A reflection on the parable of The Invited Guests.

One of the best parts of starting a new pastoral call is all the new people you get to meet. You might have already picked up on something about your new Senior Pastor: I’m an extrovert. Spending time in community alongside others is my jam. I love being around people.

And one of the best ways to get to know others?
Simply sit down and break bread with them.
Do it as often as you can.

Earlier this summer our newsletter offered members the chance for the two of us to do just that. Be it coffee, breakfast, lunch, dinner or beer, you need only ask. We’ll calendar, find time, and sit down for a sip, a bite, a chat.

Many of you have already reached out and made time for me, or Kathi and I, or our entire family. The gatherings have been wonderful. Conversation always good. The bread we break, the drinks we share spot on too.

Every-so-often these gatherings produce a really amazing surprise. A couple weeks back, Kathi and I were invited to partake in a 20-year-old bottle of Port. Right alongside dessert. You better believe we said yes. That Port was *amazing* 😊.

Making connections like these comes with benefits. To get much of anything done in this world it helps to have some relational ground game.

Each of us do it to varying degrees. We have our own rolodexes – perhaps digital at this point, filled with –

Who we know,
what they do,
how we can reach them,
and how they can help us –

navigate through life as we go.

Networking with friends, family, and our communities is a big part of what this earthly kingdom is all about. And that, my friend, is not going away any time soon.

Invitations
Our text is the parable of Invited Guests from Luke 7. The first part of the parable often gets the most attention. Imagine walking into a wedding banquet, Jesus begins. How do you choose where to sit? Sit in the cheap seats Christ advises. If the host invites you to a better spot, well, good for you. If not that’s ok too. The takeaway is clear. Be humble. Be happy. For you can –

Eat,
Drink,
Talk,
Laugh,
Dance the night away.

Because invited guests are welcome to celebrate alongside everyone else.

But it’s the second half of the parable I find myself drawn to today.

This part isn’t about a seating chart. It’s about who gets to attend. When hosting a gathering, Christ asks us not to invite our –

Friends,
Siblings,
Rich neighbors.

Because they might in turn invite you to a gathering themselves.
And in that way we would be repaid.

Instead, invite the –

poor,
crippled,
lame,
blind.

From that you will be blessed.
For they cannot repay you.

Your reward for those invitations, instead, comes from above.

At face value what Jesus says here flies in the face of deeply established cultural norms. Let’s be honest…how often do we have gatherings like that? In this invite list someone else gets the 20-year-old Port that isn’t me or mine. And that can be a tough pill to swallow.

Following Christ’s imperative to widen our welcome to people outside our comfort zone is difficult. Perhaps that is why so many Jesus stories involve him mixing it up with people on the other side of the proverbial tracks.

This passage from Luke can’t help but remind me of a story from when our family lived in the Sunshine state.

Celebration
It was a gorgeous South Florida Sunday, about fifteen years ago. Kathi and I did then what we do now, we got up, showered, put clean clothes on, went to worship. The church had advertised a pancake brunch that morning. They had gotten the word out for weeks. People were exited. The big day had finally come. After service the congregation was invited to head outside for brunch.

Temperatures were in the mid-70s; a light ocean breeze blew through.

The menu was impressive; pancakes, eggs, sausage patties, hot coffee, fresh-squeezed Florida orange juice.

When you live mere miles from where the oranges are grown, the juice those oranges make is, well, perfection.

We got in line, eager for the prospects of a grand feast. Food now in hand we set our sights on finding a seat. I spotted a picnic bench underneath a large, covered patio protected from the sun. Bon chance. We sat down.

Admittedly we chose some of the better seats there. Most attendees did. We are merely human, all still learning lessons about the divine seating chart we are called to use.

Kathi and I then settled in to enjoy a good meal, good conversation. We were with people we knew, people we loved. There was joy, celebration, smiles all around.

To quote an Old Milwaukee beer jingle: it doesn’t get any better than this.

Challenge
And then, in the middle of a personal churchy utopia, a member of the congregation came up and whispered something in my ear.

“A homeless man is here, and in line for food. Should we do something about that?” The question implied an answer. I looked over at the serving line, easily spotting the man. Sporting a disheveled beard, dingy clothes, standing amongst the people of our church, all in their Sunday best, he was impossible to miss.

In my early 30s at the time, years before the pastoral call grew strong I was a bit –

More shy,
More cautious,
Less likely to disrupt the status quo.

Part of me just wanted to fit in with my nice, affluent, see and be seen church.

Yet I was the church council Vice President, and was being asked to take action. Asked to address this would-be issue.

“Thanks for the heads up,” I replied, taking another bite of pancake. The person sharing their concern noticed I wasn’t terribly bothered by it. They walked away.

Hopefully that would be the end of that.

In the moment I remember thinking –

What’s the big deal?
Let the guy sit down.
Let him eat.

But that was an internal conversation.

I said nothing.
I did nothing.
I settled for inaction instead.

A few minutes later, the President of the congregation approached me with an update. “There was a homeless person here that made a few people uncomfortable. So I went over, spoke with him, gave him some food, and escorted him off the property. I thought you should know.”

