September 2, 2007

by The Rev. Constance Jones

Like most mothers, I suppose,
I spent an amazing amount of time as my children were growing up
worrying about what kind of company they were keeping.
From the possibility that there were bullies in preschool
all the way down to the girlfriends and boyfriends that I only had occasional glimpses of, I just, well, worried.
I never resorted to spies and I never read their diaries,
but I confess to listening especially carefully to the chatter while I was driving carpool. Were Cary and David hanging out with the right crowd?
Does this sound a bit familiar?

But I have to tell you about how I was brought up short one day,
and how the angle of my outlook shifted quite a few degrees.

David was in the first year of high school, I think.
He was a math whiz and was taking some other advanced-level classes,
but in the Norfolk Public Schools it was a complete fruit-basket mix
when it came to Health, Home-Room, PE,
and maybe a couple of other classes everyone took.

Well, David has always been a very gentle and soft-spoken kid,
of firm will, shall we say, but quite self-possessed.
He’s one of those boys that girls find unthreatening
and therefore a bit.....you know.....attractive.
So, one day a girl in one of those mixed-up classes,
a 9^th-grader but maybe older than David,
showed him a poem she had written.
It was about returning to school after giving birth,
about not being married much less being out of the 9th grade yet,
and about how overwhelming her love for the baby was.
Evidently David, at least that day,
was the one person she could trust with these powerful feelings.
He had tenderly received this great gift of trust, and had been moved by it.

Well, I was moved as well, and I never even saw the poem.
But at least for a while,
I stopped worrying about the quality and credentials
of the people David spent time with.
Because what mattered was his own inner grace and his humility –
which of course come as a gift of the Holy Spirit
at moments you can never even remotely predict.
It came home to me (and I trust it came home to him as well)
that there really is nothing about trying to consort with the rich or the powerful
that is going to do your soul any good.
Life at the foot of the table is much better for you.
And probably more interesting as well.

Ecclesiasticus says, Arrogance is hateful to the Lord.
Jesus says, don’t walk in and sit down at the head of the table.
Practice humility and don’t have disdain for people the world looks down on.
Instead, let into your life and your heart
people who are poor and afflicted,
especially those who will never be able to repay you.
Give them a hand and an ear.
Blessed are they who do this, for they resemble God himself,
who invites us into his heart, despite our unworthiness.

I think Episcopalians have a special responsibility
when it comes to this commandment of Jesus,
because were are very likely to live in nice homes and have responsible jobs.
We dress pretty well on Sunday mornings – some of us in brocade and lace!
Nearly all of us have incomes that are above average,
especially compared with the third world.
As for literacy and education, we tend to be at the top of the heap.

Now, Jesus isn’t saying he is against having a master’s degree or a responsible job.
I don’t think Jesus disapproves
of living in a place where you can count on clean water,
or having medical insurance.

But it’s about being modest and humble and how we treat others.
We should care about their welfare as much as our own.
We should listen to people who are unlike us, and who are less advantaged,
without lecturing them or rejecting them or thinking we know it all.

Living humbly is just a better way of living.
Actually, it’s easier.
It’s so much work to keep the door only partially open
and have to judge those who come in.
Throw the door open and practice radical hospitality. .

Here’s a fact for you.
Almost all Episcopal churches describe themselves as warm and welcoming.
I’ve managed, though, to attend churches where I felt I was totally invisible.
I was dressed ok, not drooling or ranting or anything,
but they ignored me completely.
The warmth and welcome seemed reserved for the parishioners among themselves.
It was OK at the time, because I wasn’t a desperate person, but I wondered.
What if a person walked in the door,
with one last hope that there was truly a God of love in this universe?
Would they go away disappointed, saying
“There is no God of love, because I cannot find him here”?

Now, this wouldn’t happen at Grace Church, would it?
We do welcome people on Sundays,
and I think we welcome them into our various activities quite readily,
without checking their FFV credentials.

But this Gospel isn’t just about church.
For our Monday to Saturday life,
are we equally welcoming to people of a different social class?
people without good manners, the needy and the difficult,
the mentally ill and the unpleasant,
the people whose grief never departs or whose anger is not resolved,
the people who take advantage of us?
Do we respect their dignity (as our baptismal covenant requires)?
Do we give money to everyone who asks it of us? (That would be Luke 6:30).
Do we give what people ask for, and not what we think they need?
Are we generous with our time, spending it on somebody else’s needs,
even when we are tired?

There is much in the Bible and in Christian theology that is full of nuance and shadow. There are ethical decisions we have to make in our lives
which seem to offer two terrible options.
There are times when life seems unbearably ambiguous.

But sometimes, praise the Lord, what Jesus says isn’t complicated at all.
This is one of them.
The only question really is, what opportunities to serve others will I have this week? What might be asked that only I can give?
and how will I respond?
If we Episcopalians are more advantaged and have more resources,
then perhaps we need to thank God that there are more things we are able to do.

In all these calculations we need to remember
that the Christ who told us to sit at the foot of the table
was not just mouthing some platitudes of his day.
He practiced it.
His self-denial got him nailed on a cross to be killed.
His sacrifice included pain, and thirst, and the sense of the absence of God.
We are not talking here about inconvenience and loss of preferment.

This is how far at the bottom of the table God himself,
who made the universe and set the stars in their course, will take a seat.

The least we who worship him can do,
is put a towel around our waists and bend down and wash each other’s feet.
Console those who mourn.
Listen to those in distress really listen
without using part of our brain to formulate a clever response.
Give a few bucks to anyone who begs from us (that would be Luke 6:30)
Refrain from judging those who’ve done something stupid.
Befriend a child who’s been through hell.
Not strike in anger at somebody who really, really deserves it.
Do a favor for somebody who will never be able to pay us back.
Forgive a debt.

You know. Foot of the table stuff.

God in Christ has come to the foot of the table to wait on us,
to elevate and lift us up,
to bestow his lavish love on us and treat us like royalty.
This one astonishing fact turns the universe of calculation and obligation
upside down.
Let us all be liberated to follow God’s example.
This could make rolling up our sleeves a ridiculously joyful privilege.
And those we serve might make a poem that will change our lives.
Thanks be to God.

Back to the index of Connie's Sermons