Sun Kwak, “The Transforming Safety of Radically Ordinary Hospitality”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEdobC4Ewa8

TEXT: Luke 14:7-24

[7] Now he told a parable to those who were invited, when he noticed how they chose the places of honor, saying to them, [8] “When you are invited by someone to a wedding feast, do not sit down in a place of honor, lest someone more distinguished than you be invited by him, [9] and he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ and then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place. [10] But when you are invited, go and sit in 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 table with you. [11] For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

[12] He said also to the man who had invited him, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. [13] But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, [14] and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.”

[15] When one of those who reclined at table with him heard these things, he said to him, “Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!” [16] But he said to him, “A man once gave a great banquet and invited many. [17] And at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ [18] But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it. Please have me excused.’ [19] And another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them. Please have me excused.’ [20] And another said, ‘I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’ [21] So the servant came and reported these things to his master. Then the master of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.’ [22] And the servant said, ‘Sir, what you commanded has been done, and still there is room.’ [23] And the master said to the servant, ‘Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. [24] For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet.’”

SERMON: “The Transforming Safety of Radically Ordinary Hospitality”

“It is indeed marvelous, an irony free zone where everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Where everybody regardless of race, creed, color, or degree of inebriation is welcomed. The warm, yellow glow of its sign is a beacon of hope and salvation, inviting the hungry, the lost, and the seriously hammered all to come inside. It is a place of safety and nourishment. It never closes, it is always, always faithful, always there for you.” Who do you think said that about what? It’s the late Anthony Bourdain about Waffle House. Yeah, I know. I know you were thinking Christ Our Redeemer, but it’s actually the place of late night snacks and overly saturated food. One of my favorite preachers Brian Habig. I remember when he was referring to Taylor Swift’s song Anti-Hero, and specifically the line — It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me. I remember him reacting — That’s OUR thing. As in the Christian Church. And it’s the same thing here with Waffle House being a safe place — That’s OUR thing. Or, at least it should be our thing. Because there’s something sacred about gathering around food and company, where there’s this convergence of hearty laughter, good conversation, and soul satiation. As many of you know, our church got to play host this past presbytery meeting. Since moving into this new building this past February, it’s one of the ways we’ve been able to open our space to others. And we had Skip doing his David Logan impersonation in the back, Judy made some goodie bags, and Janicemade enough cookies for 250 people. And we took our guests out to Institution after business concluded for some food and good conversation. From what I’ve gathered and from a completely unbiased perspective, it was the best hosting in Pacific Presbytery’s history. It’s in the minutes, being sent over to the PCA General Assembly for review. But really, I got a number of emails and texts following our gathering saying that it was just what the presbytery needed — to be lovedand to breathe in fresh air. And that kind of hosting to facilitate good conversation is life-giving and so necessary. But I think there’s something even better. Jen Wilkin, in an article she wrote some years back, reflects on the similarities of hosting and entertaining along with biblical hospitality. That they may both have beautiful settings, gourmet meals, large gatherings, laughter and good time spent. But as she writes — One has the motive to impress, the other has the motive to bless. And how can we know the difference? Only the second would invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind to pull up a chair and sip from the stemware. Our motives are revealed not just in how we set our tables, but in who we invite to join us at the feast. Entertaining invites those whom it will enjoy. Hospitality takes all comers. Now, I’m all about food and settings and aesthetics — those things matter. But if we miss our aim regarding who we gather around and with, we take the Bible out of biblical hospitality. Rosaria Butterfield writes about something she calls radically ordinary hospitality — that it’s nothing special but a perpetual posture that we can learn to habit. She writes —  Radically ordinary hospitality shows this skeptical, post-Christian world what authentic Christianity looks like. Radically ordinary hospitality characterizes those who don’t fuss over different worldviews represented at the dinner table. The truly hospitable aren’t embarrassed to keep friendships with people who are different. And for another two years and beyond, may God use our ordinary hospitality to point to the radical hospitality of Jesus — one that’s not just inviting and welcoming but jarring and life-altering. Because I love Waffle House — I’ve only been there once — or twice (same trip), and I loved it when I was there. But I have this sneaking suspicion that when God was designing the venue for his life-altering hospitality to take place, he was thinking about something even better than Waffle House. May we, like Waffle House, become a place of safety and nourishment. But it’s my sincere prayer that we at Christ Our Redeemer might be the place where lives are transformed because we get regular encounters to the radical hospitality of Jesus. And I think that we get a glimpse into how to do this by looking at our passage today. That there’s a collective posture we can all assume to invite all different kinds of people into this space of transforming safety.

