Text:  Luke 14:1, 7-14                                                                                        W 15^th Sunday after Pentecost

The "Humble" Dilemma of the Christian

            In the name of Jesus, dear friends in Christ:  The Gospel reading for today reminds me of the story of the man who thought he was absolutely perfect in every way, and he wasn’t shy at all about sharing his extremely high estimation of himself with others.  But then one day it suddenly occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t perfect after all.  There was something missing.  He felt that the one virtue he still lacked was humility.  And though it took some work, now that he’s acquired it, he’s certain that he’s perfect again – and he’s still just as happy to tell you about it.

            It just doesn’t work that way, does it?  Humility is a far more evasive thing to achieve.  I mean, if I asked for a show of hands to indicate how many of you think humility is a quality that every Christian should have and continue to strive for, I’m sure every hand would go up.  It’s like asking if peace is a good thing – everyone agrees.  But if I asked how many of you feel that you’ve had pretty good success in reaching some level of humility, I doubt that a single hand would be raised.  How could you?  Even if you felt that you were pretty humble, raising your hand would prove that you weren’t. On the other hand, if you felt you were humble but didn’t raise your hand because it would make it look like you weren’t, it would only prove that you’re more concerned with appearances than with the truth – and since a person who is truly humble really doesn’t care about appearances, it would only be a false sense of humility that restrained your hand.  But if you think about it, even having the feeling that you’re pretty humble smacks more of pride than humility.  No, if a person were truly humble, he’d be the last one to know it.  So, though we’d all agree that humility is a good thing, how is it possible to strive for a virtue that you wouldn’t recognize if you had it?

            This is the dilemma we run into as we consider the story of Jesus dining with the Pharisees on one fine Sabbath Day.  So let me set the situation up for you.  Recall that the Pharisees were a sect within the Jewish community who believed that man’s purpose and high calling in life was to be obedient to the Law of God in every detail.  And they believed that such obedience was not only possible, but with the thousands of extra rules and hedges they had built around the law that covered every conceivable circumstance in life, they believed they were doing a fine job of it. They were ultra-legalistic and fixated on all their nit-picky rules; but by scrupulously keeping them, they fancied themselves the best of the best – as near to perfection as could be achieved by mortal man; and most other people in their society would have agreed with them. Most average folks simply didn’t have the commitment and dedication it took to become Pharisees, and so they looked up to the ones who did with a great deal of respect.

But then along comes this rustic but hugely popular Rabbi named Jesus who didn’t seem at all to be impressed with them.  They couldn’t figure him out.  On one hand it was certain that he knew his Scripture.  Everyone who heard him speak and teach was stunned with his wisdom and insight.  Then on top of that, there were all the miracles they’d been hearing about.  If only a fraction of what they’d heard was true, it was still more than enough to be sure that God was with him with great power. But so much about him didn’t make sense to them.  He was from a nowhere village up north.  His parents were peasants.  He had no wealth to speak of.  He hadn’t studied with any of the brilliant theological minds of the day, and yet they said he taught with great authority.  But what really didn’t figure was that though he presented himself as a religious teacher, he didn’t follow the strict rules of the Pharisees; and he even suggested on several occasions that most of their rules were foolish, unnecessary, and totally opposed to the spirit of the law that God had given.  To make matters worse, it was said that his closest disciples were just common folk:  fishermen and laborers—it was rumored that there was even a hated tax collector in their number.  And it was said that Jesus freely associated and ate with the very worst members of society—the kind of people no self respecting Pharisee would allow in his neighborhood much less invite into his home to break bread.  There was so much about Jesus that they just couldn’t understand. He was a mystery they wanted to unravel.

And so it happened that when he came to their fair city, after he had delivered a very thought-provoking sermon in their local synagogue at the weekly worship service, one of their leaders invited Jesus to join him and the rest of the Pharisees for a Sabbath Day banquet at his place.  Now, it was common custom for distinguished citizens to invite visiting Rabbis over to the house after worship, and it was considered an honor to have him accept, so there’s really nothing unusual about it – except that under the circumstances, what with Jesus being known as an outspoken critic of their philosophy and way of doing business, it seems as though they had planned something of an ambush. We’re told that they were watching him intently, apparently looking for reason to find fault with him.  And something that must have really stood out was how out of place Jesus would have looked in this crowd.  These are the upstanding citizens, well off, clothed in their best finery … there’s and air of snooty arrogance about them, whereas Jesus is … well, just Jesus:  simple, straightforward, kind of laid-back, and dressed in a peasant’s cloak and tunic. You can almost see these guys standing around being outwardly polite to him but thinking and perhaps whispering to each other, “Get a load of Rabbi Goober here”. 

