Our Place at the Table
Luke 17:5-10 (World Communion Sunday)
Rev. Randy Quinn
I don’t think there is much doubt
in my mind – and probably not in any of those who know me. World Communion
Sunday has got to be one of my favorite Sundays in the entire year. Few Sundays
come close. For those of you who have never experienced World Communion Sunday
with us before, I believe you are in for a treat.
Don’t get me wrong. I love
Easter. I love Pentecost. I love Christmas.
And I certainly enjoy celebrating
communion every month (in fact, I wish we served it every week). Communion is
one of our most sacred and holy celebrations. I love the way we proclaim God’s
grace in this acted out parable, this sacrament in which we get a glimpse of
God’s love for us and experience a foretaste of the great heavenly banquet that
awaits us.
But World Communion Sunday brings
an added element to it. It reminds us that there are other people in the world
who share this feast with us – even on this side of heaven’s shore. And for
nearly 20 years now, I have celebrated World Communion Sunday using a wide
variety of breads to remind us of those who celebrate with us. And I love
tasting them all! I love the sense of excitement it generates among the
children – and the child in us all – as we contemplate which bread to try. I
love being reminded that the church is larger than the congregation. I love
remembering people who live in cultures far away and very different from ours.
I love knowing that God’s kingdom includes such a wide diversity.
And while some of the fun in years
past has been going from store to store in search of a wide sampling of breads,
I’m especially grateful to Debbie who did the shopping for us this year. I
really didn’t have the time and I’m glad she was willing to take the time. (She
did it for me last year, too – and I think she did some of it the year before
that!) Thank you, Debbie.
I think it was in 1986 when I
first tried to do something different with World Communion Sunday. That year I
set tables and chairs near the altar. I invited people in the small
congregations where I was serving to sit at a table to share communion. My
purpose in doing so was to remind us all that the small piece of bread and the
limited amount of grape juice we drink has its origins in an actual meal, a meal
eaten at a real table. Rather than being the pastor who simply said a prayer
and offered a small sample of bread to people, I became the waiter, the servant,
the one who brought food to the table for others to enjoy.
I remembered that October day from
years ago as I read today’s text.
I also remembered many different
experiences I’ve had when I either sat at a table or had served people who were
sitting at a table. How many of you have ever worked as a waiter or a waitress?
One of my first memories of being
a “waiter” was as a child when I tried to make breakfast for my parents one
morning. I may have burned the eggs. (Actually I think I made oatmeal.) I
know I burned the toast. But the part of the story that my parents tell all of
these years later is how the coffee tasted.
They waited until I was out of the
room before they spit it out. If the goal was to have a memorable meal for my
parents, I was hugely successful! That was over 40 years ago and they still
remember it! J
But that wasn’t the last time I
served as a waiter – although I’ve since made significant improvements in my
abilities both to cook and to serve.
Among the many jobs I had while I
was a college student was the period of time when I worked for a sorority –
actually two different sororities. I was the “house boy.” I set the tables. I
served the food. I cleaned the dishes. I was a servant who was not privy to
the dinner conversations. When I was doing my job well, no one noticed me come
and go. They simply turned and allowed me enough room to bring their food or to
remove their dirty dishes.
I must have done a good job
because hardly anyone knew my name.
It wasn’t as if they disrespected
me; it was simply that I was doing my job. There was no reason to thank me or
acknowledge me. I wasn’t a part of the sorority, I was a servant.
In the other sorority where I had
worked earlier, the setting was less formal. There I was known by name.
And I knew them by name, too. And in all honesty, I think I did more for them
than I did in the other place – even though the more formal sorority paid me
more.
I learned in those two places the
difference between doing what was required and going above and beyond the
expectations.
Truth be told, however, I have
been served far more often than I have been the servant. I have sat at numerous
tables and been waited on. I have had people bring me meals and drinks as a
guest in homes and restaurants. I have had waiters serve me who wore fancy
white jackets and I have had waitresses who wore simple aprons over plain
dresses.
As I’m sure you’ve experienced,
sometimes I felt welcome because of the hosts who sat at the table with me,
while at other times it was the server who made me feel welcome.
There have also been times when I
experienced poor service. I remember walking out of a restaurant once because
it took too long for the waitress to return with our food. And in one church
where we served, I felt like walking out when no one sat with us – in fact, we
were accused of being rude even though we were the first in the room and the
first to take our seats. (Everyone else sat away from us; the person who
accused us of being rude wrongly assumed we were choosing not to sit with them.)