This homeless man had literally just been cast out from our church. He hadn’t been invited to the gathering. And he certainly hadn’t been asked to stay.

There would be no seat at the table for him that day. At least he had gotten some food.

This South Floridian Garden of Eden suddenly felt tainted.

Because it was very clear to me, in that moment who the church –
welcomed to the table, and
who they did not.

Years later this still bugs me. I hadn’t –

put down my fork,
stood up,
went over, and
made sure this man was treated well.

I could have done more.

Us
One of the things I love most about St. John’s is our commitment to being In The City For Good. Not merely a marketing tagline, the phrase centers us on who, as Christ-followers, we are called to serve here downtown.

The daily free lunch program, the Connection Café, run by St. John’s and three other downtown churches, is a great example. Five days a week we provide upwards of 100 meals each day to the food insecure.

Right here at 600 6th Ave.
Where all are welcome.
Where none are turned away.

Then there is the Beloved Community. That is an initiative began a decade and a half ago by my predecessor, Pastor Rachel. Pre-pandemic the Beloved Community gathered weekly Wednesday evenings for a meal, worship, intergenerational programming for all ages and stages of life.

The heart of the Beloved Community is the shared meal that invites –
Members and non-members,
The homeless and the homed,
Those with clean clothes,
And those without –

To sit down, side-by-side, elbow-to-elbow, to eat and drink, together. Not as disparate groups. But as one.

It is a banquet where –
none are left out.
all are welcomed in.

It is a banquet where the –
poor,
crippled,
lame,
and blind are invited to join in the fun.

And it is a glimpse, right here, right now, into what the kingdom of heaven is all about.

Today
In a week and half, on Wednesday September 7, we’re doing something exciting: rebooting our Beloved Community meal. We’ll start slowly, just offering it the first Wednesday of the month for now.

We hope to get our –
fridges cleaned out,
volunteers retrained,
hearts for hospitality reinvigorated once again.

Two and a half years of not doing something is a long time.

We want to get it right.
We want to do it well.

And then, once some rust is shaken off, we can reconsider how often to do this most beautiful of shared meals.

So if you would, please mark Wednesday, September 7, 5:30pm on your calendar.

Pray for a successful reboot.

Join in the meal,
consider volunteering,
consider giving to it if you can.

And definitely help us get the word out too.

For one of the best ways to get to know others?
Simply sit down and break bread with them.
Do it as often as you can.

We’re an active, social group, people of St. John’s. I love that about us. Keep it up! I’ll certainly be joining in on the fun.

Today’s text asks us to build on that, by inviting more people to the table.

For networking with all of God’s children is what the heavenly kingdom is all about.

It is in our recent memory.
It is in our DNA.
Let’s get back to it, with renewed vigor, once again. Amen.

 

One take on the troubling text of Luke 12:49-56.

During seminary, as I began to dabble in preaching, and learned the weekly lectionary contained not one scripture passage, or even two or three, but FOUR options to choose or mix and match, I opted to take a certain approach:

When encountering a lectionary for the first time I’d take a crack at preaching from Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. Which normally works out just fine.

Gospel passages often include –
Parables,
Miracles,
Peace,
Joy,
Faith,
Hope,
Love.

You know, the good stuff.

Gospel texts are typically set against a backdrop of clueless disciples alongside political, cultural, and religious elites. It’s a cast of characters Jesus can’t help but mix it up with. Preaching with those kinds of ingredients has the possibility of being light, fluffy, funny, fun.

And then there is today’s text.

Which features these notable quotes from Christ:

– I came to bring fire to the earth.
– I wish it were already kindled!
– You think I came to bring peace?
– Ha! I bring division!

Households will be divided!
– Father against son
– Mother against daughter
– Everyone against everyone else.

You hypocrites! Why do you not know how to interpret the present time?

These are the words of Christ.

Whoa.

Anyone else more than a little uncomfortable? Feeling kind of squeamish? Are you sure we should follow someone like this? And if so, where would it lead?

The text, personally speaking, makes me squirm. A sinner in the hands of an angry God preacher I am not.

Yet these are the words of Christ.  To be candid I don’t like that one bit.

A plain reading – which has limitations – raises challenging questions.

– Does Jesus like fire just a bit too much?
– Is he calling destruction down from above?
– Why would he want to divide us?

And then there’s all this turning son against father, mother against daughter language. What does he have against our family structures?

With talk like this you’d almost expect Jesus on Twitter or Facebook posting dangerous, hurtful rhetoric, while gaining millions and millions of followers in the process. And then simply sitting back, smiling, watching collectively we burn everything to the ground.

To be sure this passage has been used to justify war among nations, Civil wars too. And if that is what this text is truly about, well, I’m out. For that conclusion represents a Jesus I neither want to know or love.

How else might we understand this uncommon, complicated, consequential communication from Christ?

Division
Two weeks back a group of 15 middle schoolers, high schoolers and adults gathered in the St. John’s parking lot, preparing for a nine hour trip to the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota. We spent some time with introductions, our hopes for the trip, and did a popcorn prayer. If you haven’t heard the term before Google it some time, it’s pretty neat.

