Jer.
2:4-13
Luke
14:1, 7-14
There was a wonderful scene in an old Big Bang episode (
episode 20, season 8, “The fortification implementation") that went like
this:
Sheldon: Do you think there comes a point in life when it stops feeling
bad to be left out of things?
Amy: Probably not. It’s an evolutionary advantage to be included in group
activities.
Sheldon: You know what? I used to be a fan of evolution, but I’ve since
evolved, and now I think it’s dumb.
Amy: Being left out is a terrible feeling. No one understands that better
than I do.
Sheldon: Hey, look at that. Even in your example, you’re all by yourself.
Amy: When there was a lice epidemic at my school, everybody got it except
me. I tried to fool everyone by sprinkling sugar in my hair, but I just got
attacked by bees.
Sheldon: I can just picture them all right now at Feynman’s house, probably
discussing Schrodinger and at the same time, not discussing Schrodinger. See?
They’re missing out on hilarious jokes like that.
Amy: And at the same time, not.
Sheldon: It reminds me of when my stupid brother and sister would build
forts in the living room and wouldn’t let me in. I hated that so much.
Amy: You know, there’s nothing I can do about getting you invited to the
symposium, but if you wanted, we could build a fort.
Sheldon: Isn’t that a little juvenile?
Amy: More juvenile than this?
Sheldon: I’ll get the blankets. You Google how to have childlike fun.
I love what Amy says in this scene, because I
don’t think it does matter how old we get. Being left out feels bad. And while we consider it childish to feel
that way, I don’t actually think it is.
I think it’s very human. I think
that all of us can probably recall a time when we felt left out. Probably many
of us can recall a recent time when we felt that way. Maybe it was friends getting together when we
were not invited. Maybe it was a party
we were not invited to. Maybe there was
a group that met once, or even regularly that we were never invited to
join. Maybe there was a time when you
were invited but somehow felt like a third wheel. Maybe there was someone you really valued who
had a close inner circle that you just couldn’t seem to break into. Whatever the situation, I think there are
times for all of us that we have felt or do feel left out. And it never feels good. No matter how old we get, no matter how much
wisdom we gain through our lives, no matter what we tell ourselves: “They’ve
been friends much longer,” “Why would I want to be friends with someone who
doesn’t want to be friends with me?”
“You can’t please all the people all the time,”… it still hurts when we
feel unloved, uncared for, unimportant, and unvalued.
But as bad as it feels, for all of us, to be left out, I
think we also like the times when we can be with our own small groups, which
means we are also, probably all of us, at times, guilty of leaving others
out. It doesn’t matter that we know how
it feels to be on the receiving end of this.
We still do it in a variety of settings.
We justify this in all kinds of ways.
“Well, isn’t it right and important to have time with friends?” “Don’t we all need safe places and people
that we deeply connect with that we spend time with?” “I’m not going to be my best in the world if
I don’t have the love and support of my inner community.”
All of these reasons sound good. They all make sense. We, as humans, do need support from one
another, we do need relationships that heal us and nurture us. We need to have friends or family that we are
especially close to. And yet, we come to
today’s scripture reading, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite
your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors;
if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor,
the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be
repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
What Jesus is actually confronting here is a practice of
posturing for position. The first part of
the passage I read you today is connected to the second part: he challenging both
the vying for important seats at a hosts table and the inviting of only certain
guests because both were a way of claiming one’s status, claiming one’s
position. We know there are people who
still do this. There are still people striving
hard to climb the social ladder who work to connect with and associate only
with those of a “higher” class or social standing than themselves. They don’t want to be seen with their old
associates for fear of being categorized with them. The “nouveau riche” work hard, often, to be
accepted by “old money” into that clan of upper class, but it is other people
as well. Still, I don’t believe this tends
to be a middle class issue as much. Still,
while we don’t focus on social standing in the same way, and I don’t think
anyone here is guilty of inviting those they see as “above themselves” for the
purpose of raising their social position, none the less, we still are
challenged by this passage to avoid isolating or secluding ourselves within our
own groups, economically, socially, and in terms of our own friend
groups. We are called to expand our
group of influence and association beyond those with whom we are the most
comfortable, who keep us easy and who can just be supports and serve us as we
serve them. We are called to associate
more with those with whom the relationship will be more one-sided: we will be
doing more of the giving and caring, we will be offering what cannot be
returned. We are called to not only care
for them at a distance, but to invite them in: to dine with them, to have them
at our parties and our gatherings. And
none of us are comfortable with this. We
just aren’t. We want those around us,
especially those we invite into our homes, to have something in common with us,
to be people we like. And we want to be
happy and comfortable in our social settings.
