Thy Will Be Done

I'm reading Eugene Peterson's The Contemplative Pastor for the second time. Again I paused at his question, "Is growth a decision?" And I especially paused at his mention of the will in that decision. He recalls how his own will was "broken" in his younger years, a necessary part of growing up in that time and place, a parenting requirement for his parent's generation.

And then he goes on to tell of how he was encouraged to use his will to fend off the temptations of the time, "the world, flesh, and devil." These two contradictions, the breaking and the utilizing, are puzzling to him. They are puzzling to me.

This intersection of contradiction has seen many travelers. Augustine and Luther, most notably, but also Kierkegaard, Anselm, Ignatius, Julian of Norwich, and even Origen. And Peterson. And me.

The will, this thing that I was told defies God, is also this tool that I am supposed to use as a stick of defense against those things that defy God. Either one notion is correct, and not the other, or both are mistaken.

Be that as it may, I continue to move, live, and breathe. I am not in the habit of breaking wills anymore, nor am I in the habit of using it as a weapon. I have adopted a much different habit, the habit of prayer. Prayer allows me to take a step back from my will, look at it, taste it again for the first time, touch it, squish it, prod it, poke it. Prayer allows me to analyze it.

And my analysis?

There is no conclusion. And so I resign, and taking an old stance of two thousand years, I simply can only say, "thy will be done."

In morning devotion I read Peterson in tandem with this prayer by Walter Brueggemann, as is my habit. They sing in harmony.

We are takers

You are the giver of all good things.
Al good things are sent from heaven above,
rain and sun,
day and night,
justice and righteousness,
bread to the eater and
seed to the sower,
peace to the old,
energy to the young,
joy to the babes.
We are takers, who take from you,
day by day, daily bread,
taking all we need as you supply,
taking in gratitude and wonder and joy.
And then taking more,
taking more than we need,
taking more than you give us,
taking from our sisters and brother,
taking from the poor and the weak,
taking because we are frightened, and so greedy,
taking because we are anxious, and so fearful,
taking because we are driven, and so uncaring.
Give us peace beyond our fear, and so end our greed.
Give us well-being beyond our anxiety, and so end our fear.
Give us abundance beyond our drivenness,
and so end our uncaring.
Turn our taking into giving...since we are in your giving image:
Make us giving like you,
giving gladly and not taking,
giving in abundance, not taking,
giving in joy, not taking,
giving as he gave himself up for us all,
giving, never taking. Amen.

See you in church,
VT...

Prayer taken from Awed to Heaven, Rooted in Earth by Walter Brueggemann.

Sermon: Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

September 16, 2007

Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 15:1-10

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. ²And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."
³So he told them this parable: ⁴Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and losing one of them, does not leave the ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the one that is lost until he finds it? ⁵When he has found it, he lays it on his shoulders and rejoices. ⁶And when he comes home, he calls together his friends and neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep that was lost.' ⁷Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.
⁸Or what woman having ten silver coins, if she loses one of them, does not light a lamp, sweep the house, and search carefully until she finds it? ⁹When she has found it, she calls together her friends and neighbors, saying, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found the coin that I had lost.' ¹⁰Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

The Passionate God

You know, there’s a story, it’s an old story, about a woman who lived in a small town. Everyone in town knew of this woman, but no body really knew her. They knew where she lived, sometimes they’d see her out on her porch, but nobody ever saw her around town. She was never spotted at the grocery store, she was never seen at the gas pump, and she was noticeably absent from the town’s major attraction: the local town baseball games that everyone went to.

One day a call came in to the local paper that the woman had died. The editor picked up the call and, seeing as it was a small town paper with a small town staff, he went to work on her Obituary that would run that week because he was also the Obituary writer.

As he sat down to pen what he would write about her life, he realized that he knew nothing about her. So he did some investigative work, going from house to house on her block, to the local church, to the local hospital clinic, anywhere that he thought he might find information. He didn’t come up with much.

He found out that she never married, never had children, didn’t have any siblings, never went to the hospital, never went to the movies, never went to church, and that, basically no one knew anything about her.

In a last ditch effort to find out information on her, he went to the graveyard where she was to be buried. He stopped in at the engraver who was to mark her headstone to see what he was going to write. He found the engraver sitting there scratching his head. He had no idea what to write. They were both stumped.