And then, shortly after, we said goodbyes to loved ones, gave hugs, handshakes, kisses, shedding a tear or two or three. We were, quite literally, divided.

Husband from wife,
Mother from son,
Sister from brother.

My daughter and I went on the trip, and said our goodbyes to –

My wife,
Her mom,
My son,
Her brother.

Separation from loved ones can be hard. As we loaded into vans and departed, I couldn’t help but feel a bit sad.

Our families weren’t just being divided by geography. Once we neared the destination cell phone and internet coverage simply disappear. These days you can’t get much more divided from people while in the wilderness than that.

Upon arriving at base camp we were divided once more; from fifteen into eight and seven. The number of groups would be two.

Learning
Each group was assigned a guide for our journey. Guides were responsible for pretty much everything, including our –

Food,
Shelter,
Safety.

Most importantly guides taught us skills that would help us on our way.
Guides taught us how, and what, to pack. They showed us, by example, that we could do more with less.

They taught us about our surroundings, including
– types of trees,
– which berries were edible,
– which were not.

Normally I gloss over details of this sort. Because, for many of us at least, there is always food. But after experiencing gallons of berries great for snacking and topping – they brought our oatmeal and pancakes to life – and enjoying the vibrant flavor of cedar sprig tea, my mind changed. I realized there was much to gain by learning more.

The guide taught us how to paddle a canoe, even how to get it out of the water should the canoe tip. Later, for one of our groups this learning proved vital.

Journey
Bags now better packed, outdoor education now complete, we went to bed at sunset, got up at sunrise, loaded gear in canoes, put oars to water and went on our way.

We shared in all things those next five days –

Food,
Shelter,
Carrying,
Paddling,
Setting up camp.

And whoever had the sunscreen or bug spray out? They would offer it to others. And instantly become a #1 friend.

There were high highs. When waters were calm, canoe muscles rested, campsites set up, swimming holes found, stomachs filled we caught a glimpse of heaven.

Add in the yodel of loons, the reflection on the waters, the stars at night and something soon became clear: heaven was not so far away.

There were, of course, challenges.

Winds picked up,
waters grew choppy,
canoes were tossed,
canoe muscles tired.

Rain, thunder and lightening occurred at the most inopportune times.

It was in the midst of challenge where I valued our guide the most. For they had taught us well. Even as we still had so much to learn. And I knew, no matter what, we were safe while under their care. Despite whatever difficulty we faced.

Because we had our guide.
And we had each other.
And that was always enough.

Challenge
One of our groups had a misfortune that doesn’t occur too often on these trips. The –

winds picked up,
waters grew choppy,
canoes were tossed.

And one capsized.

Right in the middle of a big lake nowhere close to land.

The canoe took on water,
Packs fell out,
Three of us now in the drink,
Heads bobbing up and down.

With the help of lifejackets, our guide, each other, and a motorboat that came by and dragged the canoe to dry land good news: we were safe. Resetting some, the group took a break to pick berries. There they found buckets of them, playfully naming the spot Blueberry Island. Soon enough all was well.

Fire
Blueberries have a fascinating quality: they grow best after fire. Once the overgrowth of vegetation has been wiped out there is more room to grow. The fire leaves behind much more room to bear fruit. Blueberry roots have evolved to withstand extreme heat from fires, and can survive them. Even as the rest of their surroundings burn.

The final morning of the trip we did something special, sharing affirmations with each other. Every person had the opportunity to name what we saw in everyone else: their strengths, our hopes for them, the beauty in them we saw within. It was raw, it was sacred, tears were shed. Some of them were mine.

It was clear in that moment the trip had changed us in meaningful ways. We had been separated from loved ones. Put into unfamiliar surroundings requiring us to trust our guide, trust each other. We had experienced joy, alongside tribulation, and were now better for it. Fired burned not around us, but within, clearing out that which had been holding us back. Each of had grown, in ways not possible before.

We then packed our bags, hopped in vans and headed home. Home to be reunited with family and friends we’d been divided from seven days prior. Making it possible to share how we’ve grown. Making it possible to be part of the growth and healing our friends and family need too.

Redux
Today’s text is troubling. There is no way around it. Here we see a Jesus frustrated with the state of the world he came to save. We see a Jesus well aware a path of caring causes friction with our culture. We see a Jesus foreshadowing the coming of the Holy Spirit by fire.

Jesus did come to bring division, it’s true. He wants nothing less than to separate us from what which keeps us from God’s plan for our lives. And to do that we need that fire. As hard as it can sometimes be. The flames of the Spirit removes impurities we could do without.

Dear Lord,

Forgive us when we go astray. Divide us from what we cling to that separates us from you. Send the flames of your Spirit to dwell within. Burn away the brush that causes us and others harm. Reunite us with friends and family.  Strengthen bonds that have become weak.

Help us grow faithfully.
Help us help others grow.
Help us pack for the journey well.

Because we have you as our guide.
And we have each other.
And that will always be enough.  Amen.