Sermons

Sun, Sep 01, 2019

A parable of position and perception

Series:Sermons

It was an excruciatingly painful experience––

a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t as bad as Charles’ experience in Four Weddings and a Funeral…

but, boy, it was close!

The occasion was the wedding of my first wife’s uncle.

We had not been married long ourselves––

only a few months––

and while we were the only married couple among her large group of cousins…

we didn’t think that that made much of a difference.

So we expected to be sitting with the rest of the cousins––

with people around our own age…

people who we knew––

a rowdy, fun-loving bunch in their teens and early-twenties…

who were seated right at the back of the hall.

But no!

Clearly, the bride and groom thought differently.

Clearly, in their minds, we didn’t fit there.

Clearly, theydidn’t know where to put us.

So where did they seat us?

Right down the front…

on the table with the grandparents… 

the poor, old minister and his wife…

and all of the others who didn’t fit anywhere else.

And, let me tell you, it wasn’t much fun!

The conversation was stilted and deathly boring.

It largely comprised of: 

how many cents they had saved on a particular grocery item that week;

the intricate details of their newest grandchild’s toilet training;

and the occasional nostalgic and disapproving comment…

which usually began with, “in my day…”!

As I said, it was a nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape.

I sat there, thinking… 

‘Is that what they really think of me?’

 

All of us have a particular image of ourselves––

an image of who we think we are… 

and of how we come across to others.

In part, that image is defined early in life––

by our childhood experiences…

by the sort of family that we had and how they treated us.

In part, that image is defined by what we do––

the sort of career that we pursue…

our accomplishments… 

the things that we accumulate…

the sort of friends that we acquire…

and the activities in which we participate.

But, in part, that image is also formed by comparing ourselves to others––

comparing ourselves to the people who pass in and out of our lives…

both in significant and in fleeting ways.

We compare ourselves to others, recognising traits that are both similar and different.

We compare ourselves to others, claiming things that we are good at… 

or that we can do better than others can.

It’s part of the way that we try to define our self-image:

who we think we are…

how we see ourselves…

how we think others see us…

and what sort of mark that we make on the world.

And, let’s face it…

deep down, we all want to feel significant;

we all want to feel that we’re important…

successful…

intelligent…

attractive…

interesting…

funny––

that there’s something that we can do better than others.

But, perhaps, there’s nothing quite like a wedding to put us in our place.

Where you’re seated is usually an indicator of how others actually see you…

of the image that they really have of you. 

 

That was even more true in the first century.

Back then image was everything.

And it was even more comparatively and competitively defined.

Life comprised an on-going struggle to have your self-image––

and your social position––

recognised and reinforced by your peers.

In part, that image was shaped by your family’s name and its reputation.

In part, that image was shaped by the city or village in which you lived…

and its reputation.

In part, that image was shaped by your family’s occupation and its respectability.

But that image was also shaped by your own words and actions…

and how well you could gain the better of others.

Social interactions were a constant game of one-upmanship.

And that was especially the case with meals––

not just weddings, but all meals.

Meals were a means of competing for social position––

for respectability and self-image.

Whom you ate with was important…

because it said something about where you stood in the social hierarchy.

You, and the other guests at a meal, would be of a similar social position to the host––

who would invite you only to enhance his reputation.

But there was no such thing as a free lunch.

If you were invited to a meal, then you were obligated to do likewise––

to invite your host to a meal of comparable standard…

otherwise your social ranking, your image, your public persona would be damaged.

No-one would dream of inviting someone socially beneath them––

someone who couldn’t reciprocate…

someone who had nothing to give in return…

someone who wouldn’t enhance their reputation or their image.

And, if the guest list was important, then so was the seating plan.

Like weddings today, where people sat said something about how they were perceived––

about their social standing and their image.

But, back then, there was no set seating.

Guests jostled with one another for the best seats…

trying to stake a claim about how they saw themselves…

and hoping that that claim would be recognised by others.

In our story this morning, Luke’s Jesus suggests that they wait…

and have their ranking bestowed by their host.

Now, that makes good common sense.

Except, the author describes it as a parable.

That’s because he’s not just talking about everyday meals.

He’s talking about the kingdom of God.

And, like most parables, there’s a sting in the tail…

All who exalt themselves will be humbled, 

and those who humble themselves will be exalted”.

The author isn’t advocating here some new strategy for success.

He’s not suggesting that we ought to start acting more meekly…

adopt an air of false humility…

behave in a self-deprecating, unassuming, or unpretentious way…

or project some new persona or image in order to get ahead.

Rather, what the author is saying… 

is that God doesn’t care about our social standing;

God doesn’t care about what we achieve or accumulate;

God doesn’t care about what career we follow;

God doesn’t care about how successful we are…

nor how intelligent or good looking or funny or how important.

None of the things that we use to compare ourselves to others…

none of the things that we use to define our significance or worth…

none of the things that we use to shape our self-image…

matter to God and how God sees us.

In the end, our image is defined by how we live and how we treat others;

especially how we treat those who have nothing to offer us in return––

those whom we don’t like…

those with whom we wouldn’t normally associate…

and those we would hate to be sitting next to at a wedding.

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