Feeling fed up with the whole situation, the editor went back to his office. The engraver had agreed to write on the grave marker whatever was put in the obituary, and the editor had decided that he was going to pass this assignment off to the next writer he found in the hall.

Sure enough, here comes down the hall Cal Hopkins, the sports writer. He passes the assignment sheet off to Cal the sports writer and says, “Good luck.”

The next day Cal ran the sports column and had a feature debut in the Obituaries as well. The obituary, and the grave stone, are reported to read:

Here lies Nancy Jones

In life she knew no terrors

She lived alone

She stayed at home

No bats, no runs, no errors.

Now, I don’t think that story is true, but if it is true, I think its very sad. It’s sad not only because no one reached out to that woman, but also sad because it gives the appearance that the woman had no passions in her life.

Passion. Passions drive our lives, sometimes for the best, sometimes for the worst. I know some Packer and Bears fans who are practically devoid of all other topics of conversation, and can’t stand to be in each other’s presence because their football allegiance is so passionate it consumes them. That’s passion.

I’ve met Polar Bear Club members who love to jump into icy Lake Michigan in January because they love the rush it gives them. They have a passion for that feeling.

And sometimes are passions are not on what they should be. Sometimes our passions lead us down sinful paths, lead us away from the godly life that we are called to exhibit. Sometimes our passions cause us to leave the sheepfold, prompting us to make golden calves out of our passions.

Folks, humans are creatures of passion, both good and bad; passion is something we can identify with.

But what about today’s Gospel lesson? Can we identify with today’s shepherd who searches for the sheep, or the woman who lost a coin? I don’t think we can, if we really think about it.

I mean, consider this. This shepherd loses a sheep, first of all indicating that he may not be a great shepherd. But if that’s not all, he leaves the rest of his sheep to search out this other one. Where does he leave them? Not penned up, not secure, but wandering about in the field. What if when he’s away, another sheep runs off or a wolf comes prowling? Foolish shepherd.

Or what about this woman? She loses one of ten coins, and then spends all her time and precious oil trying to find it. And when she does, what does she do? She throws a party! She invites her friends and neighbors to celebrate with her! I mean, think about it. She spends all this time searching for this little coin, and then when she finds it, she spends tons of money celebrating it. Sounds to me like that’s pretty foolish.

Even as passionate as we are, today’s Gospel reading goes far beyond what we would consider reasonable. Just as it is hard to imagine someone with no passion in their lives, I find it just as hard to imagine someone with this much passion.

But that is precisely the point. No one has that much passion, that much foolishness, but God. God is the one who is ultimately passionate, ultimately foolish when it comes to us.

God is passionate for people.

There are tons of depictions of God being a Shepherd. Stained glass windows and Bible covers are full of them, usually with that one lost sheep around his shoulders. It’s a beautiful image. But I love it even more that Jesus compares God to this woman who looks for the lost coin, and I wish there were more depictions in stained glass and Bibles of that. It’s refreshing to have a feminine example for God, but it’s even more refreshing to have such an extravagant example. The utter extravagance of this woman, to search for a coin, and then spend tons of coins on a party once she finds it is something I can’t get over.

But that is exactly what Jesus is saying here. He is saying, “God’s passion for us is like the woman who searches high and low for a coin, and then is so happy about it, no expense is spared in celebrating it being found.”

We call that foolish; Jesus calls it Godly. We call that extravagant; Jesus calls it love.

And it’s a love that comes to us. Notice how this story isn’t about the coin coming back to the woman, or the sheep finding its way back into the fold. It’s about the woman and the shepherd going, searching, seeking out what is lost. God’s love comes out to touch us, not the other way around, and the party the ensues is a party for the cosmos, that which is beyond our comprehension.

This conception of God, as one who is passionate for people, is a conception that defies our normal ideas about God. We often want to make God stoic, solid, perfect, unyielding. We often want to make God like that golden calf in today’s first reading.

But Jesus is saying that that is not what God is like at all. God is dynamic, God is moving, God is reaching out, searching out, ever ready to take on the journey to find us, love us, be with us. Even though our passions sometimes take us from God, God’s passion for us goes the distance and bridges that gap.

It is no wonder that the word used for God’s Spirit in the Old Testament is the same word that is used for “breath.” Ruah, the spirit of God, that thing this breathed into our bodies and out of our bodies, is fluid, moving, ever present and ever seeking.

Our God is a dynamic, moving, and extravagant God when it comes to being with humanity. That is passion.

