When I was twelve I was a guest for dinner at the Long Island home of an extremely wealthy family. The table conversation involved their latest trip to Europe, the fall fashions at Saks Fifth Avenue, and the yacht they kept on Long Island Sound. I was fascinated. At some point the hostess me to pass the salt. I did - quickly - hoping talk about the boat might take a favorable turn such as, "Dan, why don't you come sailing with us for a week next summer?"
Instead I heard a cold, "No! That is not the proper way to pass the salt." It had never occurred to me there was a "proper" way to pass the salt. In my family, if the other person got the salt promptly and no glasses were knocked over in the transaction that was good enough - and I thought my parents were strict. All conversation stopped. The hostess instructed me in the fine art of passing salt, demonstrated the procedure, then had me repeat it several times. Meanwhile the entire family watched in total silence. No doubt they were deducting tenths of a point for a shaky lift-off and failure to stick the landing.
I had revealed myself to be an ignorant slob. It was bad enough I didn't know Saks Fifth Avenue from J. C. Penney - but they didn't know I didn't know. I could just smile and nod until the conversation moved on. Now they all knew I didn't know how to pass the salt. It was humiliating. I felt about two inches tall.
Jesus was a guest for dinner at the home of a wealthy Pharisee. All the other guests would have been from the upper class, the aristocracy. They understood the etiquette of such occasions. The closer one was seated to the host, the higher the honor. If you ended up in a corner next to the door to the kitchen you ranked dead last. It didn't matter that everyone there - except Jesus - was upper crust. They still jockeyed for position to be counted the best of the best. Clearly Jesus did not fit in.
There the similarity between me and Jesus ends. Jesus wasn't an easily impressed, painfully self-conscious twelve-year-old. He was a keen observer of the human condition. He recognized the game. At first blush he seems to offer sage advice on how to best play it. "Don't take a place at the head table and risk humiliation when you're bumped down a rung. Instead, sit at the servants' table. Then when the host invites you to take a more prominent place you'll get all the attention you crave while scoring a perfect 10 for modesty." It's a formula worthy of Miss Manners.
But Jesus is not interested in high society manners. The first clue is that he himself demonstrates appallingly bad manners. Jesus exposes the game for what it is. The guests maneuvered for places of honor. Jesus calls them on it to the embarrassment of all involved. Who wants to wear a T-shirt emblazoned, "World's Greatest Social Climber"? Good manners are not always compatible with the truth. Jesus tells the truth.
Then there's Jesus' loaded language. The example he uses is not just any formal dinner. It is a marriage feast. One of the most common images in Hebrew scripture of the relationship between God's people and God is the image of a bride and groom. What's at stake here is more than manners. A marriage feast points to something of cosmic significance.
Jesus tells all the guests to take the "lowest place." Taken literally that would lead to a silly game of musical chairs at the servants' table. In the context of the Gospel the "lowest place" evokes the great reversal in the Kingdom of God in which the mighty are put down from their thrones and those of low rank are exalted, the first are last, and the last are first.
Finally, having embarrassed all the guests, Jeus insults the host saying, "You invited the wrong sort of people to this party anyway." Who are the "right sort of people"? Jesus leads off his list with "the poor" which breaks no new ground. The Pharisees recognized providing for the poor was a religious obligation and an honorable thing to do. Jesus pushes the envelope adding "the maimed, the lame, the blind." That was new ground. The priestly code of Leviticus specifically excludes those people from the Temple. Jesus doesn't just open the door. He ushers those who have always been excluded to the front of the buffet line.
At a formal dinner party Jesus does not teach etiquette lessons to the upper crust. He launches a subversive strike on the whole idea of there ever being an "upper crust." These are liberating words to free us from the need to succeed in our culture's constant quest for power and esteem. The less successful we've been at those games the more liberating Jesus is to us. If we don't pass the salt just so - it doesn't matter! Whatever wealth, power, and prestige we've gained - or failed to gain - is of no account to the Lord. Jesus abolishes over-under relationships and the attitudes and barriers they create so we are free to create human community from which no one is excluded.
It begins when we choose our seats at the marriage feast of the Lord. It's trickier than it sounds. Jesus tells the Pharisees, who thought of themselves as a cut above ordinary folk, to take the lowest place. There are plenty of people who think they're better than average cooks, clerks, or canasta players which may be the honest truth. For those who think they are better than average people the lowest place is the place to start.
But there are plenty of people who don't think they're a cut above but a cut below ordinary folk. The other day I hung a "Luncheon On the Lawn" sign from a tree limb at the corner where it's hung every year for I don't know how long. This involved dragging a big, heavy ladder out of the church basement, setting it up, and climbing to the top. Given my fear of heights it is not my favorite chore. Fortunately a church member stopped by, offered a hand, and together we got the ladder back down in the basement.
Later I went back to admire the "Munchin' at the Luncheon" sign. That's when I noticed the city had put up a new crosswalk sign on that corner. The church's sign was hanging in front of it and would have to be moved. Doh! I'd have to drag that ladder out again, climb it twice, and put it away. At that point I called myself a few choice names which I won't repeat, names I would never call anyone else for making the same mistake. You ever do that? What makes us think our mistakes are any greater, our blunders so much more impressive than anyone else's?
The secret of humility, which is what we're talking about here, is not to rank ourselves lower or higher in relation to others. It's to not rank ourselves at all. A plate of delicious brownies is just a plate of delicious brownies. A mistake is just a mistake. Neither successes nor failures define who we are. When in doubt, take the seat of less honor at the feast. Conversation around the table will be more interesting, and no one will lecture on how to pass the salt.
If humility requires a kind of holy ignorance of our own rank in the world, hospitality demands radical inclusiveness. God is not impressed by the glitter of our guest lists. God does not care what others think of us. God does look to see whether we practice generosity to the poor and hospitality toward the outcast. Jesus specifically overturned centuries old religious barriers. Who then do we dare exclude?
When we go out of our way to welcome a stranger the reign of God is near. We don't need a background check, credit report, and three letters of recommendation before we welcome someone to the church. There are no minimum requirements or standardized tests required for admission to Christ's community. No, the requirement is entirely upon those who are already here and that is that we offer welcome without any reservation whatsoever. That is done when we offer a smile, a handshake, our names, our attention, our interest to another human being we don't know. Yet.
The hospitality of God's kingdom is by no means limited to Sunday mornings. It must be evident in our daily social interactions. Are we as attentive to the janitor as we are to the world's foremost authority on quantum physics? Are we as interested in children's homework as we are in a best-selling author's latest book? Do we treat those who take orders in restaurants, deliver packages to our doors, or change the oil in our cars with at least as much respect as we give athletes, doctors, and ministers? When the answer is yes the reign of God is at hand no matter where we are or what day of the week it is.
Manners are fine as far as they go. They're like grease that reduces friction in social settings. Jesus is concerned with much more than manners. Christ invites all people, without distinction, to the table of the Lord. In all humility we'd best get out of the way. With our hospitality we pass along the invitation we've already accepted.
Amen.