbath.  He forgave people of their sins. He spoke and taught with an authority no one had ever witnessed before. What would he do next?  So, they watched him intently. Jesus knew he was being watched, so perhaps he thought this was a valuable teaching moment. He could make a point about the hierarchy surrounding the table fellowship and those who were invited and those who were not. And he could make another razor-sharp point as well.     

There was one more aspect of this honor/shame culture. There was an agenda behind every invitation. You didn’t invite people to a dinner for the heck of it. You invited someone who could do something for you, just as you might be invited for the same reason. You invited someone who just by being in your home raised your place in the social realm. It was about give and take. I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine. There was an agenda. I imagine that agenda was so ingrained in people that no one thought much about it. But Jesus made them think about it. 

“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.”

Don’t invite someone who will repay you. Invite those who can do nothing for you. Invite those that would be despised at any other banquet in town. Invite those who have no way to return the favor and when you do you will be blessed. You may not be repaid now, but you will be in time. You will be repaid at “the resurrection of the righteous.” 

A place of honor here doesn’t count in the kin-dom of God, and it is God’s kin-dom, God’s great table that Jesus is trying to make them see and understand. And I don’t believe that Jesus is just pointing to some kin-dom far, far away, in that sweet by and by. Jesus is talking about the kin-dom that is in their midst in the here and in the now. Don’t you get it, he seems to be saying. It’s not about status. It’s not about the seat of honor you may think you deserve or earned. It’s about how you treat other people. It’s about seeing other people not through the lens of status, position, class or social rank, but as children of God. It seems to me that when Jesus warns the guests about assuming the seats of honor at the table, the distinguished guests he was referring to were not the people in power at the time, but the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind. 

Today marks the 59^th anniversary of the March on Washington and Martin Luther King, Jr’s “I Have a Dream” speech. I’ve watched that speech and listened to that speech and read that speech countless times. But each time I hear it I am struck anew at the depth of his message. It was a speech about Civil Rights, but it was more than that. It was a speech about the injustice of segregation and the mockery it made of the so-called American Dream, but it was also more than that. It was about a vision of the beloved community. It was a dream of every single person, regardless of color, class or creed being welcomed at a table where we all belong, a table that was not made for some and not others, a table that was not made by one group who then grudgingly had to allow room for other groups to find a seat. Dr. King’s vision of a beloved community, of a community where everyone had a place at the table held up a mirror for the country. Gazing into it we saw how far away we were from that beloved community, that banquet table of grace. Dr. King reminded us that when some of us aren’t free to come to the table, none of us are truly free. 

The parables Jesus told are a mirror. They were a mirror for those he spoke to directly.  They are a mirror for us as well. I don’t see it as mirror in which those of us on top are necessarily shamed or scorned, but we see in the reflection that often the things we think are important – places of honor, status, etc. – don’t matter in the kin-dom of God. They don’t matter at God’s table. When we can see that, really see that, when we can recognize that the superficial and external don’t matter, we come one step closer to that beloved community. We see that the table we all long to have a place at, is not our table but God’s. It is the table where finally, all of us, all of God’s children, have a place.

Let all God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

           

           

Set Free

 

Luke 13:10-17

August 21, 2022

 

            I anticipate pain. As odd as that sounds I do. I anticipate pain. The way that anticipation manifests itself is that I always keep some form of pain relief nearby. At home we have aspirin, acetaminophen, ibuprofen, and various and sundry other means of pain relief. I have roll-on analgesics in the bathroom. There are pain meds in my nightstand. I have some naproxen sodium in my desk in my office. I’m pretty sure there is something in my purse; and I have a small sample pack of pain relievers tucked into the console of my car. Like I said, I anticipate pain.