So, I ask you today, how has God been extravagant in reaching out to you? How has God’s love been extravagant this past week? Look for sings this week of God’s extravagant love; perhaps I’ll ask you about it next week, or perhaps someone sitting next to you will.

God has a passion for us that is beyond our comprehension, a love that reaches out to us even though it might seem foolish to do so.

We are passionate people, but God is extravagantly passionate. Thanks be to God for God’s passion. Amen.

On Grace

Romans 8:1
"There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus."

"Why" and "Who" are therefore the relevant questions that follow this passage from Romans. Why is there no condemnation for those in Christ, and who are in Christ? In an attempt to answer this, we turn to brother Martin who writes:

Between grace and gift there is this difference: grace actually means God's favor, or the good will which in himself he bears toward us, by which he is disposed to give us Christ and to pour into us the Holy Spirit with his gifts. The gifts and the Spirit increase in us every day, but they are not yet perfect for there remain in us the sin that rebel against the Spirit. Nevertheless grace does so much that we are accounted completely righteous before God. For his grace is not divided or parceled out, as are the gifts, but takes us completely into favor for the sake of Christ our Intercessor and Mediator. And because of this, the gifts are begun in us.

So, "Why?" Because of Jesus Christ. And, "Who?" All people of God. Perhaps grace is larger and more fluid than the golden calf that we make it.

See you in church,
VT...

Writing from "Preface to the Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans" (1522) LW 35, 369-370

Sermon 15th Sunday after Pentecost

September 9, 2007

15^th Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 14:25-33

Now large crowds were traveling with him; and he turned and said to them, ²⁶Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. ²⁷Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. ²⁸For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? ²⁹Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, ³⁰saying, 'This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' ³¹Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? ³²If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. ³³So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

(This sermon was given while holding an infant who would be baptized later in the service, and was a conversation between me and the boy.)

The Cost

Gavin, this is such a great day for you. It’s an exciting day that, while you may not remember it, you’ll always feel it…you’ll always know it.

But Gavin, as one who is about to take on the mantle of “disciple,” I have a question for you: What does it cost? What does it cost to be a disciple of Christ? Does it cost at all?

Now, I know it’s silly to ask you that, you can’t answer. So I’m going to answer my question for you: Yes, it costs. But what does it cost?

A friend of mine from college went to visit a new church over Easter break one year, and I remember him telling me about it. It was a smaller, new church that had just started up. It met in a movie theatre, with the pastor standing in front of that big screen as different things were projected on it: music lyrics, pictures to go with the sermon, contact information, all sorts of things.

I asked him how it went and he said, “It wasn’t a very good worship experience.” I asked him why and he said, “Well, it was Easter Sunday and they didn’t even mention the Resurrection. The sermon wasn’t well thought out and tried too hard to be hip. The music, although fast and loud, was kind of theologically shallow.”

“Well,” I said, “I guess you probably won’t go back there.” “I don’t know,” he replied, “I might.” I was puzzled. “Why would you go back if the service wasn’t very worshipful for you?” I asked. “Well, they took down my name and address, and sent me a box of donuts the next day. It might be worth it for the free donuts.”

I think this is sometimes what we think the cost of a Christian life is today. We just might have to sit through a bad sermon, knowing that there are donuts after church. We might have to delay our Sunday morning coffee until after services. We have almost a consumer view of Christianity, where we pick and choose, weigh benefits and detriments.

Or worse yet, I think some of us don’t think there is a cost at all. We’re like those who were disciples all too willing to be involved with Palm Sunday, but who wouldn’t stick around for Good Friday. They think this Christian life is only about waving palm branches, shouting Hosanna’s, eating donuts after service, and going home.

But that’s not what being a disciple of Christ is all about.

It’s all about God and God’s never ending love for us. It’s all about the reign of God, God envisioning a new world, a new way of living with each other. It’s all about the cross and the empty tomb, that place where God says to us, “It’s too costly for me not to be in communion with you.” Where God comes down to touch us, break those chains, that bondage that sin has on the world, and bring us to a new way of living with God and each other.

And the Christian life is also about doing the work of God in the world, of being the voice of God for the voiceless to the powers that oppress God’s people. That is also part of this Christian life. That part is our response to the empty tomb, to God’s yes to humanity.

You know, in today’s Gospel reading, Jesus is really asking his disciple’s, “Are you ready? Are you ready for the cost of following me?”

