Jesus replied: "A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, 'Come, for everything is now ready.' "But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, 'I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.' "Another said, 'I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I'm on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.' "Still another said, 'I just got married, so I can't come.' "The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, 'Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.' " 'Sir,' the servant said, 'what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.' "Then the master told his servant, 'Go out to the roads and country lanes and make them come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those men who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.'"
We have received a great invitation. A formal invitation complete with our names penned in calligraphy, two envelopes, that transparent paper inside, and little RSVP slips included. A dinner invitation to beat all dinner invitations. God has offered — we have accepted. No more eating alone — God's throwing a dinner party, and we are gonna be there.
Stuff comes up, though. We plan to attend, confirm our invitation, but something comes up and we have to excuse ourselves. I'd already accepted an invitation to join a few friends for some live music one night, but when they called to go, I found myself knee deep in the middle of writing a sermon. I told them, "I can't right now, maybe next time."
As we observe the invited dinner guests in Jesus' parable, we see stuff crop up in their lives. They had accepted the original invitation, but when the time came to attend the dinner, it seems things came up — life got hectic, "maybe next time." At first glance, these are men leading busy lives and making judicious judgments about the use of their time, preferring prior commitments to a simple dinner party. They had real estate to inspect, a fleet of commercial vehicles to test out, and a new bride who needed some attention. But, deep within these commonplace, acceptable regrets, however, lays the heart of the matter.
The Bible gets interesting when we realize we've been misreading it. Suddenly, in our new awareness, we can sense the Gospel breaking through the Bible, the Word of God erupting through the words of God. What appeared nice regrets become blatant excuses. As one commentator wrote, "Who would buy a farm before he inspects it? Who would buy five pairs of oxen, even a single ox, before checking it out? Who would accept an invitation to a banquet and forget that he was getting married on that day?"1 These excuses sound like asking your big crush out on a date only to be told they are too busy washing the goldfish, ironing non-wrinkle shirts, or planting plastic flowers. These aren't regretful friends, they're deceitful scoundrels. Who knows what they had against the host, but the priorities of their lives trumped all else. Their saying, "not now, but maybe next time" was not an honest response, but a rote rejection. Something always comes up.
We don't attend the dinner because we have our own agendas. After a long day of work, we relax in our worn-through recliners to watch some TV. We settle into our schedule, but before we become too comfortable, suddenly, we are shaken by a fury rising just outside our windows. We scurry to see what is happening, only to find the streets teeming with the "poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame." A circus of the marginalized complete with wheelchairs, seeing-eye dogs, tattered pants, and scooters, limping up the road to dinner. Our cheeks twinge, a small smile forms, our heads shake just slightly, and a quiet laughter rumbles. This host must be crazy to invite all these people just because we couldn't go. We, like our excused friends in the parable, retire to our own specially prepared meals. No company, but good food. We schedule life on our terms and someday the time may come to attend the dinner, but "not now, maybe next time."
The host was mad when he received the regrets. All the guests had agreed to come and then all backed out at the last minute. But it doesn't bother us that the host gets upset at first. We've been snubbed, stood up; it hurts. We like to hear "the owner of the house became angry." He should! He was snubbed. When he tells his servant at the end, "For I tell you, none of those who were invited will taste my dinner," we think, "right on, you get'em!" But the story ends there, and if we were thinking God was the host of this party, we've got problems.
Even though I turned my friends down when they asked me to go out with them, they called back, and, well, we went the next week. Friends call back — shouldn't God? Shouldn't God understand that we live busy lives? In this parable, our "good-friend-God" is no more. It's like running into someone you didn't get along with so well in high school and thinking that time heals all wounds, only to discover it doesn't. Or perhaps, it's running into a former church member, one who has been hurt by this place, and expecting them to forgive, forget, return, and start tithing, but they don't. The hurt is too deep. Jesus flips our expectations of reconciliation, our expectations that everyone will end up at the dinner. Here there is no forgiveness, no coming to terms, no reunion, no reconciliation.
