Luke 14:1; 7-14a
Is this Seat Taken?
Hospitality means primarily the creation of free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy. Hospitality is not to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. It is not to bring men and women over to our side, but to offer freedom not disturbed by dividing lines. –Henri J.M. Nouwen
Most of the pop concerts I’ve ever attended have been seen from the nosebleed section. Among the more memorable ones, was a Cher concert many summers ago at the Jones Beach Summer Theatre. I hardly saw Cher on stage because we sat in Row Triple ZZZ.
Without binoculars, Cher was a white speck of glittery dust dancing to and fro somewhere many stories below us. Nonetheless, we felt pretty lucky just to be there at this musical extravaganza. Night was falling and we had a bird’s eye view of the stars (well, the ones above us anyway!)
Who doesn’t wish for someone in moments like those to say,
“Hey Friend, Want to Move to the better seats in the orchestra section?
It’s only in a church or classroom that you’ll ever find empty front row seats.
This summer during a theatre camp at our church, the kids played musical chairs. As you know, chairs are arranged in a circle so there’s no front or back and everyone is on equal footing. The excitement of darting into a seat before the music stops led to fun pandemonium. On this day, a little preschooler in a pink tutu to giggled and danced around instead of playing by the rules. Then, one older child elbowed her out of the way. And the music stopped…
Jesus plays musical chairs of sorts in this parable about a community banquet and changing around all the seats in his story. No reservations for the VIPs at this party. Only those who can’t pay or prove they are worthy enough receive places of honor. Only strangers without official documents or first-class connections can be guests at this gospel feast.
Imagine if we always welcomed people in this spirit?
In this ancient parable, Jesus makes his point by rewriting 1st century social hierarchies, something he does often. His teaching blows current day manners, seating charts and guest lists, well, off the etiquette table:
Give up your favorite seat, go to the back and see what happens.
Let someone else be first for a change.
Try not to embarrass yourself.
And then,
Invite everyone you don’t know and especially those folks who don’t fit in too well at the party or make you uncomfortable. Invite them all instead (Luke 14:13)
Try that the next time you have a wedding to plan in your family.
As I was reading the suggested guest list from Luke’s gospel, I noticed that what Jesus proposes is not just a re- imagined dinner or brunch but ultimately, a way to be in community with one another, with all kinds of people. This is a definition of community that we desperately need in these extreme days of branding difference as “bad.”
Jesus uses what I’d call some reverse psychology and offers a lesson for the guests and a lesson for those of us churchy people who like to host.
What matters most is relationships of equal regard and opportunity, acceptance and love. That is the real nature of a community of inclusion. Where those standing outside are ushered into the best seats in the house.
It’s hardly simple if we take this level of humble hospitality to heart. Somewhere along the way Jesus has observed that intentions and acts of generosity are not always clear and honorable- whether in the human heart or public square. Sometimes, giving means an expectation of more thus leaving people in a position of indebtedness. And givers in a position of unwieldy power.
Sometimes a dinner gathering can look more like sharply divided party lines of us vs them.
In KOG politics, (the KIN-DOM of God), the Not-Quite There- Yet Beloved Community, calls for everyone to belong, including those with visible and invisible wounds, the unkempt, the wounded and disabled by life who are given the advantage. Mostly folks who, let’s face it, never get invited to the party.
Even though we’ve heard this from the gospels over and over again, it’s still a radical notion.
Last spring, Jean Vanier, a quiet hero of mine and the world’s, died leaving an extraordinary legacy of community building. Jean Vanier was a French priest and philosopher who founded the L’Arche Community, known for its service to people with developmental disabilities. Today, L’Arche (The Ark) has 150 communities, in 38 countries around the world, providing homes, a sense of belonging and community to every guest and resident.
Vanier himself wrote over 30 books one of called, Becoming Human. In it he traces some of his own story and the beginnings of the L’Arche Community how the experience ultimately, made him more human, in touch with his own loneliness and the need for belonging.
Vanier writes, “We live together in a spirit of freedom those with disabilities and those wishing a lasting relationship with them. We laugh and cry, sometimes fight with one another; we work, celebrate life, and pray together (BH) It has been this life together that has helped me become more human…to recognize and accept my own weaknesses and vulnerability…I’m like everyone else with my frailties and my gifts.”
That sounds like a worthy description of community to me. And one we aspire to here as church day in and day out.
This kind of community is not about seeking power but building friendships…and “it doesn’t promise to solve or erase suffering but to transform it, pledging that by loving one another, even through pain, we will find more life. And it insists that by opening ourselves to strangers,” (Sara Miles, Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion)
Many of you know my brother Dennis. Like the folks whom the L’Arche community supports, Dennis lives in a group home in Chester through a wonderful organization called Brian House. Anyway, last Sunday, I was away and Dennis unbeknownst to us got a ride and showed up here. When I asked him about this later in the day, he told me, “This is my church, Laura, I had to come!”
Apparently, Dennis sat by himself in worship, made his way to Fellowship Hour (I know that’s really why he comes…) when he finally realized I wasn’t there. Dennis recognized many people he knew and apparently felt comfortable enough to ask someone for a ride home. While he couldn’t remember the exact address, Dennis knew the name of his street so thanks to two of you here, Dennis got home safely.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am that THIS is a place where Dennis, like his sister, calls home.
In this time of what many are calling, the “Age of Loneliness”, I’m deeply appreciative of a church like ours that intentionally turns the tables on exclusion, offering a place of belonging person by person, ministry by ministry, day by day.
Whether you find yourself at chili potluck or a family wedding, a cool concert in the park by the Salt Marsh Opera or a Communion Sunday like today, what really matters is the community that we build, the diverse feast of relationships that we seek out, and our ongoing efforts at radical hospitality. Hopefully, the next time a stranger walks up to us and asks, “Is this seat taken? “we’ll all say, “Friend, we were saving this one just for YOU!”