In the parable Jesus tells, he
invites us to sit at the table with him. He asks his audience what they would
expect to happen if they were masters who came in from the fields and sat down
to eat. They all knew the right answer: they would expect their workers to do
their jobs. It might be nice if they went above and beyond their duty, but
there was no need to thank them for simply doing their job (Lk. 17:9).
Now there is admittedly a huge
cultural difference between their world and ours. We don’t really know what it
means to have a slave – or to be one. But we can get close to some of the sense
he is speaking about when Jesus talks about someone bringing us our meal.
Whether it is our mother or our husband or our child, whether we are at a
restaurant, a catered banquet, or a church potluck, we all know what it means to
have someone bring us our dinner.
But after setting the stage where
we see ourselves being served by our servants, Jesus turns the story around.
It’s a dramatic twist in the story that we often miss. Jesus literally turns
the tables and asks us to think of ourselves as the servants rather than the
masters (Lk. 17:8, 10).
This isn’t just a “do unto others”
reminder. We know the difference between those waiters and waitresses who have
gone above and beyond the expectations and those who barely do what they are
told to do. And for some of us, that affects the size of the tip we leave at a
restaurant.
From the perspective of someone
who can make that kind of a judgment, however, Jesus asks us to measure our own
obedience to God.
What kind of a servant have you
been?
The unfortunate reality is that
even at our best “we have only done what we ought to have done” (Lk. 17:10). I
don’t know about you, but it isn’t always true that I have done what I ought to
have done, either. There have been times – too many, in fact – when I know I
have done less than was asked of me, and far less than I am capable of doing.
We enter the story with a sense of
smugness about what it means to be served and then are reminded that we have
failed in our service to others.
Ouch.
Isn’t it interesting, though, that
Jesus tells this story in response to the question of how to increase faith (Lk.
17:5)? In light of the recent release of Mother Teresa’s personal journals,
where she questions her own faith, I wonder if she received the same answer?
The answer seems to be that we have enough faith already. The question is
whether or not we are willing to use it.
You see, one way to read Jesus’
statement about “mustard seed” faith is that Jesus says “if” in the same sense
that we might use the word “since.” “If you had faith the size of a mustard
seed,” can also be read, “Since you have faith the size of a mustard seed” (Lk.
17:6).
It’s as if he is saying we already
have faith. We have more than enough faith. But we would rather move mountains
than live in obedience. We would rather make a name for ourselves and our
church than we would serve and care for people in need.
This week I stayed with my sister
out in Washington. On the wall in the spare bedroom where I slept, there was a
quotation from Mother Teresa. It said, “I know God won’t give me more than I
can handle. I just wish he didn’t trust me so much.”
The truth is that while she may
have questioned her faith, Mother Teresa’s actions always revealed a huge amount
of it. She was a living reminder of what James means when he says that faith
without works is dead (Jas. 2:17). It isn’t really faith if there is no
evidence. Faith produces obedience.
When the disciples ask – when we
ask – to have more faith, Jesus has the same answer: go and serve. We already
have the faith to do that.
I recently learned about a study
that was done a few decades ago that has some rather chilling implications for
the church. In this study, a person in need was put in front of a single person.
Something like 85% of the people helped. When there were two bystanders, fewer
people helped. In fact, the more people who witnessed the problem, the lower
the likelihood that someone would help.
Maybe we like being a part of a
larger church so we aren’t needed as much – so we can hope that someone else
will step in and serve. We like sitting at the table more than we like being
the servant.
But that isn’t what it means to be
a disciple of Jesus Christ. Obedience is both an individual and a communal
responsibility.
In my daily reading of the Bible
this week, I read again the story of the transition from the reign of King David
to the reign of Solomon. It’s probably because of this text that I was struck
by the image of David telling Solomon whom he should invite to share a meal at
his table (1 Kgs. 2:7).
It occurred to me that maybe on
this day, on World Communion Sunday, we could learn to be servants, to learn how
we can serve those whom God has invited, serving others rather than relishing
our position as invited guests.
Clearly God is the host. Today,
God invites us all to the table. But we are both invited guests and indebted
servants.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Selected
Bibliography
Howell, David
B., editor. Lectionary Homiletics. October 2001 (Vol. XII, No.
11).
www.DesperatePreacher.com