Because, Gavin, Jesus knew what would happen once he entered that city. He knew that this ministry that he’d been doing: battling greed by giving to the poor, healing the sick even though it broke the rules, eating with beggars and harlots even though it was against the hierarchy of the time, battling sexism by instructing women in the Torah, battling racism by engaging the Samaritan woman. He knew that this ministry was going to put him on trial. Sure, they began with Palm Sunday. But when they figured out that Jesus wasn’t going to use power to overturn the government, but rather was going to use peace and acts of goodness, they rejected him, and Good Friday came all too quickly. And so here, before they get there, he asks his disciples, “Are you ready? Are you ready for the costs of following me? God loves this world so much that it is too costly not to do these things, so are you ready?”

And the disciples weren’t ready. They weren’t ready to keep vigil with him in the garden, they weren’t ready to get arrested with him; they weren’t ready for Good Friday. Their answer was, in effect, “No. It’s too costly.”

But they didn’t know the rest of the story. They didn’t know that Good Friday would not be the final word of God, the final work of God. Good Friday was God breaking the power of death and sin once and for all, but the disciples didn’t know that, couldn’t know that until Easter morn. And on Easter morn a different reality was begun, where we heard God’s final, “Yes. You are too precious to me, too costly to me to not be healed, and fed, and given worth, and given love, to be saved from this sin.” And God’s final “yes” is the best news of our lives. God did what those disciples, what humanity could not do: God came in solidarity with God’s people, broke the chains of sin, and rose from the grave to tell us about it. That is a resounding “Yes” that God has a new way of living and being with us, and that we should have a new way of living and being with each other.

So, I ask again, is it costly to be a disciple today? The uncomfortable answer is, it should be. It should be because there are people who still live under the power of greed, and hunger, and sexism, and racism, and all other “isms” that oppress this world. When we speak to the racism of today, to the sexism of today, to the fact that the sick go unhealed, that the hungry go unfed, that greed still runs our society, there are costs.There are still some in this world today who do not want to hear it, who reinforce those caste systems, those systems of oppression, and who will want to crucify us for speaking in such a way, for healing in such a way.

We’ll be put on trial. Not a formal trial, mind you, but a trial of the streets, a trial of people’s judgments and opinions.

When you are on trial, remember God’s yes to stand in solidarity with God’s creation, God’s Easter morning, empty tomb “Yes.” Its an affirmation that continues to say, “Yes, even when people don’t want to hear the reign of God has come; Yes, even when this world might leave us behind as we fight those things which oppress this world; Yes, even if we are left friendless, without possessions, without anything but a crossbeam, God is still working in the world to bring us to Easter morn!

God is always saying yes when the powers of this world say no, God is always throwing off those systems of violence and hatred that work in our world.

We know the end of the story, God’s final “yes” to the whole of humanity, and that’s why we must speak against these powers in the world. It’s part of being a disciple of Christ. It’s part of knowing what God in Christ has done for humanity. It’s our response to God’s love, God’s “Yes” to us.

You know, we don’t have to hate our families, give up all our possessions, and carry a crossbeam to be a disciple of Christ. But we do have to face the cost, the cost of speaking as Jesus did, loving as Jesus did, healing and feeding and being with each other as Jesus did. Some won’t want to hear it. Some won’t want to give up greed and power and corruption. Some will want to put us on trial and hand us a cross beam in return for our loved ones, family, dignity, and possessions.

But remember the good news, God in Christ has brought a new reign that cannot be silenced and must be proclaimed, even if its costly. The very stones would cry it out were we not to speak it. It’s a reign where power is not in oppression but in humility. Where the power is not in greed, but in sharing bread and wine. Where the power is not in the disciples’ answers or our answers, but only in God’s “yes” to us.

Amen.

On Secrets and Movies About Them...

(Being a post of a different sort, this follows in the footsteps of Paul who often interjected little opinions and asides in his work.)

We rented "The Lives of Others" the night before last. It's a chilling foreign film about West Berlin in the early 80's before the wall came tumbling down. Its not for kids; they would definitely be bored. And, thats not to say that many adults might be bored as well as this movie is slow. But, there's a method to it's gait.

Dark, dreary, full of dull browns, grays, and boxy VW's, this movie is worth the depressing atmosphere as it explores the paranoia that comes with constant surveillance, with knowing that there are people out to get you just because you are who you are.

