Previously published on OldSolar.com:
This post is really a sermon. I’ve added the readings for this Sunday as they would occur in the service. If you want to skip the Scripture passages, which I do not recommend, just scroll down — the sermon has been placed below the passages, where all sermons belong.
The Readings for the The Fifteenth Sunday After Pentecost
The Psalm: Psalm 119:161-168
Old Testament Reading: Proverbs 25:6-7
The Epistle: Hebrews 13:1-8
The Holy Gospel: Luke 14:1-14 (The lectionary reading was Luke 14:1, 7-14, but I decided to include the missing verses, 2 through 6.)
Sermon
Jesus took the invitation to the dinner party — we aren’t told why. Judging from the several He attends throughout the Gospels, we might say He just likes to party. This crowd doesn’t sound like a group of people where you’d want to let your guard down though. The religious leaders are there (the party itself is in a prominent Pharisee’s home) and they are watching Him closely. He’s noticing them as well.
He decides to launch into a mini lecture on the importance of being a good house guest. Actually, all of the lessons for this Sunday have to do with manners — avoiding self-exaltation, how you act when you’re invited somewhere, how important it is to treat your guests properly. Hospitality is such a neglected spiritual gift in the church and the Lectionary is trying to help us out on this sort of thing during the season of Pentecost. This is just another way to be grateful for all He’s done. We need to take to heart our Lord’s words when He tells the Pharisees to …
Wait a minute! What was I thinking? What we really have here is Jesus with a table set before Him in the midst of His enemies (Psalm 23). Hmm. I don’t believe our Lord would waste a table manners lesson on these power hungry, politicians. He’s here for another purpose.
They come to the dinner knowing that Jesus is an itinerant preacher from Nazareth. The town of Nazareth was “country” (unsophisticated) and didn’t have much of a reputation in Jerusalem, or for that matter, all of Israel — a real cesspool of poverty; very much as it is today. This country preacher, popular with the unwashed, is invited to a party and when He gets there, He’s set up. At least, it would be hard not to think so.
Our New Testament lesson from Hebrews happens to bring out the irony of this situation in Luke’s Gospel: that you have no idea whom you are entertaining when you bring in a stranger. Jesus is a stranger to these people. Like Abraham in his tent long before, when he entertained the three Strangers (Genesis 18), the man running this dinner has unwittingly managed to invite God the Son Almighty.
This dinner is a gathering of the powerful to size up a new threat: a threat to the order they have established. This is an exclusive gathering of deal-makers — “masters of the universe” — and Jesus finds Himself placed with a man who doesn’t belong with these brokers of power. Luke, the doctor, tells us the man suffers from the dropsy — a swelling disease of some sort. Why is he here? With all of the ceremonial laws about being around the sick, let alone eating with them, you would think this man a bit out of place. Jesus asks those present, “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath or not?” When they don’t answer, Jesus answers for them by grabbing the man, healing him, and sending him away. I think He grabbed this fellow just to make it look more like work — for this was the Sabbath — He didn’t really need to touch him. Jesus probably knew the man was only invited for one purpose, and to show them that He knew, He takes the authority from His host and invites the formally sick man to leave. Not only does this let everyone know the jig is up, it shows the kindness of our Lord in ending this man’s exposure to a dinner anyone in his position would be happy to leave.
After this, Jesus, observing them more closely than they could have thought of observing Him, holds in His mind the irony of the moment. He notices how they pick the best seats for themselves at table. Like King Arthur dressed as one of his peasants, He stands before them and tells them a parable, not so much to help them with future political gains (their only real interest), but as a stinging rebuke against those who scramble for position in the presence of the King. He borrows from the proverbial wisdom of Solomon to shame them – it happens to be the Old Testament reading for today. It’s very short — let’s read it again:
Do not put yourself forward in the king’s presence or stand in the place of the great, for it is better to be told, “Come up here,” than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.
Jesus, apparently imparting the wisdom of this world to these men of the world, is doing no such thing, for they are jockeying for position when someone greater than Solomon, the One who is the very Wisdom of Solomon, stands in their midst. Can you feel the irony? Can you sense imminent danger for these men as they loaf about in front of the One who made them? When He uses the passage, however, He changes it a bit. In His retelling, He is the King of the Old Testament proverb who imparts this wisdom to those who would, by any means, gain glory for themselves — the True King — the Ultimate King. He is also the bridegroom who invites all to his royal wedding feast.
“When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you be invited by him, and he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit in 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 table with you.”
See the great Lord who always demonstrates with every action what He says. Did He take the highest place at the table? His statements would ring hollow if He had. Was He still standing at this point — the only One who truly deserved to sit — was He standing before them while they lounged about the table listening to Him? Perhaps.
“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and He who humbles himself will be exalted.”