In verses 7-11, Jesus describes something that was a real lived out scenario in his context. The first century Greco-Roman world functioned in what we know as the patronage system. And here, who you knew and who you were protected by meant everything to your social status. And so, this act of inviting and hosting was often used in order to rub shoulders with the who’s who of society. And what Jesus says about serving not those who benefit you. But rather, serving those who can’t repay you. This was a direct stab against that patronage system, where you were honored in accordance to the people you treated well. Where your hosting and entertaining was expected to be repaid — either by some kind of reciprocal invitation or a patron who would commit to associating with you, for your protection or career advancement. And so, the passage opens up — Now he told a parable to those who were invited, when he noticed how they chose the places of honor. Jesus’ initial observations are about seating arrangements and jockeying for proximity to the seats of importance. But what Jesus says is — Do not sit down in a place of honor. But rather — Go and sit in the lowest place, so that when your host comes he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher.’ What Jesusinvites us into is a different order, a different enconomy in his kingdom. Because the Greco-Roman society, much like our current American society, valued an established status that ran parallel to your own accomplishments and your own ability to network. But in the Kingdom of God, it doesn’t take the showcasing but rather the emptying of your status and your reputation, in order to have a seat at the table. And it would have sounded ridiculous to his initial audience. Because there was no rationale for this according to the customs of this world. But what Jesus invites us into is to think about a different way of living and finding identity. That instead of restlessly seeking to find our seats, we might look upon the one who gave up his — how he gave up his own rights as the lone heir to heaven, how he gave up his own privileges as the King. How as the King, he left his throne, his seat of honor to sit with sinners, and how he ultimately emptied his status when going to the place of scorn and wrath, when suffering on the cross for our sins. And the word I want to encourage us with today is cease our habit of needing to self-establish and self-assert. And instead of feeling the need to self-justify our own existence and worth and value, may we learn to recline into Jesus’ words — that his words and not our own might establish us and give us a seat at the table. Because a true understanding of this is the only way you and I can enact this radically ordinary hospitality that leads us and others to the life-changing hospitality of Jesus.

And Jesus kind of works backwards here in order to get at the root of the issue. Because before there is any jockeying for position at the table, there are first invitations. And I have trauma with invitations, because it’s really the only contribution I made to planning and preparing for my own wedding. It was a great wedding, but I just kind of showed up on the day. But with the invitations, it was kind of a shared duty — more or less. I do remember handwriting each family or individual’s names and addresses on the envelopes. And this was tedious work, but it was necessary to be precise and careful with who we invited to the ceremony. And above anything else, this is the focus of the parable — who is invited. Above the food, the venue, the stemware (or mason jars, in our case). It’s about who’s invited and who comes. And in the first century, there were two separate invitations. The first would be kind of like a Save the Date. And the second was the actual invitation. And the people who received the Save the Date were those who were privileged to know early. Maybe the kinds of people you might assume of — Oh, they’re busy people, so we have to let them know months in advance so they can mark it into their calendars. And you think about the kinds of people we do this with. They’re people who grace us with their presence, right? And there’s some of that kind of elevated posture here that we read. In verses 18-20, we read some of the responses of these “important people.“ I bought a field, as in — I need to tend to this 40,000 dollar kitchen renovation. Or, I bought five oxen, as in — My Tesla truck needs to get charged. Or, I married a wife, as in — I have my own banquet, a more important banquet of my mine. These are as upper middle class of excusesthat could have been made in that time. And this angered the master of the house — the declines, representing people who were thinking: “Oh, that Jesus thing, that church thing. I’ll leave that for later, when I have time and energy.” And so, what does the master do? He tells his servant to go out and preach. And what’s the sermon? Come to the banquet. And who’s his initial audience? It’s those described to be the poor and crippled and blind and lame. And as those socially diminished, these are people who depended on the generosity and kindness of others for their survival and well-being. And so, in every way, these are people who had nothing to offer. They offered no benefits to the host. They’re the kinds of people who bring nothing to potlucks. All they would do is eat the food, occupy space, and make a mess. They would drain his resources, and by being in association with him, they would have even hurt his social status. And yet, the radical call is Come to the banquet. To those who are poor, who have nothing to offer, those who are crippledand can’t perform, those who are blind and have lost our way, those who are lame and can’t correct ourselves, the invitation is Come to the banquet, because grace is free. All you need is empty hands. And so, we come. If Jesus stopped right here in the parable, this would already be the most radical and countercultural charge for hospitality. But you know how Jesus is — he always takes it to the next level.