You struggle with the characters as they struggle with oppression: the government officer who becomes disillusioned with the spy network's ethics, the writer who can no longer write plays that reinforce the oppression around him, and the actress who desperately wants to work, but knows that it comes at a price. This movie evokes a number of emotions in the watcher, with gratefulness that this is no longer the reality on one end, and paranoia that this may indeed be the reality at the other.

And what is our reality? Perhaps this film is meant to make us question our own secrets today. Are we as secretive as we hope we are? In our homes? In our bathrooms? In our offices? Or is there a chink in this armor that we think we have?

I hope you enjoy. If not, don't blame the reviewer, blame West Berlin.

See you in church,
VT...

Sermon: 14th Sunday After Pentecost

September 2, 2007

14^th Sunday after Pentecost

Luke 14:1, 7-14

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable. When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, 'Give this person your place,' and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, 'Friend, move up higher'; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."
He said also to the one who had invited him, "When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.

Bring Your Milking Stool

I love the first song that we sang this morning: “Let Us Go Now .” Vamos Todos is the Spanish title, and the original title. Just like a book that is turned into a movie, the English translation of this song just doesn’t seem to do it justice. “Let us go now, to the banquet, to the feast of the universe. The table’s set and a place is waiting, come everyone with their gifts to share.” It’s beautiful in English, don’t get me wrong. But the Spanish includes a little phrase that I think is so important for understanding the underlying radical meaning of this song.

The Spanish version doesn’t just say that the table is set and a place it waiting. It tells you to bring your stool. The word taburete is translated as “stool,” and it’s not like a bar stool or even a bench stool. Taburetes are little stools, ones that you would use for sitting close to the ground, like when you milk a cow or a goat. Taburetes are lowly stools and so when this song talks about the feast being ready and a place waiting, it’s telling you to leave your cushy BARCO loungers at home, to forget your Adirondack chairs…to forget your thrones. All you need to bring is your taburete, your milking stool, because that’s what we’ll be sitting on at the feast of creation, the feast of the universe.

And what might this feast of creation, this feast of the universe look like? Jesus gives us a glimpse of it in today’s gospel reading. In advising the Pharisees on how they should conduct themselves, he’s not just giving them sage advice on how to appear humble at a dinner party. Jesus is painting a picture for those Pharisees, and for us here.

Imagine yourself at a dinner party. Imagine you show up, and all the guests are just standing around the table. Where will you sit? Naturally, I think most of us would want to sit by our friends, or sit next to someone who seemed interesting and might strike up good conversation. If you attended a dinner party in ancient Palestine, you would probably try to sit close to the host because it was a visible sign that you were friends, and that you were important. This kind of seating arrangement still takes place today in some circles of society, and definitely is still present in politics.

But for most of us here today, I think most of us would just try to sit where we could have a nice conversation. That would mean, though, that even as you would look for someone interesting to talk to, many of us would also try to avoid sitting next to a number of people. We would probably try to avoid sitting next to that person who is boring, who won’t talk, or who won’t let you talk. What about that person who smells funny, who has bad table manners, who is uneducated, or who is too educated? What about the person who is gay, who is promiscuous, who is a pagan, or who is too religious? What about those who are a different ethnicity, a different gender, who drink too much, or who don’t drink enough. What about your ex-girlfriend, ex-boyfriend, ex-wife or ex-husband. Or what about your current wife or husband? Would you sit next to them, or look for someone different to talk to?

Yes, at today’s dinner parties, at today’s feasts, we don’t always try to jockey for the seat closest to the host, but we are no less picky about where we sit. Humans are picky, and we’re not always picky for the right reasons. I think we could all probably nod our head in agreement saying that we’d rather not sit next to some of those people I just mentioned. Likewise, I think we could all probably nod our head in agreement that we are some of those people I just mentioned, and would be offended, hurt, angry, or confused at the thought that some people would intentionally not choose to sit next to us at a dinner party.

We are a picky people, even though we long to be picked.

And this, this pickiness is at the heart of what Jesus is saying to us today. Why are we so picky when it comes to who we eat with? Because eating is where fellowship is had, and we want to be able to choose who we associate with. We want to be associated with those who sit at the head of the table, not with those at the foot. And so we are picky, and prideful.

