Our communion meal starts here: with simple ingredients, mixed together and placed in the oven.
Luke 14:1, 7-14
I say it over and over and over because it never ceases to be true: I love the fact that our life together as Lutheran Christians is centered around the table, and how I don’t need to explain one of my favorite lines to you: “Jesus loved meals so much, he became one” (original quote attributed to Dr. Don Saliers, Emory University).
This isn’t just because I love to eat and drink and enjoy the company of others, but it has a lot to do with it. It just makes me feel human to sit at a table with people I love, whether blood family, chosen family, or church family. Humans are kind of pack animals, all told, and we need to eat, and therefore, group meals have been a thing since pre-history, when our ancestors huddled around fires, ate meat roasted over fires, and told each other stories.
Who we eat with has always been really important, too, and it still is. We have a renewed sense of tribe, encoded into our DNA, whenever we sit down to eat. If a stranger sat unannounced at your restaurant table, that would probably alarm you. Furthermore, when two people at the table have a personal problem with one another, these meals are the least fun meals you’ll ever have.
Jesus is having this kind of meal in the Gospel lesson for today, unfortunately for him. He’s been invited to a meal with a leader of the Pharisees. When I started looking into this text, I found something kind of ridiculous: this meal seems to go on in Luke for quite awhile, and has lots of little awkward twists and turns that make it so stinking relatable as an awkward meal.
First, Luke tells us that Jesus is going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal with him on the Sabbath. Luke says they were “watching him closely.” You’ve been watched closely at a meal too, I’m betting, and you’ve probably done the watching, too. It’s like when your child brings home a new person they’re dating, or when you finally sit down to a meal with that person at work that you’ve been having personal problems with for months.
The tension in the air is thick even before they reach the Pharisee’s house. Just then, popping out in front of Jesus (in the part of the text that was cut out of this morning’s reading), there was a guy with dropsy, which is an old fashioned term for excess fluid collecting in the body and making it swell. Jesus looks at the leaders. He’s just gotten in trouble with the leader of the synagogue for curing the woman who was bent over — see last week’s reading for that episode. Jesus asks the question and it hangs in the air. They won’t tell him anything.
The swollen man doesn’t ask for help, and the Pharisees give Jesus no guidance, but Jesus heals the guy anyway. If there’s two things Jesus knows how to do, it’s eat and heal people, so he heals someone on his way to eat, and no one says anything.
Then they get to the house, and Jesus can’t help noticing how people clamor for the most visible places next to the most important people. And Jesus decides to be that guy and reference the Bible. In his advice to the Pharisees in the Gospel reading, you see the exact echoes in the Proverbs reading. As usual, he’s just calling them to pay more attention to the rules and the spirit of their own faith.
But he doesn’t stop there. He tells them that when they give a meal, they should always invite the riffraff, you know, like a radical rabbi and his group of mismatched disciples.
Then, in the passage just after this one, one of the other poor dinner guests decides to try to break the tension by saying, “Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!”
And immediately he must’ve wished he hadn’t done that, because then Jesus launches into one of his stories. This story is about how a rich person threw a big dinner and invited a bunch of people, but they all started to make excuses at dinner time, so he invited the riffraff, the ones who didn’t deserve it at all. Then there was still room, and so the owner of the house went searching for even more people to bring into the banquet.
At this point, if you read along in Luke at all, you’ll notice that Jesus apparently has a studio audience, because Luke has him turn to the crowds (v. 25) and tells some of his most famous parables: the lost sheep, the lost coin, prodigal son, dishonest manager. The poor folks probably didn’t get out of dinner for awhile.
The point is and the point was, though, very simple: you don’t earn your way to a meal with God. God finds you. And God is always, always out looking.
Indeed, we still have a lot of rituals around meals. Meals invoke something pretty primal in us. There’s nothing quite like a meal, and nothing will ever replace it. If you don’t believe me, try imagining the posts you see on Facebook or Twitter announced at a dinner party. There’s just something different about not hiding behind a screen, being in person, and nourishing our bodies and our souls together that still gives us, at its best, the kind of peace and full belly that nothing else quite can.
If you take nothing else from Jesus’ dinner table conversations or from our conversation before our weekly meal today, know this: it’s not, and it never has been, about what you do or how hard you try or how much you’ve done to earn your place at the table.
I don’t doubt that you’ve had to fight for a place at the table at work or maybe for an authoritative voice at the table in your family.
Jesus gives some practical advice for how to handle that kind of thing: be humble. Sit at a lower place. Let others realize your work and call you to sit up higher.
But in here, it’s not like that. At this family table, it’s not just that everyone is welcome, it’s that everyone found, not by us, but by whatever wind of God blew you in here.
Here, there are no places of honor. Here, we are all just people, family, gathered for a meal with the one who loved meals so much he became one. Here, you can bring your whole self and meet God in bread and wine.
And like any good meal, I hope you leave with a sense of peace and maybe even a full belly. Thanks be to God. Amen.