            That’s because the pain I deal with the most is headache pain. I get migraines. I’ve been fortunate in this last year or so to have to deal with them less because my doctor put me on a really good medicine, but I still have breakthroughs. Ironically, when I was trying to write this sermon, I was dealing with the beginnings of a migraine. At my migraine’s worst, I’ve wound up in urgent care and the ER because the pain got so bad. My migraines feel like there’s a knife stabbing me repeatedly over one eye. Adding to the pain in my head is pain in my neck and shoulders. Declaring it’s not fun is an understatement. Most of the time a migraine for me has meant relentless pain for about three days. Three days where I manage to function, but just barely. Three days that while I’m experiencing that painm, feel like an eternity.

            If three days of a migraine feels like an eternity, I can’t begin to imagine how 18 years must have felt. That’s how long the woman in this passage from Luke’s gospel had been bent over, unable to stand up straight. The scripture doesn’t tell us specifically that the woman was in pain, but surely staying stooped over, crippled, unable to straighten even a little bit, must have been painful. Whatever the physical illness may have been that bound this woman, it was one that kept her stooped and bent over for close to two decades. 18 years of pain.

            Yet, this crippling disease did not keep this woman from coming to the synagogue on the Sabbath. There is nothing in the text to indicate that she came there looking for healing on that day. I believe she came because she wanted to worship, nothing more. She does not seek Jesus out. She does not beg him to heal her. There are no concerned friends or family members who intercede with Jesus on her behalf. Perhaps she had heard of him and the healings he had been performing, but if we go strictly by the text, we only read that Jesus sees her, not the other way around. Jesus is teaching when he sees this woman, so stooped I suspect it hurt just to look at her. Jesus calls her over and proclaims that she is set free from her ailment. He lays his hands on her and immediately she stands up straight. Her back, crooked and bent for 18 years, is now straight.  

            This is what we know. She came to the synagogue and Jesus saw her. Being as bent over as she was, I doubt that she could have seen him. But Jesus saw her. Jesus called out to her, and he healed her. And when she finally stands tall once more, what is her response? She praises God. Immediately on being healed, she praises God.

But the praise is interrupted by the leader of the synagogue. He is outraged. He is indignant that Jesus has cured this woman on the Sabbath. The Law was clear – healing on the Sabbath could only happen in critical, emergency situations. What was critical about this woman’s situation?  She was bent over for 18 years! What difference would one more day make?  The leader might have been furious with Jesus, but he does not confront him directly. He turns to the crowd, venting his ire on them. He chastises the worshippers who were gathered there.

            “There are six other days of the week. Come to be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath.”

            You don’t mess with the Sabbath. The Law was clear, specific as to what could happen on the Sabbath and what could not. A non-urgent healing that could have happened on any other day did not qualify for a Sabbath healing. There’s no doubt that Jesus knew this. Yet Jesus did in that moment what he had done before. He saw a person in need, and he chose to help, Sabbath or no Sabbath.   

            When the Synagogue leader expresses his disapproval to the crowds over what has just happened, Jesus does not hesitate in his reply.  

            “You hypocrites!  Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham who Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the Sabbath day?” 

            If you’re willing to unbind your animals on the Sabbath, then why not set this woman free as well? Isn’t this the right response to her suffering, whether it happens on the Sabbath or any other day of the week? Karoline Lewis from WorkingPreacher.Org suggested that a sermon title for this passage should be, “If Not Now, When?” I had already picked my title when I heard this, but next time I preach on this passage, that is the title I’m using.

            If not now, when? As so often happened, at Jesus’ words all his opponents, his naysayers, were put to shame. This was not the first time Jesus butted heads with the religious professionals over what should and shouldn’t happen on the Sabbath. He hadn’t hesitated to heal on the Sabbath in other instances. His disciples had been seen gathering food on the Sabbath. I guess some folks might make the case that Jesus didn’t care too much about the Law. Jesus stated that with his coming, the Law had been fulfilled. Yet I’m not convinced that this is about Jesus not caring about the Law. I think Jesus did care; he cared deeply. But Jesus cared about the intent of the Law, just as he cared about the intent of Sabbath. 

