Our Gospel this Sunday tells us to choose the lower seat so that, instead of being humiliated, we can be called up higher.
The story is more complicated than it first appears. First thing: it has two parts. The first part is about being called up higher. It seems to be practical advice, a shrewd way to behave.
But the second part is different in an important way. Jesus is at table at a Pharisee’s house. The first part he addresses to the others at table. The second part he addresses to the host. To the host he says, “When you hold a lunch or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your wealthy neighbors, in case they may invite you back and you have repayment. Rather, when you hold a banquet, invite the poor . . . . For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
The difference is that the first piece of advice seems to be worldly. It suggests a way to get repayment in this world. But the second says we should not seek repayment in this world. Is Jesus giving us practical advice for how to improve our reputation? Or he is pointing to something deeper?
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A second complication: His advice to the other guests, in that “first part,” is not as straightforward as it seems. Our translation says, “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not recline at table in the place of honor.” The translation is interpreting the Greek so as to make it match the situation where Jesus is sitting: invited to a table.
One parallel is real: He is speaking to those who “were choosing the places of honor” and challenges them not to take “the place of honor.” But he’s speaking about a distinctly different situation. The Greek says he is at the home of the Pharisee not “to dine” but to “eat bread”: very tangible. But he speaks about “a wedding.” Now, the word wedding, in Greek as in English, implies something about a banquet—but Jesus says nothing about tables or eating. He just talks about the wedding. He’s not describing the situation they are in, he’s talking about something else.
Oddly, Luke says, “He told a parable to those who had been invited.” Luke doesn’t seem to think this is practical advice about the current situation. It is a parable.
And with the words “invited,” “guest,” and “host,” our translation obscures something evangelical: it is all about those who are “called,” and “the one who calls.”
Suddenly, this all sounds more like . . . the parable of the wedding feast, in Matthew 22. Which wedding is Jesus talking about? And who calls us to that wedding? Is he giving practical advice about how to score social points in this world? Or is he teaching us about seeking our reward in the next life? Whose voice do I want to hear saying, “Friend, rise up higher”?
Luke is putting that parable from Matthew into the context of ordinary life.
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Our reading in Hebrews is one of the most beautiful in Scripture. “You have approached Mount Zion and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem,” etc. It describes the great wedding feast. We are already there.
It contrasts that wedding feast to Moses on the mountain of the Ten Commandments, “a blazing fire and gloomy darkness . . . and a voice speaking words such that those who heard begged that no message be further addressed to them.” The Old Law was given with a threat of punishment, while God still seemed far away.
But now the Bridegroom has come among us, and we wait eagerly until he comes again. It is that joy of the Bridegroom, that anticipation of the great nuptials of the Lamb, that should color how we behave when we do things as ordinary as “eating bread.” Jesus isn’t telling us to play the social scene to our greatest advantage. He is telling us to live in the joy of his presence, which makes all social striving seem silly.
But now the Bridegroom has come among us, and we wait eagerly until he comes again. It is that joy of the Bridegroom, that anticipation of the great nuptials of the Lamb, that should color how we behave when we do things as ordinary as “eating bread.” Jesus isn’t telling us to play the social scene to our greatest advantage. He is telling us to live in the joy of his presence, which makes all social striving seem silly.
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Sirach gives us wisdom. Seek humility rather than to be “a giver of gifts.” How ironic, that we often hoard money in the name of being generous to others. Forget the hoarding, seek the lowest place. Find favor with God.
Listen to the proverbs. Don’t think you have penetrated the higher things. Be taught. Listen to the Gospel.
And give alms, which quench sin like water on fire. Don’t hoard, but pour yourself out. Hoarding is the root of all sin.
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Our Psalm response says, “God, in your goodness, you have made a home for the poor.”
First, let us see ourselves as the poor. God is good. Trust him. Don’t hoard, don’t calculate, don’t angle—trust that God is good.
And second, let us see God’s love for the poor. Because if we trust that God is good, we will give. We will trust that he will provide, even if we don’t hoard. And we will see that life is not about calculating how we can rise higher, but abandoning everything for the pearl of great price, the joy of the heavenly Jerusalem, the great wedding of the Lamb.
What parts of your life are worldly?