When my children were little I joined a local mothers
group which divided us into playgroups with women who had babies the same
age. I loved my little playgroup. When Jonah was born, I tried to join another
one that had new babies the same age as his.
One I attended kicked me out after the first time because, “well, all
the rest of us are first time mothers.
That’s different!” Obviously,
this still smarts a little. I tend to
remember, as most of us no-doubt do, the
times of being left out more than the times of leaving out, and yet I know I am
equally guilty of the latter.
While in Cleveland I was part of a wonderful Lectionary
group. We were 12 pastors, all tending
to be very like-minded, who gathered on a weekly basis to discuss the scripture
readings for the following week, to plan our sermons. We also ate together, prayed together,
supported one another through whatever was going on in each of our lives. I was and am deeply grateful for that
group. They saw me through very hard
times and were really a “house church” in the truest sense of the word in terms
of the support, the community building, the fellowship and friendship. But joining this group was by invitation
only. I understood why it was set up
that way: again, we were a safe place in large part because we were like-minded
in our reading of scripture and our understanding of God’s call for our
lives. At the same time, I struggled
with this aspect of the group. I mean we
were pastors, after all – called to follow scriptures like this one that
encourage much greater openness and inclusion.
If others had come, well, yes, the group would have changed. But perhaps it would have become something
equally good, though different. Perhaps
we would have had more learning and more growth by being with people of a
different mind-set, a different leaning.
Perhaps it would have become a place where we practiced loving those who
are different from ourselves. Again, it
would have meant change. And change is
uncomfortable. But that is what Jesus
calls us to do: to expand, to include, and to stop putting up walls that decide
who is in and who is out, even at the basic level of who we invite to dinner
and who we don’t.
It’s not just that we want to be comfortable and
attractive in our homes and with our friends, we do this in subtle and not so
subtle ways even in our churches. In one
of the congregations I served, one of our less “acceptable” members wanted to
be a greeter. She had problems with
cleanliness, not bathing often enough she smelled a bit, her hair looked
unkept. She also had problems socially –
always standing a little too close, sharing too much, laughing too loud, saying
inappropriate things. But she was very
friendly, very outgoing, she really cared about others, and she really wanted
to be a greeter. Several people in my
church were afraid that would make us unattractive. They worried that it would send the wrong
message to have someone like that in such a position; that if we allowed this
young woman to be a greeter, that the “right people” might not come or want to
join the church. While I understood that thinking, I believe this passage
attacks that pretty directly. The “right
people” to have in one’s church are people exactly like her: those others don’t
want to include, those who don’t “fit in”, those we are called most deeply and
fully to welcome, accept, and love.
We exclude in subtle ways too. We talk over people who talk too much. We don’t look at people we don’t like or want
around us. We shout down those who say
things that make us uneasy. We are all
guilty in one way or another.
In the kingdom of God, the outcasts are equal, or
superiors because after all, “the first shall be last,” to those who are more
comfortable, who have more money, who succeed more easily, who are socially
adept. Those people who are “not like
us” and who make us uneasy sit at the table with us and they eat with us. Our enemies are the very people we are
expected to spend our time with, and the ones we look down on are those we will
be feeding. But we are called to begin
this now, in this place, this day.
I look at my Aislynn.
She has not yet learned to exclude in this way. She has a solid friend group at school, but
she also has a person in that friend group who is always inviting new people to
come and eat lunch with them, to join them.
This particular group of friends seems to delight in welcoming, in
including, those who might otherwise be lost at school. The kids invited seem mostly to be youth who
were not part of this school district or school system before: new kids who are
searching for their place. But
occasionally they invite someone in who is just awkward and struggles to find
acceptance elsewhere. This wonderful
group of friends welcomes these new kids with open arms, with excitement. They have not learned to exclude. And in their actions I learn how to be better
myself.
I came across a poem I would like to share with you:
(Tattoos of the Heart: p 17)
With That Moon Language
Admit something:
Everyone you see, you say to them,
“Love me”.
Of course you do not do this out loud:
Otherwise,
Someone would call the cops.
Still though, think about this,
This great pull in us to connect.
Why not become the one
Who lives with a full moon in each eye
That is always saying
With that sweet moon
Language
What every other eye in this world
Is dying to
Hear.
- Hafez
My challenge for all
of us this week is to look more closely at the ways in which we leave others
out. And to take the challenge to invite
others to join. When you next have a
gathering, invite one or two people you don’t normally invite. When you go out to lunch next time, think of
including someone you wouldn’t normally include. When you have a party, try to invite someone
you know would like to be invited that you really aren’t as comfortable
with. Think about those who might be
feeling left out. See if there is anyone
who is needing a friend and choose to seek them out. Take the chance of reaching out to someone
different. Draw your circles of inclusion
in all things a little wider. And see
what gifts come back to you. Amen.
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