            When I was growing up the Sabbath was a day when a lot of things were not supposed to happen. I’m old enough to remember Blue Laws – civic laws that restricted stores and other places of business from being open on Sundays. My parents lived under much stricter restrictions about Sabbath than I did. And the rules their parents had for the Sabbath were even stricter. And so it went for each generation. 

When I was a little girl, and read the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, I remember reading her description of the Sabbath when she was a little girl and thinking,

“Boy! Am I glad I don’t have it so hard!”

Our understanding of the Sabbath was much like this Synagogue leader’s. There were strict rules about what could and could not be done. But what was the intent of the Sabbath? It was a day to rest. God rested after creating the world. When the Hebrews were enslaved in Egypt, they were slaves. If the master expected them to work seven days a week, 24 hours a day, they did. There was no such thing as downtime, weekends, leisure, or rest and relaxation. When God gave them the Sabbath it was a gift. It was a gift of time. It was a gift of rest. The restrictions about what could and could not be done were not meant as punishment, but about keeping away the distractions that kept that rest from happening. The Sabbath was a day given by God to enjoy God and all the good things of and from God. If not now, when?  

            Jesus understood that intent. He also knew that the religious leaders and the people they led no longer did. Just as he modeled what it meant to be in relationship with God and one another on every other day of the week, he also modeled that relationship, that community on the Sabbath. God intended the Sabbath day for rest, for renewal, for relationship. But how can it be a day of rest for a woman who has suffered for so long? How can their relationship with God and with one another be well and whole when one of them is so obviously broken? 

            When Jesus healed the woman, he didn’t set aside the Law. Instead he saw past the codification of the Law that had blinded the people to what God really wanted. He saw the woman with compassion, and with justice. Wasn’t this woman a captive? Wasn’t she bound by a spirit that held her down, literally, for 18 years? When Jesus healed her, he set her free. He released her just as he promised he would release all those held captive. It seems to me that not only did he straighten her back Jesus gave her new sight as well. 

            If you were to constantly live in a stooped position, what would be in your line of vision?  The hard ground. The feet of other people. Looking up at the world around you would have been nearly impossible. When Jesus straightened her back, he also gave her new sight. She could now see the world in a way that had been closed off to her for 18 years. No wonder she praised God! Not only was she set free, but she was also able to see again. She could see the fullness of God’s creation once more. Jesus set her free from pain and for life!

I think he gave the crowd new eyes as well. I wonder if that’s the crux of this passage.  It’s not just about what should or shouldn’t be done on the Sabbath day. It’s about being set free to see God and the Sabbath and one another with new eyes. 

            Jesus did not set the people free from God’s Law. He set them free from a skewed belief that compassion was restricted to only certain days of the week. He set them free from restrictions that hindered their relationship with God and one another. He set them free from the idea that the Sabbath was just a day of do’s and don’ts, rather than a gift from God. Jesus set them free and gave them new vision to see that God’s love was more than just a nice idea, but a reality he lived fully. On that Sabbath day he set them free.

            How do we need to be set free? What is that binds us? What keeps our backs stooped and our eyes seeing only the ground beneath our feet? What binds our hearts and minds? How do we need to be set free? Is our time together in this place a means of liberation, or is it another way to keep our eyes closed? Do we feel the liberating Spirit of God moving in our midst, or are we bound to the narrow legalism that the religious leaders of Jesus’ time and our time conveyed? Are we set free in this place to love God and to love one another?

            Whatever it is that binds you, binds me, I pray for freedom. May Jesus set us free this day and every day. May Jesus straighten our backs, realign our vision, and set us free to praise God. If not now, then when?

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

 

Ask. Search. Knock.

