Sermon – August 29, 2010

Musical Chairs

Sermon preached By Reverend Ginger Gaines-Cirelli -

August 29, 2010

Luke 14:1,

7-14

Musical

chairs is a game that most of us probably played as children.  The game

goes like this:  a circle of chairs, corresponding in number to the

number of players—minus one— are positioned facing outward.  The players

walk in a circle around the chairs while music is played.  When the

music stops, there is a mad dash to sit in a chair—because everyone

knows that there aren’t enough chairs in the circle for everyone.  When

all is said and done, one unlucky person is “out”—out of the game and

out of the circle, sidelined to watch the others continue to play.  But

of course as the game goes on, that one sidelined person is continually

joined by others who have failed to be in the right place at the right

time to get a chair in the circle.  I can remember playing this game—I

remember the wrestling matches, the elbows to the head, the stomped-upon

feet that often occurred as soon as the music stopped.  Every player was

single-minded:  we wanted a chair, we didn’t want to be “out,” and we

were going to scratch and crawl and scheme and walk upon anyone in order

to get our place in the circle.  So often, after some lip had been

bloodied, we all stood around stunned and vaguely guilty, realizing how

easy it is to hurt someone when we get so overly focused on our own

agenda.

We don’t have to look very far to see this same

dynamic played out in our adult lives.  We see it in our workplaces, we

see it in our national politics, we see it in our personal

relationships.  Whenever the motivation and focus are on me and my

personal agenda, getting what I want, getting where I want to be, it is

so easy in our tunnel-vision dash, to stomp on other people.  Sometimes

this is intentional, of course.  But more often for those of us who try

to be caring and faithful people, we may become so blinded by our own

need or our absolute passion for whatever our agenda is, that we—like

children playing musical chairs—clock someone in the eye with an elbow

without ever knowing we’ve done it.  We certainly don’t intend to do

it.  But it happens.

Today, we see Jesus at a banquet, carefully

observing the customs and behavior of the guests.  What he sees is a

kind of “musical chairs” happening.  Not the game we played as children,

of course, but another kind of game—it is a socially prescribed,

rule-driven, power politics of chairs.  Who will have a seat and where?

To fully appreciate the parable, we need to understand that dinners in

Jesus’ time and culture were not just “meals, but social events that

bonded people of similar status together.  The seating arrangement was

crucial because people expected to eat with their social

equals…Moreover, according to ancient records, people could find out who

had been invited before they decided whether or not to attend.  If the

‘wrong’ people would be there, many potential guests made excuses and

declined the invitation.  Others declined the invitation if they felt

that they could not reciprocate the hospitality.  When invitations were

issued and accepted, guests knew that they were obligating themselves to

host a dinner that would measure up to the standards of the one they had

attended.  To offer less was shameful.”[1]

So we see that before folks even arrive at a banquet the agendas are

well-set.  The host knows that he will get repaid in kind for his

hospitality.  Guests will come to show their status and, at table, will

be seated in the best seats possible.  Others will be excluded due to

the fact that they do not have the means to reciprocate.  The seats were

well-guarded at these banquets, for they were not just seats, but were

symbolic of personal status in a hierarchical social structure.  (If you

think we guard our spot in the pews—just imagine how much more we’d

fight to gain or keep popularity and respect in our community!)

Jesus, watching all this posturing, does a little

teaching.  He says that when you come to a banquet you should take a

seat at the “lowest place” so that the host may invite you to move up;

in so doing, you will be honored by those around the table.  This, at

first glance, seems like practical advice about how not to humiliate

yourself at a dinner party.  But, it doesn’t take too much reflection on

this to poke holes in the logic.  First of all, we have all seen people

grab power and hold onto it for dear life.  No one is going to make them

move to a lower place.  We’ve also seen truly humble folks left in the

nosebleed section, forgotten and overlooked when it came time to hand

out the box-seat tickets.  That is to say, humility is not always

rewarded nor is selfish pride always humbled.  Furthermore, if taken as

simple, practical advice, Jesus’ words can be dangerously

misinterpreted.  Do we know anyone who, upon hearing these words of

Jesus, might make a mad dash for the lowest seats at the table, all the

while keeping their ears wide open for the call to move to the place of

honor?  It doesn’t take much creativity to use this teaching of Jesus as

“a backdoor strategy for self-promotion.”[2]

If the focus is on me and my own needs, my position, my welfare,

myself—then I will never truly be humble.  Feigned humility will be

my way of getting positive attention from others.  I will do whatever it

takes—even to the point of twisting the teaching of Jesus—to get a seat

in the circle.

