Text of Sunday Sermon - Eyes to See

Luke 14:1, 7-14 (Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16)

Eyes to See

James Sledge                         --                      August 29, 2010

I was at a church conference a couple of weeks ago that attracted quite a few pastors under the age of 40.  In the course of the conference we had a very interesting intergenerational discussion that grew out of frustration some of these younger pastors felt with us older pastors. 

Now I don’t much enjoy thinking of myself as older, but the fact is I was born in the late 1950s.  I’m old enough to be a father of some of those younger pastors.  But I’m also a Baby Boomer, and we Boomers are a rather narcissistic lot.  We think the world revolves around us, and one of our conceits is insisting that we’re not getting old.  A Boomer coined the phrase, “50 is the new 30,” a phrase those younger pastors find particularly irksome.

I learned this in that intergenerational discussion.  The discussion happened because a conference leader wondered why so many younger pastors had stayed outside during a previous open discussion.  Seems many felt discounted and found it difficult to get a word in.  They felt that older pastors pushed them aside and monopolized discussion.  And so a discussion was held where we older folks had to just sit there and listen for the first hour.  
And we behaved, remaining silent, a task eased somewhat by a keg of beer.  We listened as they spoke of what they saw happening in the church, of their dreams and frustrations.

Now I suppose it is true that every new generation feels put upon by their elders, but I think that the self absorbed tendencies of Baby Boomers may have taken this to new levels.  In our narcissistic insistence that we are the center, that we are still young, we younger pastors scarcely see these younger pastors.  If we are still young, what are they, still children, still waiting for us to admit they have grown up and have much to offer the church?

Now I hope I’m not over generalizing about entire generations based on the discussions of a group of pastors, but I do know that when we are focused on ourselves, we don’t see others very well.  Focus on self hinders our vision.  And I think that is why Jesus pairs two seemingly independent sayings about banquets, one on humility and one on hospitality.

Jesus came from a culture that was big on hospitality.  In the ancient Middle East, in a time before hotel chains and restaurants, travelers were often dependent on the hospitality of strangers.  The Old Testament, the only Scripture Jesus knew, was filled with commands to welcome and care for the stranger, the alien, the traveler.  But Jesus took hospitality to a whole new level.

There seemed to be no boundary Jesus would not cross to show love, care, and concern.  Lepers, beggars, the poor, outcasts, the unclean, foreigners, and those who were considered too sinful to be part of the community, Jesus reached out to them all.  And I think it was because he saw them all, really saw them, met their eyes so that he could not miss the pain, the suffering, the rejection, the hurt in those eyes.  And when he saw them that way, he could not help but give himself to them.

And I think that is where Jesus’ parable on humility comes in.  When Jesus shares his advice about sitting in the lowest place and being honored when you’re moved up, this is not simply a piece of advice for parties.  Our reading says explicitly that it is a parable, a story with meaning larger than the simple elements it contains.  And so going to the end of the line, the bottom rung, the last place, must be a metaphor that speaks of far more than how to get noticed at parties.

I have long been convinced that Jesus was the most fully human person who ever lived.  He was so fully alive because he knew total communion with God, and he was fully present to others.  There was a radical humility about Jesus.  Everyone he met was important, someone he wanted to be with.  Jesus was never looking to move up the social ladder.  He was never trying to figure out who he could ignore because they were unimportant and didn’t matter.  Jesus was perfectly happy to sit at the last table at the banquet even if the host never saw him there and invited him to move up. 

And this radical humility of Jesus is what lay behind his radical hospitality.  Because everyone he met was important to him, he saw them deeply.  For Jesus, no one was ever a faceless “them.”  They were all fellow human beings who needed his help.  Sometimes they needed healing; sometimes they needed correction, but no one was faceless and invisible to him.  And when we squirm hearing Jesus tell us to invite the poor, the lame, and the blind to our dinner parties, in part it is because we realize that many of those folks are indeed invisible to us, a faceless “them.”

No doubt most of you are aware of the furor surrounding plans to build an Islamic Community Center near Ground Zero in NYC.  I hesitate to wander into this minefield, but I think it has something to teach us about humility and hospitality.  Beyond the misinformation about a mosque at Ground Zero when it is a community center open to the general public containing a mosque 2 blocks from Ground Zero, I understand the emotions behind this issue.  I understand that reasonable people can disagree about how close is too close for a big new development. But listening to conversations on the issue, one thing has become clear to me.  Many of us view Muslims as a nameless, faceless “them.”  We don’t look into individual eyes and see hurts, pains, hopes, dreams and want to reach out.  We just see a “them.”

That’s not what Jesus called us to do and be.  When Muslims as a group are made outcasts and demonized, then they are precisely the people Jesus calls us to reach out to.  For Jesus, every human being deserves to encounter God’s love.  For Jesus, even his enemy deserves God’s love.  And as the body of Christ, we are called to show that love.  But we can’t love the world in general.  We embody Christ’s love by seeing others as he saw them, by reaching out to them as he did.

In a few moments we will celebrate an infant baptism.  It will be a wonderful, joyous moment.  But it will also be a small, first step in doing what Jesus called us to do, helping people become his disciples by teaching all that he commanded.  And so we must be a school of love, a school of radical humility and hospitality, a school that teaches the way of Jesus. 

So here’s your homework, I want you to pay attention to the people around you, on the sidewalk, at the store, beside you at the traffic light, at work, in the school cafeteria.  I especially want you to notice those who are others, who are different, who you might label “them.”  Perhaps it’s the unpopular kid at school who others tease, the person of different ethnic background or social status, the person who is a lot older or younger, the person whose eyes you normally try to avoid.  I want you to look into their eyes and see the joy and the pain, the hopes and the rejections, the dreams and the wounds.  See the fellow children of God who just may need you to reach out if they are to experience some real, tangible sign of God’s love.

I know this is a difficult homework assignment for a lot of us.  But it’s actually a beginner’s lesson, not nearly so difficult as inviting “them” home for a meal as Jesus instructs us.  But if even this beginner lesson seems a challenge, don’t despair.  This school of love goes on for a lifetime. And were all here, and the Spirit is here, to help one another in our lessons.

Thanks be to God.