Because in verse 22, the servant comes back and brings these he’s now invited to the house of his master. And what does he say? There’s still room. And so, the master tells the servant in verse 23 — Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. And something about the highways and hedges. Commentators unanimously note here that this was the dwelling place not just of the homeless and poor. But it was the dwelling place of the terminally sick and the criminals and the menaces to society. These weren’t just destitute people, these were dangerous people. And so, there are these hedges which were really dividing walls, for protection. And this servant crosses this wall that was made in order to protect his kind from their kind. But there’s a key word here. It’s found in verse 23 — it’s the word compel. This master is telling his servant — You say it plainly, and they won’t come, they won’t believe you. You need to persuade them. Because there’s no way they would have assumed that this invitation was for them. And why? Because by going to this banquet, it would come at the risk of the host. These were, once again, those that society had deemed unsafe. And by coming to the banquet, they would risk the livelihood of all those involved in the feast. And yet, they’re not just invited, but they’re compelled in. And why is this so meaningful? Because of what we’ve said from the beginning — of another who left his seat of privilege to make seats for those on the other side of the wall. He who was sent from his Father’s house and into this world of danger and hostility. And the question that would have been asked by those he preached to — Are you sure? Me coming to this banquet is going to hurt you. But sure enough, in order to make seats for us in this banquet, the Son of God came to this world, and he was mocked and humiliated, he was beaten and flogged, he was slain and crucified — taking the place of criminals and those spiritually terminally sick, like you and me. So that he might compel us to come. And it’s often that you and I might ask him — Are you sure? Me coming to this banquet is going to hurt you. My sin will contaminate you. And Jesus reminds us week by week not just that he would but he already did. That he took that contamination, he took our guilty record, he took our spiritual sickness. He took it upon himself when he died on the cross as the ultimate outsider, outcasted from his Father’s home, from the banquet that he arranged and set up.

And here’s how I want to begin closing our time. I don’t normally do charges, but here we go. Above nice pews or good food or clean floors, what’s going to create this transformative safe space is the radical hospitality of grace. And we need to stop the politician speech. And you’ve heard it in campaigns or with moral failures — Mistakes have been made. There’s no ownership with that passive statement. Because I’ve been a part of finger pointing. And do you know who never takes any blame when that habit continues? Me. It’s always someone else’s fault. Because this happened to me, and she hurt me, and he didn’t do enough, and she wasn’t there for me, and he said this about me. That habit will not only hurt you, but it will others in this community. It’s when we build the habit of thinking of ourselves not as the preacher, not as the host, not even as the servant. But as the dangerous people invited — those who not only have nothing to offerbut offer openly our perils and contaminating. Where we get into the habit of thinking that the danger is not out there but it’s in here. It’s then and there where we can together make this a safe place for all kinds of sinners. Because only then do we take the eyes off of us and what we’ve busily done with our hands and self-presenting. And instead, we take our eyes to the bloodied and punctured hands of Jesus and how he’s offered his radical hospitality to us. Let’s make this a safe place, by owning our sin and diving into God’s grace. God’s promise to his people is that when we confess our sins, we are shown the righteousness of Jesus — of how he lived the perfect life we couldn’t live and died the sinner’s death that we should have died. Let’s make that a promise here at this church too. That the transforming safety of hospitalityhappens not when we keep our carpets clean but when we admit to breaking God’s heart too. That he invites all kinds of people into this space, even sinners like me. Let’s admit to our inadequacies, and regularly go together to the well of grace. Where Jesus will always meet his people, to compel us in, to feast at his table, where grace is abundant and free.