Luke 14:7-14
August 31, 2025
When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. “When you are invited by someone 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. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers and sisters 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. And you will be blessed because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
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So
much gets wrapped up in our evaluations of where we and others might be on the
status charts that it can become an embarrassment when we get it wrong.
“When you are invited by someone 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.” [Luke
14:8-10]
Jesus
seems to have been very familiar with the kind of setting he describes. The gospels talk about him having supper at
the home of Lazarus and his sisters Martha and Mary. They mention him eating at the house of
somebody named Simon the Leper. He
invited himself to dinner at Zacchaeus’s house.
There was a wedding in Cana of Galilee where he saved the day by turning
water into wine. And his very last
gathering with all of his disciples together was a holiday meal, a Passover
seder, where he was not a guest, but the host.
Formal
occasions, public events, and even a lot less formal get-togethers where people
don’t necessarily know everyone well, are full of those embarrassing moments. Weddings, funerals, even fundraising dinners,
all have their goof-ups. Luncheons or
banquets put all kinds of social interactions on display. In Jesus’ time, especially, people paid a lot
of attention to the seating as a reflection of people’s social standing – and a
lot of things played into those calculations.
What was your relation to the host?
Did you hold some sort of religious or political office? Could you be expected to return the
invitation sometime? Were you on good
terms with the other guests?
One
of my friends, who is a lawyer, was at a dinner for some group or another in
Washington, where he was living, and didn’t really know anybody yet. So he walked in and tried to find a seat
right away because the tables were filling up, and he saw a table with an open
spot. He went over and did the proper, “Is this seat taken?” thing. A man was sitting there who gestured to an
empty chair and my friend sat down and they began talking. They actually kind of hit it off, which is
not guaranteed in that kind of setting.
After awhile they realized they hadn’t exchanged names and he said, “By
the way, I’m Marty.” “And I’m Pete.” The
table filled up and the dinner went on and then came the speeches. The main speaker began with the usual
acknowledgements. For one of those Justice
Ruth Bader Ginsberg (the notorious RBG herself) pointed out into the hall and
thanked her husband Marty Ginsberg for being there. At the end of the evening, Pete said
something like, “I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were,” to which Marty replied,
“If you did, neither of us would have had a real conversation. Thanks.”
There’s
an underlying sense of deference that is capable of getting in the way of
simple friendliness if we let it. And we
do. For the most part, it’s just
something to shake our heads over with regret.
“Too bad people can’t just be themselves.” Some people find a way to work around it, at
least sometimes, like Marty Ginsberg.
There
is a darker side to this, however, that Jesus also addresses. That is that if you give into that deference,
knowingly or unknowingly, you block people out.
In a book called Rediscover Jesus that the “Fitting Room” group
is going to discuss on Sunday mornings this fall, the author, Matthew Kelly, says
a few words about how our tendency to rank people plays out beyond the
reception hall.
“The problem,” he says, “is that we value some people
more than other people. Jesus doesn’t do
that. If a hundred people died in a
natural disaster in our city, this would capture our attention for days, weeks,
months, or even years. If a thousand
people died on the other side of the world, we might barely think of it again
after watching the story on the news.
Why do we value American lives more than African
lives? Why are we comfortable with Asian
children sewing our running shoes in horrific conditions for wages that are
barely enough to buy food? What is so
important? Cheap shoes. Cheap clothes. Cheap drill bits. Cheap stuff.
Would you be willing to pay a little more? How much more?”[1]
That’s a problem far deeper than trade policy.
Jesus
knows that. He goes right to the heart
of it and lays out this crazy, radical concept of asking his followers to get
out of the practice of evaluating other people generally, and specifically confronts
the practice of relating to people on the basis of what we somehow get out of
one another. Forget about reciprocity. If any kind of reward or benefit comes out of
it, leave that to God to determine. Just
concentrate on people as people.
“When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do
not invite your friends or your brothers and sisters 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. And you will be blessed because
they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the
righteous.” [Luke 14:12-13]
Back
to the banquet hall again. One time I
was invited to say grace at an event, and was seated at the front, next to the
speaker, who was the governor. This
wasn’t in Pennsylvania but I still won’t give his name, because of what I’m
about to say: He was boring. I tried to make small talk and I tried to
touch on big subjects, and the man had no thoughts on anything and no opinions
on any topic – not an observation, not an anecdote, not a knock-knock
joke. It was excruciating. Then they brought dessert and it became
worse. The governor started talking and
wouldn’t or couldn’t stop. He went on for what felt like the next half-hour between
spoonfuls of his dessert about how good this pudding was, how he liked pudding,
how it was probably his favorite thing in the world even though a lot of chefs
never learn to make it right. This stuff, he would say, waving his spoon, for
once was decent pudding, not like the cup of pudding that he ate at a similar
banquet the previous week. Did he
mention how much he liked pudding? Rice
pudding, chocolate pudding, tapioca pudding, banana pudding; he liked them all
except vanilla, which was too bland for him unless they were going to top it
off with something that had real flavor – because he liked pudding you could
really taste. I was relieved when it was
time for him to give his speech, but I was also afraid he was going to tell
everybody how much pistachio pudding had changed his life or propose a ban on
Jello.
How I
wished that day to be seated way at the back, near the kitchen or maybe even
the exit. What a relief it would have
been to sit next to someone who could talk intelligently about the weather.
Then again, maybe in his
way he was emotionally or socially one of
“the poor, the
crippled, the lame, and the blind,”
and I myself was too blind to see it, all because of
where the two of us were both seated next to each other on the dais.
Sometimes
Jesus knows us all too well.
[1]
Matthew Kelly, Rediscover Jesus: An Invitation (North Palm Beach,
Florida: Blue Sparrow Press, 2019), 85.