Once again, the irony! This isn’t a summary statement describing the results of practicing good manners or bad. Look at who is saying this! Is it not the Lord of Glory who lays aside the trappings of his kingly office as He heads toward the humiliation of the Cross? Even here, He does not force them to move, to bow down, to worship. He takes the lowest place.
Why does Jesus humble Himself by taking the lowest place? He does it to take the place of those who should be humbled. The humiliation, at this dinner party is only a small foretaste — a foreshadowing; nothing to be compared with the stripping and beating of his body by soldiers, His scourging and exposure on the cross to God’s righteous wrath. The Second Adam crowned with the curse that had resulted from first Adam’s sin (Genesis 3:18, John 19:2). The Second Adam stripped naked and exposed to shame and humiliation while the first Adam’s sin is covered by God (Genesis 3:21). Our nakedness and shame, as sons of Adam, are covered by His royal garment as He is stripped bare before all, and paraded through the streets to a bloody and shameful death on a Cross.
In this great reversal, this seeming paradox, Jesus shows by what method He will be exalted. Humiliation will become victory in Christ! Shame will become honor in Christ!
Jesus, who takes the most miserable of seats on the cross, is lifted up higher than anyone could have imagined and, by being honored in this paradoxical way, draws all men to Himself.
And when you invite people..
Now the guests are set aside for the purpose of going after the host who manipulated the whole situation; the host who had ostensibly invited at least one sick person to the table. Jesus, framing the hypocrisy of this affair, with biting wit, tells the Pharisee that he needs to invite, not as a trap for a traveling teacher, but as a real guest, the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind.
Jesus, the very embodiment of the wisdom behind the Law that this great Pharisee claimed to know and live — the Law fulfilled, standing before a man who is only able to make a claim to this distinction outwardly and he doesn’t even bow in recognition. This educated man who cherished the letter of the Law, who meditated on it day and night for his salvation, is in the presence of Salvation Himself, but is blind to his failure of being a truly good host.
Unlike this Pharisee, we have a Host who doesn’t care where we come from or how sick we are — whether we know how to use utensils or even if we know how to behave in someone else’s house. Jesus has not invited us to trap us in our words or deeds like this Pharisee and his cohorts did with Him. We have, indeed, been invited to a wedding feast and the Host, who also happens to be the Bridegroom and a King — a great King — says to you, “Come. I have your place all picked out. I have put your name there. I took the lower place for you. You don’t need to worry about where to sit. It was all decided long ago.”
On the Lectionary
Webster’s 1913 Dictionary
Lec´tion`a`ry
n. 1. (Eccl.) A book, or a list, of lections, for reading in divine service.
Webster’s 1913 Dictionary
Lec´tion
n. 1. (Eccl.) A lesson or selection, especially of Scripture, read in divine service.
The lectionary is a great tool for exposing us to the whole counsel of God, and it’s interconnections. It isn’t perfect. Fallible men created it. It is meant to be used in conjunction with personal devotions and Bible reading. Our lectionary has a one year plan (through the Bible in a year) and a three year plan. I am following the latter and we are presently in the 3rd year, or year C. The lectionary is also designed to protect the congregation from the whims of the pastor when he enters the pulpit. It is not designed to replace the study of whole books, but to fence in, and at the same time, free those who hold the preaching office and those who sit under it. Some kind of lectionary was used even in the Biblical period. Jesus actually reads an appointed lesson in chapter four of Luke’s Gospel. Jesus doesn’t ignore the appointed reading to make his own “Spirit-led” point. Yet the Spirit still manages to surprise His hearers with an unexpected message.
My own use follows a couple of principles:
1. The choices of passages in the Lutheran lectionary are no more and certainly no less inspired than the choice of the pastor who decides to preach on a particular book.
2. The lectionary was made for man, not man for the lectionary.
According to the first principle, I have decided to use the appointed texts, but according to the second, I have taken the liberty of including all Luke 14:1-14 without omitting the healing. The rest of the passage is a bit disjointed and misleading if it is left out.
The Lectionary works like the structure for a poetic form. When you write a poem using a form like a Roundel or a Sonnet, you are forced to uses a rhyme scheme, structure and meter. The whole process slows you down. It makes you think about words, their music and their meaning. You get forced to use words in new ways — you might even have to look up a few. In the same way, having a passage or passages assigned to you will force you to look at things that you might not like, or might not see as valuable or “preachable”. It sounds like it would stifle creativity. In practice it doesn’t, Take for example the readings for this Sunday. As with many of the readings in the season of Pentecost, they virtually beg for an easy moral reading. And, unfortunately, every time I remember hearing them preached, the pastor has taken the bait. Looking for Jesus, his life and death on your behalf at the center of things seems like a pretty tall order, until you really look at the passages (especially Luke), maybe, if you have the tools at your disposal, even in the original languages. As I was going through the passage in Luke, I really did see it in a new light. At first I was reading Jesus conclusion to his parable in a moral way,
“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and He who humbles himself will be exalted.”
