TRINITY XIII, Year C: September 2 2007

Preacher: Fr James Gardom, Dean of Pembroke College

Readings: Ecclesiasticus 10.12–18, Hebrews 13.1–8, 15–16, Luke 14.1, 7–14

At first glance, the first section of this morning's Gospel reading is very strange, and seems to show Jesus in an unfamiliar role – not the Prophet, Priest, King, or even the wandering preacher, but the teacher of etiquette, and how to get on in the world.

Jesus is teaching at a feast on the Sabbath in the house of Simon the Pharisee. Jesus at a feast is a familiar topic in the Gospels. Very often Jesus uses the opportunity for teaching, and uses the theme of feasting as a symbol to help his audience understand his teaching.

On this occasion we find Jesus apparently addressing a different topic, but one which is tends to recur in traditional societies. When you are invited to a feast, where should you sit?

This may not be much of a problem to you in everyday life. As a matter of fact it is a reasonably routine problem for me. Pembroke is a fairly traditional society. Until really quite recently it was a rule of the Fellowship that for formal Hall Fellows should sit according to seniority. The negative side was that you probably had to make small talk, through the long years of your College career, with precisely the same person on your right and on your left, decade after decade. The positive side of this arrangement was that you never had to wonder, when you came into Hall, where you should sit. Now, when a Fellow comes into a room he or she has to decide whether to sit by the Master, who it good company, but might have been keeping a seat for a special guest, or whether you should sit at the distant end of the table which might imply that you are not a very important Fellow after all.

Again, at first glance, Jesus seems to provide a standard answer to traditional question, "Where should I sit at a party?" Sit so low down, he suggests, that your host will be embarrassed, and will be forced to ask you to come higher up the table, so that everyone can see what an important person you really are.

This is all well and good – although it is not a piece of behaviour I have tried.

The problem is that there is no sign anywhere in the Gospels that Jesus gave any value to social status, or how important you are felt to be by others.

It is even clear that Luke's views about the Rich and Powerful are very ambivalent. "He has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted those of low degree; he has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent empty away".

The answer, of course, is that this is not a piece of social advice, but a parable, and a parable of reversal. Any feast in the Gospel is, in part, a symbol of the great feast at the end of time. When Jesus sits down to eat with Simon the Pharisee there is an immediate tension in the story. How will this meal compare with the Real Feast, the perfect meal, when all things will be made well and complete, when the Messiah has triumphed, God's people are free, and God's purposes are worked out?

So the question, "Where do you want to be sitting at the feast" is partly the question, "Where do you want to be sitting at the Great Feast at the end of time, in the coming of God’s Kingdom"?

Jesus' answer to both questions is the same – you want to be sitting among the poor, the lame, the blind, the dirty and the insignificant, because the Great Feast is a season of reversals, and the last shall be first and the first shall be last. What sounds like worldly advice for a worldly dilemma is radical advice for a crucial time. The children of this world, Luke reminds us a chapter later, are wiser in their generation than the children of light, and what might be a canny manoeuvre for an upwardly mobile young Fellow, is a surprising parallel for Christ's followers.

Seen this way, this parable is an awkward reminder that the fellowship and obedience of Christ is not a safe and comfortable place for safe and comfortable middle class people like you and me. I have not made as much as I might of the opportunities to get to know the Congregation of LSM, but I am willing to guess that we are, in our modest ways, fairly high status individuals. Any doors we could generally wish to go through are open to us, our days are spent surrounded by at least the appearance of courtesy and respect, our funerals will be well attended, and some of us could reasonably hope for a modest obituary. We are where we are by right. We are not seated at the far end of the table, away from the light, with the poor, the dirty, the unreliable, and those who have somehow managed to slip in through an inadequately guarded entrance.

Now that we see the force of the parable, it becomes more worrying, and a little less like a section from Miss Manners' guide to good behaviour. So what should we do?

Our reading from Hebrews, and the remaining part of the our reading from Luke give the beginning of an answer. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares", says Hebrews. "When you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot pay you back" Jesus continues in Luke.

It is not possible for us to become properly poor. Even if we were to give away all our money, and move into a tiny shelter, we would still be rich, because the main part of our wealth is not financial but social – our nationality, our family and friends, our education and accents, our triple ringed respectability and knowledge of how to get things done.

But it is possible for us to share and use these things on behalf of the poor. "When you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed".

By nature and habit we fill our lives with people like ourselves, in a mutually supportive web of shared concerns, values and projects. We can give honour to each other and assure ourselves that we are leading good lives, because the people we like and spend our time with are leading similar lives. It is like inviting people to feasts, when we know they will invite us back. It can become a mutual admiration society.

As Christians we are called to use our social capital, the power we have, as voters, consumers, parents, children, employees, employers, teachers etc., on behalf of those whom our society relegates to the distant, dark and smelly end of the feasting table. As a matter of fact, and practical politics, this is only likely to happen, and to make a difference, if we make time, once in a while, to sit at that end of the table.

In a moment we shall turn to Communion. Communion is also a feast. We know that this is the feast of heaven, and that this feast is in its own way another and more powerful parable and image of the great feast at the end of time.

Here, I think, we are on solid ground. This is a feast in which we know we come to the table needy and dirty and unable to rely on any virtue, power or grace of our own. We all know where we should be sitting at this table, and we all know the miracle of grace which comes to each of us in Communion, where the host says to us, "Friend, go up higher".

The question we need to ask ourselves, is which feast do we really believe in?

Do we really believe in the feast of this world, in which we have earned status and assured honour? If we used not to believe in this status, and honour, when we were young and full of idealism, are we beginning to do so now? Do we feel indignant when others fail to recognise our value and status? Are we scheming for our next move up the table, in hope of getting even more recognition and status?

If that is what we really believe and put our trust in, then fair enough. Our feast and our hope is in this world, and we might be wise to take Jesus' advice on social climbing at its surface meaning. We should certainly not pin our hopes on heaven, as it is clear that our hearts are not there.

Or do we really believe in the feast of heaven? Is the humility that fills us when we come to communion real, and not a self-deception? If so, then we need to remember that our current wealth, and security are not naturally ours. We must not be beguiled by them, or learn to believe that they are real, solid and permanent. They must be shared and used.

So, I end with a question you can ask yourself as you come up to communion, and as you go on your way from Church. If our faith is in the Heavenly Feast at the end of time, how can we build lives and churches and communities and feasts which are more like heaven, where the last shall be first, and the first shall be last?