Sunday 28 August 2022

More than "table manners" - honour and dignity

 

August 28, 2022: Proverbs 25:6–7, Hebrews 13:1–8, 15–16 and  Luke 14:1, 7–14



Image: Louis Kahan - Jesus at the Wedding in Cana


People watching is a fascinating pastime: waiting in a queue, sitting on a park bench, taking the tube or anywhere you find yourself noticing the world passing by. 


We take in elements of their identity, their appearance and style; maybe wondering what their life story is or what’s running through their mind; are preoccupied with their phone or immersed in a book.


We catch something of their body language and their mood; do they seem content or anxious. We take in their interactions with others - friendly, dismissive, courteous, oblivious.


Likewise, perhaps others are watching us. 


There are times perhaps when we’ve felt uncomfortable, unwelcome or a bit awkward.


In today’s Gospel, Luke tells us that Jesus is both being watched closely; but also the one who is watching, observing, noticing what’s going on around him. 


He is people watching in a situation that highly recognisable to us: at social functions, school canteens, work lunches, leaving do-s, family parties, perhaps also our own dinning rooms. 


There are signifiers of social status or importance; indicators of belonging and popularity. Those who are gathering their posse; those sitting on their own. Perhaps we do have scanned the room for a friendly faced; looked at a seating plan with dread; or been asked to move or told, no we’ve no space for you.


Jesus observes those who’re watching him; and decodes what is going on in that room; he notices what underlies the table manners.


The historian Ingrid Rowland wrote a book called The Lost Art of Eating in which she notes that food is about identity, community, social status and conscience, as well as nutrition and appetite.  Who we eat with and how much, when and where are all markers of those things. She says that food is ‘the all sufficient metaphor for power’. 


Perhaps that is what Jesus notices too: the desire for social capital mapping onto the desire for wealth.


In his ministry, he feeds thousands when a small offering of bread and fish are given away; he prepared grilled fish for disciples after a night’s fishing. He talks about feasting and fasting; he eats with friends, disciples and those he meets on the way;  he sits at table with outsiders on the fringe and leaders at the centre. As guest or host, he notices when food builds community or undermines it. 


As he observes the social drama around him, he poses a challenge.


Drawing on the wisdom of Proverbs, he speaks of honour and humility. 


It could be heard as a way of gaming the social system: assume the worst place at the table to get invited to a better one. 


Instead of a new social strategy, he is pointing to the reversal of God’s ways with the world. We often use the word ‘kingdom’ to describe what that looks like - the world as the sphere of God’s influence or aligned to God commands. 


Jesus’ way of  people watching invites us to pay attention to what is going on around us - to give them our full attention rather than thinking only of our interests or place.  


There is both generosity and humility which stretches our imaginations. Once we can imagine the world differently, we might be able to live differently. 


If the metric social honour and disgrace risks self-seeking and shame,  is there a kinder and more generous way?


If we think less about ourselves, might we be more aware of others - their needs, worries, gifts?


If we sit lightly to the company we keep - and where we are at the table - might we make more space for others?


Allowing for a social life of gift - rather than reciprocity - allows all of us to flourish and be treated with dignity.


This is the place where our imaginations are shaped and where habits are formed; the Eucharist is where culture shifts away from self to other. 


In the calendar of saints, today we remember St Augustine: amongst his most famous and memorable sayings relates to the Eucharist: ‘you hear the words, “The body of Christ” and you reply “Amen”. Be then a member of Christ’s body, so that your “Amen” may accord with the truth’. Or receive what you are; become - in the power of the Spirit - what you receive.


Here we share in the life of Christ - letting go of our desire for status. Christ, the host, invites us to sit and eat; we know ourselves as beloved - as does the person extending their hands before us or kneeling after us.


God comes near to us in this gift of broken bread and out poured wine; in the proximity of blessing. The norms of social status laid aside; our dignity is affirmed. We are children of God - fed in this place that our imaginations, hearts and actions might be enlarged: with compassion and generosity, kindness and service.


As members of one body, we receive the gift of community; what ever our differences and gifts, our quirks and vulnerabilities, there is no place for humiliation or exclusion. Here, we pray that we may imagine a different world - where all are regarded with honour - and we dare to take that vision into our lives and work places. 


Here as we gather at one table, we are held in equal honour and dignity: it’s a form of social capital which can help to shape and heal the world. We’re invited into a widening circle of blessing which reflects God’s preferential treatment to the stranger, widow, orphan and poor; embracing the lonely and overlooked as well as the influential and well connected. 


This is the blessing mutual love about which the writer of Hebrews speaks.


Extending care and love to others, whatever their circumstances, is to entertain angels unawares.


Given the pressures and fears about the cost of living and fuel bills - the need for food, warmth and company - we are exploring how we use this space to extend hospitality. 


We’re considering how we can deepen relationships within community in the face of isolation and fear; using the resources we have together to enable relationships and build social capital. 


We are reminded today that even under pressure, we are not to neglect to do good and share what we have: 


At at time when many are fearful and lonely; when our hospitality and are creative industries are under pressure once more; when political leaders debate investment in housing, education, health and social care; when schools and care homes are concerned about budgets; and in many sectors workers are considering strike action it -  can feel overwhelming. 


As people are faith we are somehow to hold fast to the dream of our prophets and poets as we reflected last week; to commit to raising others us; and to extend the welcome we receive at this table to others. 


We all have a part to play at home, at work and in our churches: all of which make up the life of our community. Every seat we off is the one of honour; every conversation can be a sign of hope; every action an opportunity for loving kindness. In the power of the Spirit, we share the love of God revealed in Jesus, who is our guest and host.


