Over the last few weeks, we have encountered a couple moments in Luke that revolve around who receives an invitation to the dinner table:
Jesus said also to the man who had invited him, “When…you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. (14:12-14)
Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to hear him. And the Pharisees and the scribes grumbled, saying, “This man receives sinners and eats with them.” (15:1-2)
I doubt that most of us think often about the relationship between our tables and the kingdom of God, but the Pharisees and Jesus did! Their thoughts, though, couldn’t have been more different.
For the Pharisees, the table was a fence, a way of reinforcing the boundary of who was, and who wasn’t, in the kingdom. Sinners? Out, so don’t eat with them! The lame or blind? Unclean, so don’t eat with them! The poor? Clearly not favored by God, so don’t eat with them!
Jesus had a very different perspective. Rather than viewing the table as a fence, he viewed it as a bridge. Sinners? They should be brought into the kingdom of God to receive forgiveness and new life, so eat with them! The blind and lame? The kingdom is a place of healing for them, so invite them in by eating with them! The poor? They are rich in the kingdom, so bring them to the table!
As you pray for your friends and neighbors to enter the kingdom of God, remember the power of your table. Although an entire theology of eating is more than one little newsletter can bear, eating is more important than we realize. From the garden to Passover, from manna to Jesus eating with sinners, from the Eucharist to the heavenly banquet, eating is integral to God’s redemption of creation. Use your tables for those who are lost, lonely, and hurting!
Steven+
Scripture Reflections
Now great crowds accompanied him, and he turned and said to them, “If anyone comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost… So therefore, any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:25-33)
I imagine that when the small group who followed Jesus faithfully, went out preaching for him, and provided for his physical needs saw a huge crowd following their master, they were elated. We can imagine them saying to one another, “Finally! His message is being received—the people are coming!” Ask any church planter or pastor, and we will all tell you that we long for the moments when a crowd of new people bursts through the door!
But Jesus looked at the huge crowd more soberly, with a type of compassionate honesty. They were all invited, but they would not all follow to the end. It wasn’t right to pretend that this would be a walk in the park, a joyous journey to a life of ease. This path to Jerusalem would cost his life, as well as the lives of many of the disciples. Following casually wasn’t an option; it was a form of naivete. They needed to know the cost. And so, Jesus warned them: “Your family? Your life? You might lose it all. You have to choose me before everything else if you want to follow me.”*
There are places even now where following Jesus means being ready to lose everything, where there are no casual Christians. North Korea, Afghanistan, Somalia, Pakistan, Nigeria, China—the list of countries where following Jesus means the potential of losing everything, including life itself, is long. We need to be praying for the Christians in these countries!
It is easy for us, who don’t face this danger, to forget the cost of following Jesus. “Counting the cost” isn’t just about the threat of external persecution—it is also about letting go of ourselves as masters of our lives. We want to follow Jesus, but also to have the life we have mapped out for ourselves. Jesus calls us to choose him above everything else, including our own desires for a particular life. It simply isn’t possible to have two masters, and he calls us to renounce ourselves and put him first.
We might chafe at this, wondering if it is a bit extreme. But it comes from the one who was willing to give his life for us, and he speaks in compassionate honesty as he calls us to trust him as master.
Steven+
A Prayer for Calling
The following prayer was written by Rebekah, and when she shared it with me, I was eager to pass it on to the entire congregation. I encourage you to read it, and then pray it for Erich and Justin.
But as you do so, consider your own calling. Each of us is called to follow the Son, bearing our cross as we walk through desert places. Each of us is tempted by more comfortable paths. Each of us needs the light of Christ shining in our heart. Each of us is called to help usher others into the presence of God with fear and trembling. The point is that there are not supposed to be spectators in the Church—each of us is called by God to be the presence of Christ to others.
After you have prayed this for Erich and Justin, I encourage you to go back and pray it for yourself.
Steven+
A prayer for Erich and Justin, as they begin their ministry as priests:
Yahweh, God of our fathers, your promises are as particular and individual as they are wide and all encompassing. May Erich and Justin, being rooted and grounded in your love, walk through the desert following your Son, bearing their crosses. May they not be tempted into other, more comfortable paths, that they may shine your light into the dark places of their own hearts and of your world. As you call them into roles of servant leadership in your church, may they help and not hinder, encourage, and strengthen and not provoke or pull down, respect and honor and not despise or ignore. Your people—all and each—are called by your name and are precious in your sight. Remembering this, may they usher your people into your presence with fear and trembling, always consulting you, keeping your words before them, acting only in your strength and not in their own understanding—lest they put themselves and your beloved ones into danger. Help them, O our High Priest, to trust your trust in them as they lean wholly on you, who are faithful in all your ways and just in all your judgment.