St. Thomas’ Episcopal Church, Owings Mills MD
August 28, 2022
Year C, Proper 17: The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost
Jeremiah 2:4-13
Psalm 81:1, 10-16
Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16
Luke 14:1, 7-14
The Heavenly Banquet, Right Here and Right Now
So, have I mentioned to you how much I love baptizing people?
No, it’s true.
And while I think every Baptism is really joyful, I have to say that our two Baptisms last Sunday were just off the charts joyful.
The two children, Teddy and Lily, are adorable – and, by the way, they remained nearly silent during the service.
And Teddy and Lily were surrounded by so much love from the family and friends gathered around them here in person, and from those tuning in via live stream across the pond in Ireland and England.
The choir has special connections with both children, so the music was even more beautiful than usual, if you can imagine that.
Just like at every Baptism, there were some big promises made and renewed.
We pledged to resist evil and to repent when we sin.
We vowed to proclaim by word and example the Good News – to seek and serve Christ in absolutely everybody, loving our neighbor as our self – to strive for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being.
They really are big promises, promises that can only be kept with God’s help.
But, as I reflected on today’s gospel lesson, I kept hearing the words of one of the baptismal promises – one that maybe doesn’t sound quite so big or so difficult.
We promise to continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.
With God’s help, of course.
If you were here last Sunday, you may remember that we heard the story of Jesus healing the bent-over woman in the synagogue on what must have been a most memorable Sabbath morning.
The leader of the synagogue was unhappy with Jesus, arguing that this kind of healing – this kind of work – should not be done on the Sabbath.
Well, today’s gospel lesson is also set during the Sabbath, but rather than being in the synagogue, this time Jesus has been invited to the home of a leader of the Pharisees for a meal.
Luke tells us that the other guests – maybe other Pharisees – were watching Jesus closely, which sounds kind of ominous, especially since we know that the Pharisees are usually depicted as opposing Jesus.
Then again, wouldn’t we keep our eyes on Jesus if we were sitting at the table with him?
We didn’t get to hear it in today’s selection, but right after we’re told that Jesus was at the home of the Pharisee leader, he heals someone again – yes, once again on the Sabbath!
So, this Sabbath healing on top of last week’s incident might make us expect that this meal is about to be spoiled by hostility and conflict.
But, probably wisely, the Pharisees don’t comment on Jesus healing on the Sabbath.
Instead, Jesus takes the initiative and offers some teaching for both guests and hosts.
Guests, don’t take the best seats for yourself because someone more important may come along and you’ll be forced to move and won’t that be embarrassing!
Hosts, don’t invite people who can repay your hospitality, but instead invite the poor and the weak – only invite the people who can never repay your hospitality.
Now, Jesus isn’t some kind of divine Emily Post, teaching us about etiquette!
No, Jesus is pointing to the heavenly banquet where we will all gather around the table, where the poor and the suffering and the humble will get the best seats.
And Jesus is suggesting that we don’t have to wait until we’re dead to feast at the heavenly banquet – the heavenly banquet is already underway right here and right now, and, as the author of the Letter to the Hebrews writes – we can entertain angels right here and now.
Now, some of you may think that I lived my whole life in New Jersey before moving here last year.
But, actually that’s not true.
About a decade ago, Sue and I spent a year in Gainesville, Florida, where I served as rector of a small church and the Episcopal chaplain at the University of Florida.
Since we were ministering to college students who, during the weekend at least, are not known to be early risers, our Sunday service at the university chapel was later in the day – at 5:00, I think.
We usually had a pretty good turnout for the service, in part because each week, parishioners from local Episcopal churches would provide a hot, homemade meal that we enjoyed after the service.
Since the food was always good and lovingly prepared and generously served, the word got out. And so, in addition to the students, we were joined by an interesting assortment of other hungry people – some were homeless or close to it – some were a little smelly and unkempt – some seemed to have no one else in their life so this was their one chance each week to break bread with others, to enjoy lively and friendly conversation.
I might have predicted that the students would resent these other guests, or that they would be uncomfortable or even afraid, but that was not the case at all.
We put several tables together into a T-shape, so there was no place was more or less prominent than any other.
And as we all sat around the table together, as we all enjoyed the food and each other, I remember looking around and thinking that this is what Jesus calls us to – that this is entertaining angels without knowing it – that this is a little taste of the heavenly banquet, right here and right now.
When I prepare people for Baptism – usually parents who want to have their children baptized, I go over the big promises that they will be making.
When we get to the promise to “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers” I usually sum that one up as a promise to be here with us in church – where we certainly do get a taste of the heavenly banquet.
But, you know, over the centuries the church – not just St. Thomas’ but the whole church – has so ritualized what we do here – constructing special buildings with seating that, if not reserved, often feels that way – we’ve formalized things so much that we’ve moved a long way from the kind of banquet that Jesus taught about on that long ago Sabbath at the Pharisee’s house.
So, the promise to break bread together is not only a promise to make it our business to be here on Sunday but also to share our table with other people, all sorts of people, especially the poor and the weak, the people who can never repay our hospitality.
You know, when we were developing the new website, we gave a lot of thought to answering questions that a newcomer might have before coming here some Sunday:
Can I wear any kind of clothes or do I need to dress up?
Can I sit anywhere or are certain places reserved for certain people?
Will I be welcomed if I look or sound different than everybody else?
Maybe some of you had questions like that before you came here.
And, while there’s always room for improvement, I think we actually do a pretty good job at welcoming all different kinds of people – more welcoming than people out there might think.
But, you know, Jesus called the Pharisee to a deeper hospitality.
And Jesus calls us to a deeper hospitality, too.
So, my hope is that, in this time of renewal, we’ll look for ways to be even more welcoming here on Sundays.
And, I also hope that we’ll look for other ways to break bread together – maybe in our big parish hall that sits empty most evenings - to open our doors not just to parishioners, but maybe to the Stevenson students just down the road, to anyone who is hungry for food and companionship.
My hope is that we won’t just deliver food to hungry people but actually sit and eat with them, to get to know them and to let them get to know us.
That can be uncomfortable and even scary, believe me I know.
But just like the students and other guests in Gainesville, Florida, we’re all invited to break bread together at the heavenly banquet right here and right now, where we are likely to entertain angels without knowing it.
May it be so.
Amen.
Posts
