First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
March 18, 2001
Scripture: Luke 14:1, 7-11
A colleague of mine recently received a letter from one of his parishioners. It read as follows:
My dear pastor, I notice that you seem to set a great deal of importance on your sermons and spend no small amount of time preparing them. I have been attending services for the past 30 years and, during that time, I have listened to no less than 3000 sermons. But I hate to inform you that I cannot remember a single one. I wonder if your time might be better spent on something else.
After waiting a couple of days to heal his pride and swallow his defensiveness, my friend wrote back, saying:
My dear parishioner, I have been married for 30 years. During that time, I have eaten 32,580 meals….mostly of my wife’s cooking. Alas, I have discovered that I cannot remember the menu of a single meal. Yet, judging by outward appearances, I have been nourished by every one of them. In fact, I have the distinct impression that without them, I would have starved to death years ago.
That story was reported to me in response to my last two sermons on the subject of food. In fact, everywhere I go, I find people responding to these sermons on food. Mark Demorest sent me a wonderful article (following last week’s sermon) about the state of gluttony in the good old USA. It appeared in Money Magazine (if you can believe that) and it was written by a travel writer reporting on restaurants where you can put your appetite to the test. As the result of his research, he suggests that while gluttony may still be one of the seven deadly sins, it’s loads of fun. What’s more, gluttony may cancel out a few of the other sins, given that after tackling a 72-ounce steak, lust will be the furthest thing from your mind.
Which he did….try to consume a 72-ounce steak, I mean. It happened at the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, where four or five customers a week try to finish that much beef in one sitting. The challenge is to consume 72-ounces of sirloin (as well as a salad, baked potato, shrimp cocktail and a dinner roll) in 60 minutes running time. Unfortunately, they do not allow you to eat at a regular table. Instead, they move you to a little stage near the center of the dining room so that everyone can watch you pig out. Which led the author to observe: “Eating on display may seem a bit weird at first….but hey, no guts, no glory.” Alas, he had the guts, but missed out on the glory. Meaning that he wasn’t successful. But then, only one in five is. As for me, I think I’ll pass. But should you give it a try to next time you are in Amarillo, make sure somebody takes pictures.
There used to be an ice cream parlor over on Telegraph Road which made a big deal out of big orders. As I remember it, they had a concoction called the Pig’s Trough. And every time one person ordered it, six waiters delivered it. What’s more, they rang bells, banged drums and made a whole lot of noise. Which meant that every eye in the place turned in your direction. They might as well have put you on a stage. Or on television, for that matter.
What is this thing about having people watch you eat? Well, it takes many forms. Such as this little, overlooked line in Luke’s 14th chapter. Let me read it to you again.
“One Sabbath….when Jesus went to dine at the house of a ruler who belonged to the Pharisees….they were watching him.” (Luke 14:1)
Have you ever been watched while you eat? Years ago, my mother told me that people would notice the way I ate and draw conclusions about me….and about the people who raised me. To some extent, she was right.
Much is revealed by the way we eat. I know a man whose corporate responsibility includes selecting candidates, from among those newly hired, for his company’s executive training program. He is the one who has to figure out which of the fast-trackers can cut the mustard. So he holds interviews, gives tests, reads letters of recommendation, and reviews transcripts….all the traditional things. And then he takes each candidate out to dinner and observes his or her behavior. “Watch how a person eats,” he claims, “and that will tell you all you need to know about their character….given that manners are what you learn (and what you do) not for yourself, but out of regard for other people.”
Which reminds me of Will Willimon’s story about being interviewed for a job at Yale. The first evening they took him to Mory’s (as in “from the tables down at Mory’s, to the place where Louie dwells”). There he was, face to face with five Yale professors. And his host said that he must have….in fact, his host ordered for him….the French onion soup. Then everybody sat back with perverse delight as Willimon fielded question after question, while trying to plunge his spoon through the thick, cheesy crust, without sloshing liquid over the side in the process. And then there was the matter of the cheese, which never quite broke free from the glob and ended up stringing itself from chin to spoon until severed by the fingers. Which is why I never eat the Swiss onion soup at Peabody’s when I am dining in polite company. I love the Swiss onion soup at Peabody’s. It simply doesn’t get any better. But every time I eat it, I embarrass myself by wearing it. Which isn’t pretty. No, not pretty at all.
But on this occasion….while they were watching Jesus….Jesus was watching them. At issue was not the “how” of their eating, but the “where” of their seating. To be specific, Jesus ended up addressing the seat selection process and the way that certain people plunked themselves down at the head table (or as close as they could get to it). Leading Jesus to say: “Don’t do that. It could get embarrassing, you know. I mean, you could be sitting in one of the front seats and your host could approach you and ask if you would mind ‘movin’ on back.’ I mean, it could get ugly.”
