Sermon: Trinity 17 - 2018

23 September 2018

Text: Luke 14:1-11 (Prov 25:6-14, Eph 4:1-6)

In the name of + Jesus.  Amen.

Everything has a place in the pecking order.  We see it in nature.  We see it among animals.  We see it in human beings across time and cultures.  God designed the universe to be orderly.  And so it is.

The writer of the Proverbs acknowledges that for the sake of worldly wisdom, in the realm of kings and politics, there is an advantage to being humble.  For if you humble yourself before the king, the king will exalt you.  And that is far better than the humiliation of being “put lower in the presence of a noble.”

Our Lord Jesus Christ noticed how few people follow the advice of His ancestor, King Solomon, as He observed banquet attendees scurrying about to get the “places of honor.”  For this is a risky business.  What if you think more highly of yourself than you ought, or what if an unexpected dignitary shows up, and “he who invited you both will come and say to you, ‘Give your place to this person,’ then you will begin with shame to take the lowest place.’”

Of course, our Lord isn’t instructing on etiquette here, or even coaching people in how to secure political advantage.  For this is a parable, a story, a teaching not about this world, but about the kingdom of God.

For as great as Solomon was, there is one greater than He who is here with us, who invites us to the eternal banquet, at whose table we gather on this day, and even forevermore.  

For even as God created an orderly universe, and even as He calls us to various vocations in our lives – some with greater honor than others – your exalted position, be it king or general or leader of your family; be it manager, parent, or the smartest kid in the class; be it one who can sing, or build things, or win a race; be it pastor, board member, or one who attends services regularly – whatever reasons based on merit or vocation that cause you to be worthy of the “places of honor” in the world, those reasons do not make us worthy of honor at the table of the Lord.  

We said it all together just a few minutes ago.  We confessed together, but spoke as individuals: “I, a poor miserable sinner confess unto you all my sins and iniquities.”  We confessed not that we deserve a “place of honor” at the banquet, but rather that “I… justly deserve [God’s] temporal and eternal punishment.”  I do not even deserve the worst seat in the house, and neither do any of you.  We deserve expulsion and death and hell.  And so how dare we presume to put ourselves “forward in the king’s presence”?

And yet, dear friends, we have been invited.  It would be an insult to the King to spurn the invitation and stay home.  Our dilemma is that we are unworthy, and yet are bidden, even ordered, to be here at the “wedding feast,” at the banquet over which one who is greater than Solomon presides.

And this is why we have the Law, dear friends.  This is why we meditate with horror upon our sins.  This is why we recite and pray the Ten Commandments as part of our Small Catechism.  For what does this mean that I do not “fear, love, and trust in God above all things”?  It means that I am unworthy to sit in the presence of the Lord, to have a place at His table in His house among His angels and archangels and all the company of heaven.  And like the “son or the ox that has fallen into a well on a Sabbath day,” our Lord Himself, who rested on the Sabbath in the beginning, and who rested on the Sabbath after His crucifixion, comes to us on this Lord’s Day to immediately pull us out.  

For we do not come to this banquet scurrying for places of honor to be counted worthy by our fellow guests and by our Host.  Rather we are drawn here out of the pit by the very wounded hand of Christ.  We are gathered by the Holy Spirit and made worthy to stand before the Father, not by our merit, but by His worthiness, His atonement, His grace.  

And so we approach the table humbly, kneeling if we are able, to be fed, even served, by our King: the bread of heaven and the most precious wine on the planet: His very body and blood.  As we kneel in humility before our King, He declares us worthy before all, before friend and foe, before men and angels, before the devil and before the Father.  We are forgiven and fed and bidden to take a place of the highest honor, as our Host says to us: “Friend, move up higher.”

We rise from our knees in gratitude, and we take our place with the King, we are brought from the lowest place to the highest place, even exalted by the One who is most exalted.  And we are not put in the presence of a mere noble, nor merely rewarded in the fickle world of politics – but rather we are given everlasting life by the King of kings and Lord of lords.  

For the kingdom is not an aristocracy or meritocracy like the world.  It doesn’t matter who your ancestors are or how well you compete.  For there is none righteous, no, not one.  And over and against the objection of the lady TV preacher who abandoned the true church in exchange for celebrity, wealth, and fame, we confess that we are indeed poor; we are indeed miserable; and we are indeed sinners – even as we are forgiven by the blood of the Crucified One, in whom our riches, happiness, and righteousness are truly found.

So we do well be on guard against spiritual pride, dear friends, by comparing ourselves to others, like the Pharisees, and for pretending that our parsing phrases in the Law makes us worthy of ourselves to stand before God, like the lawyers who were invited with Jesus to the “house of a ruler.”  We do well to keep that sense of realism that leads to humility, and to avoid all self-serving pretense.  And then the Lord will raise us up.

Don’t put your trust in your delusions of grandeur, or in that old trick of saying, “Well, I’m a pretty good person.  I’ve never murdered anyone.”  For that’s what we do.  We set the bar where we can easily get over it.  The problem is, God sets the bar, not us.  And not one of us can clear that bar. 

St. Paul knew a thing or two about being humbled, even as a “prisoner of the Lord,” being treated like a common criminal in chains for the sake of His confession of Christ.  He gives us similar advice as that of our Lord: “walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called,” says the apostle, “with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love.”  And he points out the essence of this calling.  It is not our worthiness, our skill, our works, or our righteousness.  Rather, the “hope that belongs to your call” is centered somewhere other than on yourself: rather, in that “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all.”

And so, dear friends, we kneel, we confess, we receive absolution.  We hear His Word.  We come to receive His body and blood.  And we hear Him say yet again, “Friend, move up higher.” 

“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted.”  Amen.

In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.