The meaning I gave it was that if you humble yourself as opposed to glorifying yourself, in that way you emulate Christ, are a good witness, and a good citizen of the Kingdom of Heaven. In other words, I read this as a parable about Kingdom ethics for those who have been made citizens of that Kingdom.
R.C.H. Lenski’s commentary on Luke gave me some insights into the use of words about “looking.” When the other guests watch Jesus, they “look at Him sideways,” (Luke 14:1) or watch him in a scrutinizing, negative way, without looking Him in the eye. When Jesus watches the other guests, he holds them in mind. He sees them as they really are. I also noticed a linguistic parallel Luke uses in describing the way Jesus treats the sick man, grabbing hold of him, and the way he observes the actions of the dinner guests as they vie for the best seat. The semantic range of the term he uses for the latter (ισκυω) also involves the idea of holding onto something. Jesus fastens onto what they are doing. He isn’t simply the passive recipient of a dinner invitation. He is seizing every opportunity to provoke these men into doing what He wants them to do — crucify Him. In contrast to Jesus’ actions in the passage, the host and those invited to the party remain silent and passive after the invitation. When Jesus questions them on a point of the Law (Deuteronomy 5:14), they are powerless to answer him.
My early reading of the passage showed an unfriendly situation. And I also noticed early on Luke’s use of irony — it’s sprinkled all over everything like a heavy seasoning in Luke-Acts. In this case it was the irony of how these men really were in the presence of the King without knowing it. But even with all these insights, I didn’t feel I had quite gotten to the bottom of the passage. But later, when I looked at the end of the parable again, I noticed something. In English the line “whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted” reads like a general moral principle. Like a proverb out of Poor Richard’s Almanac. Something so generically true, we would expect anyone to see it even if they didn’t believe in Christianity. But this is not folksy wisdom. The one who humbles himself must be seen primarily as Jesus (see Philippians 2:8). We are exalted only when we humble ourselves and find our righteousness in Him. (Luke 18:9-14)
Like the poetic form, the lectionary helps you outside of yourself and your choices so that you can look at passages in a way you might not have previously. Aside from being a challenge (and fun, if you ask me) it can act as a check and balance system helping to insure that the people of God and the pastor are considering the whole counsel of God.
Not only the selections but the interplay of the various pericopes, if you can grasp the logic of it (which I’m not always able to do), will give you a new vantage point from which to view Scripture. The end of Hebrews (the New Testament Reading) has a good chunk of what I view to be moral instruction but, it’s in a “buckle your seat belt” kind of tone toward the end of what I believe to be an early apostolic sermon that definitely doesn’t end on that note. The pericope gets into the vicarious nature of brotherly love and ties that together with hospitality. The warning about being careful to do a good job when you are entertaining strangers made me thing more strongly about the irony in the Luke passage by pointing me to an Old Testament passage where Abraham ends up entertaining God and is given a promise of a son (Genesis 18). The Old Testament lesson was a proverb that doubtless all of the politicos in the room with Jesus were intimately familiar. They were just unaware of who was in the room and (in both a practical and theological sense) who was running the dinner party. It was Jesus modification of the proverb that really brought the Luke passage home to me.
The one that I couldn’t get, Psalm 119, came to me as I was writing the Sermon part of this article. This Psalm is difficult for people because on the surface it appears to say the same thing over and over. It’s very long, with the 22 stanzas stretching the length of the 22 letter Hebrew alphabet. If you look at it more closely, however, you’ll notice that it is not saying exactly the same thing in every section. It’s a very Hebraic meditation on the subject of the Law (Ten Commandments) and the guy who wrote it loves the law but doesn’t believe he is justified by it. The Jewish writers like to look at a subject from all angles and this is one of the ways they do it. Here in the Sin and Shin section (verses 161-168) we have something that Christ would have been justified in reciting as he walked willingly into a trap which posed as a dinner party. He was indeed being persecuted by Princes without cause. Read the selection for yourself; try a meditation on the whole Psalm (Psalm 119). All of this to say that if you will live in the passages and their surrounding context and meditate upon them, they will exercise your perceptual abilities; the passages will draw you in deeper as you look on with others who’ve gone before you.
Lutherans believe the sermon should be the improvisation of the scriptural symphony, not the symphony itself. In other words, they generally aren’t too long. The Lutheran service is replete with scripture, some selections of which we sing almost every Sunday (that way, we memorize it). Many churches have hour long sermons and I’m sure there is material for even more than that in these passages if the American ear would stand for it (which I doubt) but, it’s important to stay focused on the theme of the piece. Jesus and not our own growth in grace should be the centerpiece of Christian prayer, worship and study. At our best, we Lutherans are attempting with some success to match this glorious truth
The Painting
“The Lowest Places at the Feast” by Kazakhstan Artist Nelly Bube.
By Steve B