Jesus also speaks to the host of the party,

recognizing that those who are invited and who attend are those who will

reciprocate.  Jesus says to invite not those who can repay you, but

those who absolutely cannot repay you; he says to invite those on the

margins of society, the outcasts, the poor, the crippled, the lame, the

blind.  Jesus says that if we invite the marginalized, those who cannot

repay us for our kindness, we will still be repaid “at the resurrection

of the righteous”!  Again, this teaching of Jesus can be wildly

misinterpreted.  Woo-hoo!  Let’s use the disenfranchised to build up our

future reward!  As one biblical scholar says, when this interpretation

of Jesus’ words is applied, “the needy are used and abused.  It is

spiritual capitalism at its worst.”[3]

These teachings of Jesus are dangerous because they

are so easily twisted into self-serving shapes.  But what is it that

Jesus was really trying to say?  Is he teaching us to abandon

self-interest entirely?  I don’t think so.  Is he teaching us not to

invite family and friends to our parties or not to use place-cards at

our fancy dinners?  I don’t think so.  So what?  I believe that Jesus is

doing a couple of things in this passage.  He’s calling attention to the

social games being played, to the ways that there are those who are in

and those who are out.  He is pointing out the dangers of selfish pride

and of quid pro quo generosity.  But at the heart of it all,

Jesus is teaching about our focus, our motivation, our agenda.  Are we

seeking to please God or to please people?  Are we motivated by

self-serving agendas or are we moved by a concern for the whole

community?

Our world teaches us from a young age that in order

to be “in” someone else has to be “out.” We see it in games as seemingly

benign as musical chairs.  We are taught by the world that nothing is

free; we are taught survival of the fittest; and we are bathed from the

moment we take our first breath with an individualism that breeds

isolation and competition.  As Christians we are faced with the task of

rejecting these worldly lessons and replacing them with something else

entirely.  You see, in the Reign of God, there is never a shortage of

chairs.  And in the circle of Christian community, there is no “head of

the table” except Jesus Christ.  And yet we find it so difficult to let

go of the fear of losing our place.  We have trouble remembering that

the invitation to the heavenly banquet is given freely, that God is our

host and that we are all—each one of us—beloved guests at the banquet of

God.  There are no special favors being passed between God and someone

else to get a better position.  Each one of us is equally beloved and

each one of us is blessed with an abundance of grace.  But you see,

until we get that—and I mean really get it—we continue to be overly

burdened by fearful, selfish motivation.  When we fail to grasp that

we are deeply loved; when we fail to grasp that others are deeply loved;

when we fail to grasp that God invites all of us to feast and celebrate

together; when we fail to grasp that there is enough love and enough

grace and enough joy to go around; when we fail to grasp that, working

together with mutual concern for the whole of community, we are able to

meet any need; when we fail to grasp that your needs and fears and joys

and hungers are just as real as my own; when we fail to grasp that

comparisons and competitions, winners and losers are no longer

necessary; when we fail to grasp these things we continue to go in

circles, playing the games that keep people “out,” that stomp on toes

and feelings, that rationalize neglect and selfish actions, that make

the community smaller and smaller.  Jesus invites us into a different

kind of circle.  The invitation is free but it does require something

from us:  a change of focus from “me” to “we.”  This broadening of

perspective can make all the difference.

One day God visited a special old saint.  “You have

been a faithful follower of mine all these years,” God said.  “Is there

anything that still puzzles you about my kingdom?”  “Yes,” the saint

confessed.  “Although I have read all of the words of Scripture, I still

have no idea what heaven and hell are like.  I would be deeply grateful

if you help me understand.”  “Normally I do not answer questions that

belong to the realm of mystery,” God said, “but since you have led such

an exemplary life, I will give you a preview of the world to come.”  In

the twinkling of an eye the woman was transported through time and space

until she found herself standing before the gates of hell.  It was not

at all what she expected.  As she walked through the magnificent gates,

the old saint was struck with the beauty of the place.  Ahead of her she

saw a huge banquet room with long tables filled with food.  It was the

most delicious food she had ever seen.  All of the residents of hell

were seated about the tables.  They all looked normal except for one

very important difference.  All of the people had very large arms,

nearly six feet in length.  At the end of each arm was a fork, but the

people were unable to eat because no one had an elbow.  Even though all

of the food was so close at hand, they were unable to put the forks into

their mouths.  The sounds of hell were not very pleasant, for the people

cried out in agony.

Suddenly, the woman was transported to heaven.

When she walked into the celestial city she was surprised to see that

things looked very much like they did in hell.  Ahead of her was a

banquet table, quite similar to the one she had seen moments before.

The food looked amazingly similar.  As the woman walked closer to the

table, she could see that people were built identically to those in

hell.  All had long arms with no elbows, and forks at the end.  The

sounds in heaven, however, were very different.  People were laughing

and singing, for they found their long arms without elbows to be no

great disadvantage.  Each person simply loaded his or her fork and then

reached out across the table to a friend.  The situations were identical

except for this one thing:  in heaven people fed each other.

When our motivation is driven by the needs of all

rather than just our own needs, something miraculous happens.  Today

Jesus encourages us to ponder what truly motivates us.  Where, in your

life, does your agenda, your ego, your needs, your passion(!), lead you

to guard your “seat,” your status—your “turf”—to the detriment of

others?  The thing is, when we allow this to happen, not only do others

suffer, but we ourselves may end up going hungry even when the table is

set before us, overflowing, with more than enough for all.