But Jesus gives us a glimpse of a new table, a new kingdom. It’s that place where pickiness and pride have no place at the table because they get in the way of fellowship, they get in the way of the healing purpose of the kingdom, the wholeness-restoring purpose of God’s kingdom. It’s that place where when you find yourself at the foot of the table, you also find yourself at the head; and if you find yourself at the head of the table, you also find yourself at the foot. Why? Because at this table, at God’s table, there is no head and no foot; there are only places for little milking stools to fit.

You know, another reason why I love this song Vamos Todos that we sang this morning is because it’s familiar to me. This summer I spent a week in Mexico with a group of High Schoolers from across the United States. We were there on an immersion trip, which meant we stayed with the people in Mexico City, worked with the people, and learned the challenges facing them, hearing it from their own mouths.

One family I visited with lived in a place called Las Estacion, which basically translates into “The Station.” The name is a reference to the old railway tracks that crisscross the ground on which this settlement sits. It’s a squatter settlement. The people that live there have no right to the land; it’s just where they happened to end up.

At Las Estacion I walked down a short, steep embankment and ducked into a small cinder-block house to meet a woman named Refugio and her family. She lived there with her sons Moises and Danielle, her daughter Flora, and she welcomed us into this cramped space with a wide smile and open arms. She pulled out some small plastic chairs for us to sit on, and she took a seat on her taburete, her low stool. She used the stool for her work, which was to pick hominy corn and separate it from the hard nub at its base so the fleshy part could be used in Sopas. She made basically 20 pesos, or two dollars a day for doing this.

I don’t speak much Spanish, and Refugio didn’t speak any English, and so we stumbled through conversation with a translator. She told me and the six High Schoolers with me about her struggles with the government, with her job. Her son Moises couldn’t find work and had to pick up a new job every day to earn anything. Her two younger children wanted to continue in school, they loved math, but they would have to stop in two years because High School was too expensive.

I sat there and spoke about my own family, as did the other students, and we basically shared our life stories together. There was no meal of food for us to eat there, although I’m sure Refugio would have whipped up something should we have asked, but there was a feast: a feast of openness, of life stories, of fears and hopes. We sat and talked there for close to an hour, hugging before we walked back out into the hot sun.

As we walked out of “Las Estacion,” our hearts burned within us just like those two disciples walking to Emmaus after they encountered Christ along the way. We had encountered Christ that day in the hospitality, in the fellowship of that woman who sat on her taburete. And as a result of the encounter the students began to open up in a new way. One admitted that they were nervous and were afraid they wouldn’t know what to say walking into that dark house. Another student admitted that they were afraid that they would feel guilty being in there with her family that had to little by our standards, but that they felt empowered and blessed now by her generosity. And I realized, at that moment, that we had just had a taste of the kingdom. Our anxieties were wiped away, the chronic fear present when we consider the prospect of taking a place that might be uncomfortable, that might stretch us, that might place us next someone we wouldn’t ordinarily choose was healed in that encounter.

Would I have sat down next to Refugio at a dinner party? I have to admit that I probably wouldn’t have: we didn’t speak the same language, we came from different worlds, and her poverty worked at a place of guilt within me. But now, having tasted that kingdom, having tasted what it feels like to sit on a taburete, that place where hospitality and wholeness come before position, where the meal and the fellowship is more important than honor and pride, I think I’d seek her out.

We’re a picky people. But the good news is that Jesus has envisioned, has created a kingdom where it doesn’t matter who you are because whose you are provides the place at a table with no head and no foot. You are Gods. You are God’s beloved, God’s child, one of God’s gifts to this world. And as you look around this room, knowing that about yourself, you’ll begin to see that image of God, that Imago Dei in the others that have come to this feast. So it doesn’t matter where you sit because wherever you sit, you’ll be sitting next to a child of God, a special creation. You may not speak the same language, you may not like the same movies, you may not even like each other, but you are God’s, and that is reason enough to feast at this table, this table low to the ground where we all take our seats on milking stools, where we all have the lowest, and therefore the highest, position.

So, when you attend a party, take a seat on your taburete, feast at the table of God’s grace and be surprised by the child of God sitting next to you. God in Christ has made each of us important, each of us unique, each of us to sit on taburetes. You may just find your heart burning within you as you enjoy the hospitality of another’s presence, unexpected as it is. And, as you know, you are welcome here at this table of grace, joining Christ as he sits on his own taburete, a taste of the feast to come. Amen.