August 28, 2022: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard.  Amen.

It is so good to be back here with you, and I am so grateful for the good care of Fr. Barry while I was away.

Now, in the gospel we just heard, Jesus is heading over with a Pharisee on the Sabbath to have dinner at his house.  Once there, he sees everyone jockeying for positions of honor at the table, and he says to them that when invited to a feast, don’t sit at the best seat, but at the worst.  He then tells them to invite people for dinner who can do nothing for them, other than enjoy the hospitality being provided.  Now, to be clear, Jesus is not trying to be the Miss Manners of the 1^stcentury.  What he is saying is another of his upturning of social norms.  Society just did not operate like that – everyone understood that status was exhibited openly – in the places you lived, the clothes you wore, the people who would dine with you, the people you noticed.  Sound familiar?  Not much has changed, has it?

Now, remember that I have said before to pay attention when verses are missing?  Did you notice that our assigned reading for today is from the 14^thchapter of Luke, verse 1, and then verses 7-14.  What happened to verses 2-6 you might ask?  Well, I’ll tell you, because it beats me why it was left out in the first place, especially since they really speak to the very heart of what Jesus and the author of Hebrews was getting at. 

First of all, let’s remember the first verse, which reads “On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely.”  Did you notice that?  “they were watching him closely.”  That’s GOT to get old for Jesus, right?  So…what did they see? 

Well, verses 2-6, which our lectionary skipped over, say that Jesus saw a man with dropsy (essentially what we now call edema – when the body swells with fluids).  See, Jesus was a busy guy, you know?  I mean, on his feet traveling all day.  It was finally the Sabbath, and he was surely heading toward a delightful meal – not grabbing what he could on the road, like he might usually do – but in a great house, with better food than he likely had seen in a long while. Then he saw the man.

I suspect those watching Jesus knew this man with dropsy, and knew he’d make an appearance on that road.  The question is, would Jesus see him?  Would Jesus be the same when there were no big temple crowds, as when it was just him and a few folks going to house for dinner?  I mean, this guy with dropsy could offer nothing to him, not even a stunned crowd at the cure he might give.  But Jesus did notice.

He saw. He stopped, He served.

Jesus, the son of God, walking alongside this leader of the Pharisees, noticed this suffering man along the road.  Noticed, and went to his side.  To this man who could offer him nothing, he offered everything. 

Perhaps it is this moment that the author of Hebrews had in mind when writing the passage we heard this morning.  Right in the beginning of this part of the letter, the author writes “Let mutual love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Or unawares, as some may remember it. 

Now, I have to admit, I never liked the part about the angels.  Yes, it is a beloved verse, but it always begs the question – shouldn’t hospitality be offered without any thought that the ones invited in are special in some way?  Or more to the point, they are special because all are made in the image of God.  Isn’t that what Jesus models for us?  Isn’t that what he is saying in this gospel? 

But let’s set that aside and continue a bit more in that letter, because the author continues, saying “Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.”  This is a call not to sympathy, but to a level of empathy modeled for us by Christ.  It is a life rooted in the humility that comes from the knowledge that we are no more or no less than any other child of God.  Or, as Nicholai Velimirovic, the Serbian Orthodox Bishop and theologian once said, “Be humble, for the worst thing in the world is of the same stuff as you; be confident, for the stars are of the same stuff as you.” 

Of course, we often get this whole humility thing all wrong, especially these days.  Recently, the world lost a wonderful theologian, Frederick Buechner.  In his book Wishful Thinking: A Seeker’s ABC, he wrote “Humility is often confused with saying you’re not much of a bridge player when you know perfectly well you are. Conscious or otherwise, this kind of humility is a form of gamesmanship. If you really aren’t much of a bridge player, you’re apt to be rather proud of yourself for admitting it so humbly. This kind of humility is a form of low comedy. True humility doesn’t consist of thinking ill of yourself but of not thinking of yourself much differently from the way you’d be apt to think of anybody else. It is the capacity for being no more and no less pleased when you play your own hand well than when your opponents do.”

The thing about all of it is that if we are to hear what Jesus is saying here in this gospel, we need to really understand well this idea of living a life of humility.  Humility allows us to drop our guard – to see our true selves in the mirror and to recognize that we are enough solely because we are a child of God.  Empty of the need for appearances, we are able instead to be filled with the stuff of life.    

There is a very common story in Zen circles about this very thing.  There are many variations of it, but essentially, it goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a wise Zen master. People traveled from far away to seek his help. In return, he would teach them and show them the way to enlightenment.  One day, a scholar came to visit the master for advice. “I have come to ask you to teach me about Zen,” the scholar said.  Soon, it became obvious that the scholar was full of his own opinions and knowledge. He interrupted the master repeatedly with his own stories and failed to listen to what the master had to say. The master calmly suggested that they should have tea.

So, the master poured his guest a cup. The cup was filled, yet he kept pouring until the cup overflowed onto the table, onto the floor, and finally onto the scholar’s robes. The scholar cried “Stop! The cup is full already. Can’t you see?”  “It is you who cannot see.” the Zen master replied with a smile. “You are like this cup — so full of ideas that nothing more will fit in. Come back to me with an empty cup, and your eyes will be opened.”

The humility to which we are called is a lot like that teacup.  It is the humility of Christ who emptied himself, taking our form, for one purpose – not to show his power, but to show the power of God’s great love for each and every one of us.  Sadly, we are too often full of so many other things, there is no room for anything or anyone else.

When we get so caught up in our own stuff, most of us now with our heads hovering over our phones as we walk, we can miss not only the angel in our midst, but the prisoner yearning to be seen.  For there are many in prisons all around us – those who suffer from mental or physical illness, addiction, the effects of war, or poverty.  Those who wear the chains of oppression we have implicitly or explicitly forged for centuries – people of color, women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, and those with special needs.  And of course, God’s creation itself groans under the weight of our neglect.

Do we see?  Do we stop?  Do we serve?

Or are we so caught up in our own stuff, there is no room for anything more?  In other words, if we were being watched, if our actions in the world outside these doors could be viewed, what would others see? 

The thing is, what Jesus is calling us to in the gospel isn’t about thinking less about ourselves, but rather thinking about ourselves less!

Free of all the clutter within us of what we think we know, what we think we have to be to others, our fear of being judged, our insecurities, our desire for acknowledgement and approval – free of all of that, the life of radical empathy and hospitality we are called to will fill us and overflow from us like the Zen master’s teacup – and we will truly be letting mutual love continue – the love God has for each and every one of us – and the love we will share with every other child of God.

Then we will not only gladly take the lowest seat at the table, but will fling wide the doors and set out more and more tables, until all are fed.

Then we will not only feel the pain of the prisoner and the tortured, but break the chains that bind them once and for all.

Then we will not have to wonder if there are angels among us, but will hear them singing “Alleluia!” – for the beloved community – that dream God has for us all – where all of creation is joyously alive in goodness and love – will be our reality here on earth.

Amen.

For the audio, click below, or subscribe to our iTunes Sermon Podcast by clicking here (also available on Audible):

Sermon Podcast

The Rev. Diana L. Wilcox            
Christ Church in Bloomfield & Glen Ridge
August 28, 2022
Pentecost 12 – Year C – Proper 17 – Track 1
1st Reading – Jeremiah 2:4-13
Psalm 81:1, 10-16
2nd Reading – Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Gospel – Luke 14:1, 7-14