When my friends and I were teenagers, we used to go to the ballpark and sit in the cheap seats. Most of the time, that meant “General Admission” in left field. From our distant perch, we would gaze upon those wonderful field-level seats between home plate and third base, adjacent to the Tiger dugout. Most of those seats were in the hands of people with season tickets. “Fat cats,” we called them. And even though the seats were sold, they were not always occupied. Meaning that there were days when the ticket holders didn’t show up. Once the game started, we would monitor their availability. If, by the end of the first inning, they were still empty, we would quietly make our way toward them. Sometimes we would get lucky and slip past the gaze of an usher. Whereupon we could enjoy the next several innings from the best seats in the house.
But, more often than not, the occupants would merely be late in arriving. Along about the third inning, the usher would come and ask to see our tickets. Which, when produced, would indicate that we were not where we belonged. So we would slink back to left field, not entirely unrepentant. After all, why should such wonderful seats go begging? Besides, we didn’t know anybody who hadn’t, at one time or another, tried the same thing. I will report, however, that I gave up the practice when I began to take a date to the ballpark.
In anticipation of such an embarrassment, Jesus said: “Instead take the lowest seat when you enter, the one with the clear view of the dishwasher (every time they open the kitchen door). For you never know. You could get lucky. And the host could come over to your table and say: ‘Hey friend, how about movin’ on up?’”
I know a fellow who is employed by a great university. And he’s hung around the place so long that he knows all the signs that tell whether you are on the “inside” of university politics or on the “outside” of university politics. A big indicator is your table assignment at major university dinners. The head table is best. Tables 1-3, next best. Any table, 10 or under, you’re pretty much okay. But if you wind up at table 20, you’d better update your resume.
As some of you know, Kris and I enjoyed the recent privilege of breakfast with President Bush, along with a couple thousand of his nearest and dearest. The occasion was the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, which has been going on since 1949. It was a wonderful occasion…. one that I talk about everywhere I go. But given the number of people squeezed into the ballroom at the Washington Hilton, I wondered if I’d need a telescope to see the speakers’ platform. To our great fortune, we were actually pretty close to the front. We sat with Murray Jones (talk about “good company”), a couple of other Americans, the recently-ousted monarch of a small African nation, and the Honorable John Taylor from the British House of Lords. I resisted any temptation to make a stupid joke about Lord and Taylor. But it felt good to be near the front.
Given my role in banquet occasions, I often sit at the head table. What’s more, I appreciate….and, to some degree, enjoy….the status of high placement. And yet I hear the words of Jesus when he says: “Hey friend, don’t presume anything. Start down low. Consider yourself lucky to be there at all. Let your host call the shots.”
What’s involved here? More than meets the eye….I’ll tell you that. And I’ll tell you how I know that. There’s a little clue in Luke’s narrative that gives it away. For Luke tells us that the “banquet” in this story is a “marriage feast.” And whenever you see the phrase “marriage feast,” you know that it is meant as a symbol for the Kingdom.
And this is one of those stories. Its purpose is to give us a glimpse of “end time.” It says: “Don’t count on what you count on now, counting then. All this jockeying for position. All this wanting to be in the right seat. All this wanting to be number one. None of that is going to count.” The only thing that is going to count in the Kingdom is humility. Which means that at that banquet….at that time….the appropriate place to gather is at the foot of the table.
And concerning that, listen to what Mark Trotter says next:
Nobody knows what is going to happen at the banquet. I get impatient with people who think they know what is going to happen. They always seem to know who is going to heaven and who is not, as if they were privy to the guest list….as if they knew beforehand who had been invited….as if they had access to the seating chart….and as if they knew who was going to be at the head table right next to Jesus. I notice that the people they say are going to be in heaven tend to be the people who agree with them. And the people who aren’t going to be there are the people who do not agree with them. These people pass themselves off as Bible-believing Christians. But one wonders if they have even read the Bible. Because if you read the Bible, it’s as clear as “clear” could be. Nobody knows! The only certainty is that there are going to be surprises. As the old spiritual suggests: “Everybody talkin’ about heaven, ain’t goin’ there”….at least, right off.
Except there is one clue. The humble are probably going to make the first cut with the least trouble. Which leads to a pair of concluding thoughts.
The first concerns a test for humility. I picked it off the Internet the other day. It’s amazing what you can find there. Consider this:
During my second month of nursing school, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one. “What is the first name of the women who cleans the school?”
Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her fifties. But how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the answer blank. Then I heard another student ask if the last question would count toward our grade. “Absolutely,” said the professor. “In your careers you will meet many people. All are significant. Each deserves your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say hello.”
I’ve never forgotten that lesson. I’ve also learned that her name is Dorothy.
My second concluding observation concerns the whereabouts of Jesus at the banquet. I mean, you might want his autograph. Or you might want to have your picture taken standing next to him. So you’ll want to know where he’s sitting, won’t you? Of course you will. So I’ll locate him for you. He’s at table 20.
* * * * *
Oh, by the way, their names are Tony, Chito, Gary, Dastin and Kate. Who are they? Why, they’re the people who clean the building. Just so you’ll know.
Note: I am indebted to Dick Cheatham, Mark Demorest, Will Willimon and Mark Trotter for various and sundry contributions to this sermon.
