SERMON FOR SEPTEMBER 1, 2019     TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST     TEXT: LUKE 14:1, 7-14
     What a strange story! Jesus playing Amy Vanderbilt in the home of a first-century Pharisee, with advice for both guests and hosts! So here’s my question: after advising the rest of the party about choosing their seats, where did Jesus sit?
     In my long, long ago eighth-grade home ec class, we were strongly encouraged to buy an absolute encyclopedia of a cookbook. It laid out menus and manners for all kinds of events: everything from a backyard barbecue or feeding the boys gathered to watch the big game, to a wedding shower brunch and a holiday buffet. Back in the day a lot of Annapolis girls became the wives of naval officers, and those mistresses of the domestic domain needed to know the ins-and-outs of hosting a formal dinner party. When folks in uniform were on the guest list, rank influenced the seating chart. With a gathering of civilians, social position, age and gender were to be taken into consideration as the hostess positioned placecards, with the names of guests hand-letttered, around the table. Just the right amount of mixing and mingling to avoid cliques but not cause discomfort. You might put a trusted friend next to someone’s boorish husband on the left but offer her relief by assigning a true gentleman to the seat on her right. The host and hostess occupied the places of honor at the head and foot of the table, and who they chose to sit next to them was significant. Switching placecards was strictly forbidden. And if you took the wrong seat by mistake, the hostess would politely but firmly advise you to move.
     I bought the cookbook. I think the only recipe I ever used from it was for creamed cauliflower seasoned with nutmeg. And I have never hosted a formal dinner party. My closest experience to what Jesus describes came when, as the presiding minister at a wedding, I had to trail along afterwards to the reception. You have a place at the head table when it is time to say grace and then are relegated to somewhere at the back of the room with the clutch of other peripheral guests, who came without a “+1”. It’s not like anyone in the bridal party demoted me, but I felt my place as an awkward outsider, expected to make conversation, because that’s what pastors do.
     Table fellowship is very important in Luke’s Gospel. It involves issues of shame and honor, which were the foundations of social interaction in Jesus’ day. Who gets invited to the meal? Who gets to sit where? You don’t want to be mortified publicly by being dismissed to a lower place; you do want to be singled out for distinction by your host for all to see. Display is important for everyone concerned. The guest shows others: “See what regard this important person has for me? Just look who’s sitting at the bottom of the table. And notice who didn’t get invited at all. “The host cuts a fine figure by making a show of his position: “Look at all these people, eager to be invited to my party, and as you can see, I have the means and the position to put on a good spread.” There is also the issue of reciprocity. When you accept an invitation, you are expected to extend one in return; if you enhance my reputation, I will add some luster to yours as well; if you scratch my back . . . you know how it goes. Ours may be a much more egalitarian community, but these issues still figure into the way we do our social business. We know what it is to be snubbed or excluded, to overreach and be put in our place. Sometimes we kiss up to someone because it is in our best interest. We hope that people we have treated well will treat us well in turn. Folks name drop to help others locate them on the ladder of prestige. Of course we are pleased when people we honor notice us and single us out, especially when it occurs in the presence of witnesses. It’s stunning what carefully calibrating social creatures we are throughout our lives; we have to be. And it’s exhausting work.
     So where did Jesus sit? Anywhere he darn well pleased, I imagine, or maybe he just remained standing, observing the workings of the system on display without getting drawn in. He’s not worried about who he eats with or how the host treats him or what his fellow guests think of him. According to Luke’s account, this is not the only time Jesus accepts an invitation to dine at the homes of  Pharisees, the elite members of the community. But much to their chagrin, on other occasions he also eats with outcasts and notorious sinners. He chooses to accept the hospitality of both, but as far as we know he does not reciprocate. The only meal he hosts during his ministry is on the last night of his life for his disciples in that upper room; from there he goes out to die. Now the risen Lord sets that table continuously. He invites all and sundry to join him, welcoming with love and honor everyone who comes — the gifted, the undistinguished, the poor, the successful, people whose lives make sense to us and those whose experience we can’t begin to comprehend. We don’t have to jockey for a better position in some pecking order; we don’t have to worry about losing face in that world. The Lord’s table has neither head nor foot, no higher or lower place. In today’s Gospel Jesus points his hearers towards the fullness of God’s reign, where our giving is blessed and does not require repayment, where the exalted are humbled, and the humbled are lifted up, where we are finally equal and fully free. Amen.