Are you confused? I am. This parable leaves us confused. Every group addressed in or by this parable has their expectations flipped by Jesus' words and is left confused. Think of the poor, crippled, blind, and lame; they must be confused. What was someone so wealthy, so well off, doing inviting them to dinner? Meanwhile the invited guests become confused when they realize they've been shut out — black listed! Think of the people first hearing this story. Luke's gospel has Jesus telling this parable while at a dinner party in the home of a wealthy Pharisee! He's telling a parable suggesting the people with whom he is eating are the one's locked out of the dinner. This isn't preaching to the choir; this is condemning the choir. Jesus flips all our expectations, and we are left confused.
But, confusion draws us into community. When students come across a problem they cannot answer, what do they do? They ask someone else for help — they form community. Many good teachers put students in conversation with each other to solve problems together. Questions draw us into community. A problem with the men in the parable is that they had answers, or thought they did. They believed they could live life on their own terms, plan their own schedules, and manage their own calendars. But, those with answers ate dinner alone, accompanied only by their idols.
Offering answers like that — hiring a new pastor or fixing the leaking roof will solve all our problems — only kills the questions, kills community, and erects idols. There are genuine questions to be asked, deep pain and vulnerability to explore. This parable shows us that those most vulnerable are those welcomed to dinner. The poor and lame allowed themselves to be led. Their confusion drew them together, and amidst a roar of bewilderment and questions, they dined together.
It appears that because we accepted an invitation to God's dinner with baptism we are like those shut out of God's house. But at the end of every day when we sit in our chairs to relax, that same crazy crowd forms in the streets walking toward the host's house. The dinner goes on. God's dinner is not a one-night deal — we didn't miss our chance. God's been serving up dinner for thousands of years. We can be among those welcomed into the banquet if we stop being individual excusers with answers and become a community of travelers with questions, trading our self-assurance for God-reliance.
The more we see ourselves as church and the less as individuals or factions, the closer we move to this banquet. The more we collect can goods together, study crucifixion films together, read scripture together, work Habitat together, and love together, the closer we travel to the banquet. Confused, but faithful, we, Church, are traveling together to the banquet.
_________________________
1. Bernard Brandon Scott, Re-Imagine the World (Santa Rosa: Polebridge, 2001), 115.
Luke 14:16-24
Jesus replied: "A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, 'Come, for everything is now ready.' "But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, 'I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.' "Another said, 'I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I'm on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.' "Still another said, 'I just got married, so I can't come.' "The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, 'Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.' " 'Sir,' the servant said, 'what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.' "Then the master told his servant, 'Go out to the roads and country lanes and make them come in, so that my house will be full. I tell you, not one of those men who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.'"
We have received a great invitation. A formal invitation complete with our names penned in calligraphy, two envelopes, that transparent paper inside, and little RSVP slips included. A dinner invitation to beat all dinner invitations. God has offered — we have accepted. No more eating alone — God's throwing a dinner party, and we are gonna be there.
Stuff comes up, though. We plan to attend, confirm our invitation, but something comes up and we have to excuse ourselves. I'd already accepted an invitation to join a few friends for some live music one night, but when they called to go, I found myself knee deep in the middle of writing a sermon. I told them, "I can't right now, maybe next time."
As we observe the invited dinner guests in Jesus' parable, we see stuff crop up in their lives. They had accepted the original invitation, but when the time came to attend the dinner, it seems things came up — life got hectic, "maybe next time." At first glance, these are men leading busy lives and making judicious judgments about the use of their time, preferring prior commitments to a simple dinner party. They had real estate to inspect, a fleet of commercial vehicles to test out, and a new bride who needed some attention. But, deep within these commonplace, acceptable regrets, however, lays the heart of the matter.
The Bible gets interesting when we realize we've been misreading it. Suddenly, in our new awareness, we can sense the Gospel breaking through the Bible, the Word of God erupting through the words of God. What appeared nice regrets become blatant excuses. As one commentator wrote, "Who would buy a farm before he inspects it? Who would buy five pairs of oxen, even a single ox, before checking it out? Who would accept an invitation to a banquet and forget that he was getting married on that day?"1 These excuses sound like asking your big crush out on a date only to be told they are too busy washing the goldfish, ironing non-wrinkle shirts, or planting plastic flowers. These aren't regretful friends, they're deceitful scoundrels. Who knows what they had against the host, but the priorities of their lives trumped all else. Their saying, "not now, but maybe next time" was not an honest response, but a rote rejection. Something always comes up.