But if they were watching him with some amusement, it turns out that Jesus was getting his own chuckle out of watching them.  It happened when they were called to take their places at the banquet tables.  And to really visualize this, you should know that in the first century, table customs were quite a bit different than they are today.  The tables they used were quite low:  only about six or eight inches above the floor; and fairly small:  square and maybe only three feet on a side.  Instead of sitting, people would lie down by the table on their sides, their heads toward the table and their feet away from it. Normally there would be mats or cushions on each side of the table, and each one would accommodate three people – so you could get a total of twelve people around the table.  Now, you didn’t have plates or silverware for each person; instead, everyone ate with their hands from shared serving trays or dishes on the table.  And so it happened that the center position of each mat was considered a place of honor – presumably because from that position it was easiest to reach everything on the table.  But there was also a certain pecking order to observe.  The most distinguished person at the table would have one on these center places.  Directly across from him would be the second most distinguished person.  Important persons of lesser rank might have the favored center spots on the right and left sides.  Another favored location was to be immediately beside a distinguished guest, specifically on his right side – though the honor was slightly less than that of being in one of the three other center spots.  And hopefully this is all making a little sense.  The basic idea is that every place at the table had a certain value attached to it, and your place was determined by your relative position in society compared to all the other people at the table.  But it’s even more complicated than that, because for a large group like this there would be several different tables set up, and the tables too would be ranked in order.  The most distinguished would have been at first table, and right on down the line.

What determined your rank? Lots of things.  Deference was given to age, of course; and then there was your position in the community, how much power and influence you had.  Your wealth and property were important factors, like always; and so was your family’s reputation – to include how well you’d married.  They would also take into consideration your academic degrees and achievements, the relative weight of the names of the Rabbis under whom you studied Torah; and then of course, there was your own reputation for wisdom and faithfulness to the rules of Pharisaic law.  And then there were questions like:  did you have any public scandals attached to your name?  Were your children well-behaved or unruly?  What kinds of marriages had you arranged for them?  On and on:  and it all figured into the mix to determine your overall status – which, as you might have guessed, was constantly being reevaluated relative to others.

So, you can see the problem. When the host calls his guests to the tables, everyone is sizing up everyone else to decide where he should be. And all those factors are under consideration, so people are thinking, “Do I rate a second class place at this table? Or should I take a first class place on the next lower table?” and “Well, I can hardly take a place here if he’s going to be over there” and “Just look at him!  Who does he think he is?”  And you can do this comparison, of course, with the folks you know.  What about the ones who were invited that you don’t know very well?  Where do they rate?  And how do you stack up against them?  So, as you choose your place, you don’t want to shoot too low:  that would be admitting that you felt you were beneath certain rivals that you definitely did not want to send that message to; but neither did you want to shoot too high and appear to be reaching beyond your station. You can well imagine the awkward scramble that would have taken place – and the opportunity it gave Jesus to teach the uppity Pharisees a parable about the kingdom of God.

            “When you’re invited to a banquet,” Jesus told them, “Don’t take a place of honor, because if someone more prestigious than you comes along, you’ll be asked to move down to the lowest place.”  (Because that it would be the only place still left open.)  “Then,” he said, “you’ll be humiliated in front of all the other guests.  Instead, choose the lowest place from the start.  That way, when the host comes along and sees you there, he’ll have you move up, and you’ll be exalted in front of all the others.”

            Now, on a purely surface level, this would simply seem to be some practical advice for his fellow guests – especially for the ones who don’t know most of the other guests and so don’t know how to rate themselves by comparison. The idea is that the host who invited everyone would know where you belong; and being a good host, he’d make sure you weren’t sitting too far beneath your station – he might even place you higher than you might have guessed for yourself; and boy wouldn’t you look good then?  On the other hand, it’s hard for us to imagine that Jesus would suggest this rather manipulative and deceitful trick whereby someone could use what’s really false humility to get himself put into the limelight and make himself look good – not to mention the extra benefit that it would very likely embarrass one or more of his close rivals who would get bumped when he was relocated.  It seems so underhanded – it’s not what we would expect from our Lord.  So how should we understand this?