For as Rowan puts it in the poem “Rublev” as we bake bread ‘we shall sit and speak around /one table, share one food, one earth’.


© Julie Gittoes 2022








Saturday 27 August 2022

Hold fast to dreams - raise one another up

 Sunday 21 August: Isaiah 58: 9b-14, Hebrews 12: 18-29 and Luke 13: 10:17

Jesus and the Bent Over Woman
by Barbara Schwarz OP. 2014


Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.


Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.


Words from the poet Langston Hughes:


Perhaps it’s something that poets and prophets have in common: they hold fast to dreams. Perhaps, that’s even more important when the land around us is parched, when sewage gushes into seas and humanity is thirsty. 


They hold fast when we want to see longings of our hearts quenched; they dream when we want to see neighbours unburdened, relationships repaired and our city built up. 


Now we need the poets and prophets; to hold the dreams and not let them die or go. 


We need to learn from them in our dreaming: straining against broken wings and barren fields and frozen hearts so that life, like a bird might fly.


Hold fast to dreams.


Hughes was twentieth-century black American poet who was described has having an ‘anonymous unity with his people’. Avoiding both sentimentality and stereotypes he attends to stories of joy and hardship, money and relationships, work and seeking work.


He wanted to hold fast to a dream: that humanity in all its diversity longed for security. The violation of those things offended his conviction that humanity is possessed of the divinity of God. Yet he hoped - he held fast to a dream - that the world and her people could understand each other. 


Isaiah too is holding fast to a dream. It’s a dream of the establishment of peace and security; of social life flourishing across generations. This is God’s dream.


There’s a poetic rhythm to our translation of the Hebrew: rebuild, raise up and repair. 


Holding fast to a dream speaks to places, people and responsibility: rebuilding the places where people live; raising people up and providing a foundation across generations; repairing the breach, those things which have come under strain, through the work of reconciliation. 


Hold fast to this dream is rooted in the sabbath principal: a revolutionary habit of work balanced by rest and liberation. Isaiah words demand that we refrain from self-interest.


Instead, delight is to be found in removing burdens from others: the yokes that are carried are removed by the provision of food and the satisfying of needs.


We might paraphrase Isaiah as a dream of freedom from all that diminishes human life and access to those things which allow everyone to flourish. 


This is God’s dream for human beings - relationships of support not exploitation; it’s God’s dream for the world - waters refreshing the parched places. 


Then there will be light in darkness.


The Word of God is that light - a light that stoops down into darkness in Jesus.


In the exchange we hear in today’s Gospel, dreams are held fast and made real.


Hold fast to dreams

For if dreams die

Life is a broken-winged bird

That cannot fly.


We know very little about the woman who comes to the synagogue: but imagine for a moment walking in her steps.


Bent over and moving forward, yet seeing only a very little way ahead. 


A world of feet moving around her but without eye contact.


Feeling the heat of the day and cool of the night but not seeing the sun set or moon rise.  The mental and physical labour of each moment; and the isolation of not being seen; of going unnoticed. 


Yet she goes to synagogue; and today a teacher notices her. Jesus breaks off his words and sees her, addresses her; and sets her free. 


His touch relieves the yoke; her body moves in a new way; her perspective shifts; her lips sing God’s praise.


She stood up straight: released from her burdens.


The light breaks in at that moment. The crushed spirit, the hurting body, the lonely soul are met with compassion and restored to community.  The dream of God’s Kingdom breaks in; life is no longer a broken winged bird that cannot fly.


There will be times in our lives when we feel that the yoke of our circumstances weigh us down: financial pressures, grief, loss of agency, illness or injury, isolation.  


May this worshipping community to be palace where we are noticed, beloved, invited, set free.


All of us will know or encounter those who are exhausted, weighed down, marginalised: because of age or ethnicity or sexuality or gender; because of fears about the cost of living, finding a job, passing exams or mental health. 


May this place - and our way of relating day by day - give encouragement, release and dignity. 


God we hold fast to dreams. To God’s dream - a dream that goes beyond a collection of self-interests to the flourishing as humanity as one community, one family. God won’t accomplish it without us; we can’t accomplish it by ourselves. With God we can - and each of us, individually and together, have a part to play in the healing of the world; of setting others free.


That means living some space for God to surprise us. Luke tells us that the leader of the synagogue protested because Jesus stopped teaching, noticed the woman and acted with compassion; he rightly wanted to honour the sabbath, holding the commandments of faith and love. But perhaps like him, we sometimes hold on to what we know and do, that we miss the moment dream becomes reality.


Hold fast to dreams

For when dreams go

Life is a barren field

Frozen with snow.


In Hebrews we’re invited to hold those two things together: our worship and God’s kingdom. In doing so, we honour the hope of sabbath rest and freedom. 


The writer of Hebrews sets out the destination: an unshakeable kingdom. They also plot the the journey thought images that offer security of people and place: a holy mountain, a vibrant city, a diverse gathering and assembling before God. 


Like the woman, we are children of a compassionate God. To be human is to be worthy of love and dignity. 


As we receive the gift and nourishment of the sacrament; as we are touched by words of forgiveness and blessing, may we find ourselves standing upright, set free to praise God. 


As we worship in reverence and awe, may we hold fast to the dream expressed by prophets and poets; the dream of restoration that Jesus brings. May the Spirit move us, equip us, inspire us to restore others to community; to notice those who’re weighed down to respond with compassion. 


In a fearful world, a world where many are denied dignity: hold fast to dreams, heal broken wings, quench parched fields, raise one another up.  Amen.


© Julie Gittoes 2022