Luke 11:1-13

July 24, 2022

            The tornadoes that hit Oklahoma in 2013 were fearsome and formidable, and they were an event that marked our time living in that state. The second tornado, an E5, laid waste to Moore, Oklahoma, wiping out a large section of it, including an elementary school where both students and teachers lost their lives. It was devastating, and even though Oklahomans are relatively resigned to bad storms – you can’t live in tornado alley and not be – this tragic loss of life shook people to their core.

Shortly after the tornadoes hit, I was at an ecumenical Bible study where a man spoke up and said that he heard that on the day of the storm at one of the elementary schools in Moore, when everyone was taking shelter, all the children began to sing “Jesus Loves Me.”  As the storm raged more fiercely, they sang more loudly. And wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, their school remained unharmed. Every child and teacher returned home to their loved ones that night. His implication was that at the other elementary school, the one where lives were lost, clearly this did not happen and just look at the result.

            He said this as though it was absolute proof that if you are just persistent enough, God will answer your prayers. If you just sing “Jesus Loves Me” loudly enough, God will change the course of the storm so that it doesn’t touch down on one elementary school, but instead hits the one where supposedly they weren’t singing. His assessment meant the tornados were no longer a terrible occurrence of nature, but a new sort of Passover. The children and teachers who prayed persistently, who sang and prayed loudly were saved, while those who didn’t weren’t. I was so shocked and appalled at this that I couldn’t find the words to respond. And it brought me back once again to what happens when we pray and what doesn’t happen when we pray.

            Preacher and writer, Debi Thomas, wrote that when she comes to this particular text in Luke’s gospel, she approaches it warily and with great trepidation. She wrote that it was a text full of landmines. And over the centuries, interpretation of this passage has resulted in what she called an understanding of God as a cosmic gumball machine. Your prayers are the coins, just put them in and see what color of gumball you get. I appreciate this analogy, but I think of this kind of interpretation more like a grocery list.

            In these days of Covid I have come to greatly appreciate curbside pickup at Kroger. I go to the app on my phone, put the items that we need in my cart, choose a time for pickup, check-out, and when its time, I go to the store and have my groceries brought to my car. There can be hiccups, sure, but for the most part it has been a great way to shop, especially when life is crazy and I don’t have an hour to walk up and down the aisles. So, when I think of the kind of understanding of prayer that Debi Thomas wrote of or what the man in the Bible study alluded to, this is what comes to mind. I give God my grocery list of needs and wants, and God fills my cart. And if there’s something that I can’t get, then God either makes a substitution or refunds my money for that item. But if my analogy holds any truth, and I don’t think it does, then there have been an awful lot of items that I’ve wanted that have been out of stock. So, what does this passage in Luke hold for us when it comes to prayer?

            At the beginning of our text, Jesus is noted as praying in a certain place. I’m not sure the geography of this place matters so much as the fact that Jesus set aside both a time and place to pray. When he was finished one of the disciples asked him to teach them to pray as John taught his disciples. As I understand it, at that time teachers and disciples were also known by their prayers. John’s disciples must have had a unique prayer that only he could have taught them. That prayer would have marked them as his disciples. So, Jesus’ disciples want that same distinction. If Jesus teaches them a specific prayer, then there would be no mistaking them for anyone else but his disciples. 

Jesus responded by teaching them these words,

“Father, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come. Give us each day our daily bread.  And forgive us our sins, for we ourselves forgive everyone indebted to us. And do not bring us to the time of trial.”

Although it’s not exactly the same, this provides the basis for Lord’s Prayer which we will pray together in just a few minutes. A version of this prayer is also found in the gospel of Matthew. But Matthew’s context is very different from Luke’s. In Matthew’s gospel the prayer is taught as part of the Sermon on the Mount. Jesus is warning his disciples not to make a show of their religious piety.

“Don’t be like the hypocrites who love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners so everyone can see them and see how pious and righteous they are. Instead pray in secret. And when you pray, don’t worry about heaping up empty phrases, just pray these words.” 

            Luke’s context is different. As I said, Jesus has been praying “in a certain place.” His disciples want to be taught as John taught. They want something distinctive. Jesus, teach us to pray.