We don't attend the dinner because we have our own agendas. After a long day of work, we relax in our worn-through recliners to watch some TV. We settle into our schedule, but before we become too comfortable, suddenly, we are shaken by a fury rising just outside our windows. We scurry to see what is happening, only to find the streets teeming with the "poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame." A circus of the marginalized complete with wheelchairs, seeing-eye dogs, tattered pants, and scooters, limping up the road to dinner. Our cheeks twinge, a small smile forms, our heads shake just slightly, and a quiet laughter rumbles. This host must be crazy to invite all these people just because we couldn't go. We, like our excused friends in the parable, retire to our own specially prepared meals. No company, but good food. We schedule life on our terms and someday the time may come to attend the dinner, but "not now, maybe next time."
The host was mad when he received the regrets. All the guests had agreed to come and then all backed out at the last minute. But it doesn't bother us that the host gets upset at first. We've been snubbed, stood up; it hurts. We like to hear "the owner of the house became angry." He should! He was snubbed. When he tells his servant at the end, "For I tell you, none of those who were invited will taste my dinner," we think, "right on, you get'em!" But the story ends there, and if we were thinking God was the host of this party, we've got problems.
Even though I turned my friends down when they asked me to go out with them, they called back, and, well, we went the next week. Friends call back — shouldn't God? Shouldn't God understand that we live busy lives? In this parable, our "good-friend-God" is no more. It's like running into someone you didn't get along with so well in high school and thinking that time heals all wounds, only to discover it doesn't. Or perhaps, it's running into a former church member, one who has been hurt by this place, and expecting them to forgive, forget, return, and start tithing, but they don't. The hurt is too deep. Jesus flips our expectations of reconciliation, our expectations that everyone will end up at the dinner. Here there is no forgiveness, no coming to terms, no reunion, no reconciliation.
Are you confused? I am. This parable leaves us confused. Every group addressed in or by this parable has their expectations flipped by Jesus' words and is left confused. Think of the poor, crippled, blind, and lame; they must be confused. What was someone so wealthy, so well off, doing inviting them to dinner? Meanwhile the invited guests become confused when they realize they've been shut out — black listed! Think of the people first hearing this story. Luke's gospel has Jesus telling this parable while at a dinner party in the home of a wealthy Pharisee! He's telling a parable suggesting the people with whom he is eating are the one's locked out of the dinner. This isn't preaching to the choir; this is condemning the choir. Jesus flips all our expectations, and we are left confused.
But, confusion draws us into community. When students come across a problem they cannot answer, what do they do? They ask someone else for help — they form community. Many good teachers put students in conversation with each other to solve problems together. Questions draw us into community. A problem with the men in the parable is that they had answers, or thought they did. They believed they could live life on their own terms, plan their own schedules, and manage their own calendars. But, those with answers ate dinner alone, accompanied only by their idols.
Offering answers like that — hiring a new pastor or fixing the leaking roof will solve all our problems — only kills the questions, kills community, and erects idols. There are genuine questions to be asked, deep pain and vulnerability to explore. This parable shows us that those most vulnerable are those welcomed to dinner. The poor and lame allowed themselves to be led. Their confusion drew them together, and amidst a roar of bewilderment and questions, they dined together.
It appears that because we accepted an invitation to God's dinner with baptism we are like those shut out of God's house. But at the end of every day when we sit in our chairs to relax, that same crazy crowd forms in the streets walking toward the host's house. The dinner goes on. God's dinner is not a one-night deal — we didn't miss our chance. God's been serving up dinner for thousands of years. We can be among those welcomed into the banquet if we stop being individual excusers with answers and become a community of travelers with questions, trading our self-assurance for God-reliance.
The more we see ourselves as church and the less as individuals or factions, the closer we move to this banquet. The more we collect can goods together, study crucifixion films together, read scripture together, work Habitat together, and love together, the closer we travel to the banquet. Confused, but faithful, we, Church, are traveling together to the banquet.
_________________________
1. Bernard Brandon Scott, Re-Imagine the World (Santa Rosa: Polebridge, 2001), 115.