Well, it’s Important to remember that it’s a parable:  an earthly story with a heavenly meaning.  It’s not meant to be taken at face value.  The instructions Jesus gives are really a dirty trick whereby false humility can bring glory to you.  It’s a dirty trick which, incidentally, might backfire:  for if your host sees you in the lowest place and just smiles and nods his head as if in agreement with your assessment, you’d really be humiliated. But the point is that there is a comparison to be made.  Jesus is saying that in the same way that this little trick with false humility can get you exalted in a purely worldly sense, true humility in a spiritual sense is the path to heavenly glory.  Those who humble themselves before the Lord will be exalted.  The Pharisees had assigned themselves the place of honor at God’s banquet table.  They thought they were better than everyone else.  They imagined that they were righteous in the sight of God by their own goodness and obedience.  They weren’t – not by a long shot.  Like every other fallen sinner in this world, they didn’t even deserve an invitation – but only because of our great Host’s amazing grace, they received one like everyone else.  But the real irony is that there stands among them as their guest the one man in human history who really deserves the seat of honor at the heavenly banquet – and each one of them would have placed himself over him.

It is doubtful, however, that the Pharisees caught the meaning of the parable or that they saw the irony of the situation.  Let it not be that we, having the illumination of the Holy Spirit that they lacked, make the same mistakes.  For it is all too easy for us to sit here with our Christian understanding and 20/20 hindsight and sharp shoot them for their ridiculous maneuvering for position and for their spiritual arrogance, and miss the fact that we do exactly the same things ourselves.  The only real difference is that what they did openly and without apparent shame, we do covertly precisely because we know that we shouldn’t.

But, as Christians, each one of us knows that we really do deserve the lowest place at the banquet. We confess, “I, a poor, miserable sinner…” and we mean it; but just the same, we can’t help looking around at others and thinking, “But I’m not as much of a poor, miserable sinner as …” and you can fill in the blank with the names of whoever they are that fail to measure up to your own level of godly living in as many categories as you choose to compare. And when we do that, and we all do it, what we’re really doing is assigning ourselves a seat of higher honor. We imagine that we deserve to be a little closer to the head table than certain others of those around us.

And you say, “You’re right. I do that. I know I do.  And I know it’s wrong – but I can’t help it. How do I stop doing it? How can I be truly humble before the Lord?”  Well, first, if you recognize the problem, you’re halfway there.  The problem is with the sinful nature in each of us:  it’s completely filled with pride.  Humility will never be a part of it.  It cannot be humble – but it can be humbled.  And that’s the key.  Remember, in the parable, it wasn’t the person who took the lowest place for himself who was truly humble, he was just faking it in order to get glory for himself. But there was someone in the story who was humiliated:  it was the person who got bumped out of the place he had chosen for himself.  He was the one who had to go sit at the last place.

So, now, you look around at everyone else and see where you’ve place yourself at the banquet in your imagination.  Some people you’ve placed higher, perhaps; and many others lower.  You know it’s not right, but you don’t know how to fix it. Let me suggest that you can begin by taking a look at the One who has placed himself at the last place at the table – the One who truly humbled himself – the One who took last place for you, and who suffered your shame, humiliation, disgrace, and death for sin. What I want you to see is that by placing yourself above any other person, you’ve had to first place yourself over Him who placed himself last for you.  If that doesn’t humble you, nothing will.

No, we cannot make ourselves humble; but by examining ourselves in the light of the Lord’s perfect law of love, we can let God humble us – and in this way we can know true humility. And when we thus see ourselves as wretched, weak, helpless, and utterly filled with sin and pride we will see how much we are in need of getting up from the place we’ve chosen for ourselves, and going to beg the forgiveness of Him who in all humility took our place. Repenting of our offenses and trusting in him, he will change us to be like him who is the same yesterday, today, and forever:  humble, meek, and the servant of all.  And passing with him through such humility, we shall also enter with him into glory. May God grant it to us for Jesus’ sake. Amen.

Soli Deo Gloria!