Luke’s gospel emphasizes the point that Jesus spent a great deal of time in prayer. It was prayer that kept him close to God. It was prayer that kept him on the path he knew he had to be on. Jesus prayed. Even as the disciples may have wanted to be known as his disciples by the prayer he taught them, they may have also wanted to experience the closeness and intimacy and deep connection that Jesus found in his prayers. I suspect that the disciples could see how prayer affected Jesus, how it kept him grounded and faithful and staying true to his call and his ministry. I would not be surprised if the disciples also wanted to experience that. They must have wanted to be in that close of a relationship with God as Jesus was. Jesus, teach us to pray. 

One other interesting point to note is that this story of Jesus teaching the disciples to pray follows on the heels of two stories about discipleship, the Good Samaritan and Martha and Mary.  To grasp the fullness of discipleship, you must both do and be – see a neighbor in need and help that neighbor in that moment and recognize that there is a moment to sit at Jesus’ feet and learn and be in that moment as well. It seems to me that the foundation of both the doing and the being is in prayer. You’ve taught us about doing, Jesus, and you’ve taught us about being. Now, teach us to pray.

Jesus did just that. He taught them the specific words we find our passage. But after the prayer, he also told them this small story about being persistent in prayer. If you have need of bread, go to your friend’s house, even if its late at night and keep knocking until you finally annoy the friend enough that he answers the door and gives you what you need. Here’s a landmine that Thomas spoke of. Does being persistent in prayer mean that we have to annoy God? Does that mean that the times when I have prayed and prayed and prayed – not for some materialistic desire but for someone I love to be healed or for people to be helped – and what I’ve prayed for has not happened, then I just haven’t knocked long enough or hard enough? That’s often the response we hear about prayers that seemingly go unanswered. You haven’t been persistent enough. Or another answer we hear is that God just said, “No.” Neither of these responses or explanations help. They don’t help me anyway.

When a parent prays for a child to be healed from a terrible disease or even just to come home safely from school, and that doesn’t happen, was that God saying, “No?” Because why would God say no to the safety of a child? To the health of a child? To the health and safety of communities? Or for an end to a terrible and unjust war?

Quite frankly, these responses – either you don’t pray persistently enough, or God just said, “No” – don’t help. So, what is Jesus telling the disciples? Maybe, it’s not about how a prayer is answered or not, maybe that has nothing to do with any of it. Maybe it’s just about praying, about being in that relationship with God. Does prayer effect change? Yes! But it most often effects change in the one who is praying. Maybe Jesus found his courage to continue because he prayed. Maybe Jesus found his strength to stand up to the powers and principalities because he made sure to spend time in prayer. Maybe that relationship with God that he had in prayer shone on his face, in his eyes, in his words, in his actions.

And let’s look at what Jesus actually promises will happen with persistent prayer. There is only one promise made, and that comes at the end of this passage.

“How much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”

Jesus does not promise that persistent prayer will bring about cures for diseases or interventions in the eye of a storm. Jesus promises that  those who pray persistently will receive the Holy Spirit.

Those who pray persistently, those who ask, search, and knock will receive the Holy Spirit. And what happens when the Holy Spirit comes? What happens when the Holy Spirit descends and moves and blows where it will? People who were afraid gather their courage. People who thought they were weak discover their strength. People who thought they could not make a difference, see the steps they need to take to help a world in need.

And our world is in need. And our world needs prayer, persistent, relentless prayer. And what does that prayer do? How does that prayer help? It helps the ones who are praying. It effects change in the ones who refuse to stop asking, stop searching, and stop knocking. We pray, not so that God will supernaturally intervene, a giant hand reaching down from the clouds. We pray so that our faith will deepen and grow. We pray so that we will find within ourselves the courage to help and challenge and change. We pray because prayer changes us. Jesus has taught us to pray, so let us pray and pray and pray.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.