Go Fish 10/21/2001

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

October 21, 2001

Scripture: John 21:1-8

I just spent 72 hours in Indianapolis, touching base and trading war stories, while talking through the agony and ecstasy of ministry with 25 colleagues who serve United Methodist churches of a similar size to this one. This is as close as I come to people who understand what I do. Which is why I move heaven and earth to participate when the invitation comes around. We change our location yearly. Last year, Dallas. This year, Indianapolis. Next year, Fort Lauderdale. The year after that, here. The long of it is that we range wide. The short of it is that we dig deep. I never fail to learn new facts or hear great lines….like the one from the lips of my friend who began his time of sharing by saying: “I am in my 18th year of a church that has grown beyond me.”

Not all the stories are successes. Preachers are a lot like pitchers. None of us wins twenty, annually. Our group helps put the bad years into perspective. Especially when there’s no time for other remedies….like fishing. It surprised me to learn how many of my colleagues fish. Especially since I don’t. One, who is about to retire in January, said: “My only plan, so far, involves fishing in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.” Another, limited by a blood clot that put her in the hospital on Good Friday and kept her off her feet for several months, said: “I am still not one hundred percent, but I did go trout fishing last week.” While a third, clearly overstressed by the problems of a new appointment, sighed heavily and said: “One day I woke up and realized I hadn’t been fishing in two summers.”

For these three (and others), fishing is a blend of relaxation and therapy. It’s neither for me. Or hasn’t been, thus far. But you already know that, given my confession in Steeple Notes that while I eat fish, I don’t catch fish (save for a 13-pound king salmon, first time out, which enabled me to retire undefeated).

Jerry Patterson read my account and brought me a small part of his recent catch. What you see in my hand is the skull of a piranha. Jerry and Liz flew to Peru, took a trip down the Amazon, and caught their limit (if there really is a limit on Peru piranha). Then they ate them. Which surprised me, given that I tend to associate “piranha” with the word “danger,” rather than the word “dinner.” Piranha are attack fish, killer fish, flesh-eating fish. Concerning them, if a cow should wade into a river and meet up with a school of them, that cow would be a pile of bones in a matter of minutes.

During the 8:15 service, Lucille Zube saw my piranha skull and raced home, returning with a stuffed piranha mounted on a plaque. Who knows where this will end. But both versions feature sharp teeth….which (no doubt) once were deadly. Jerry says that piranha range from six to ten inches in length and come in one of two primary colors….some scarlet….others gray. Sort of like Ohio State. But Jerry says that the taste is decent, albeit bland. Again, sort of like Ohio State. But enough of that.

What we have before us for not one, not two, but three Sunday mornings, is a fishing story. In preparing for these sermons, I have learned more about fish and fishing in the Bible than I thought was available to know. And before I’m done, you’ll learn a ton of it. I know what kinds of fish were caught. I know where they were caught. I know how they were caught (four primary methods….stay tuned next week). And I know what the catching (or the non-catching) of fish symbolized. But the most important thing to know at the outset is that, in Bible times, fishing was neither for sport nor therapy. People fished to eat. Or they fished in order to sell the catch, the better to feed the family. Fishing was equated with surviving in the same way that working is equated with living.

Clearly, some of the disciples were fishermen. How many, nobody knows. In this story, seven are out there. Five are named. There’s Peter, Thomas, Nathanael, Zebedee’s boys (Jimmy and John). But that’s only five. Two are not named. So who could they be? Darned if I know. Unless, just possibly, you and me. Don’t discount that. John never wrote a story that didn’t turn out to be more than what it seemed.

So there they were….in the boat….at night….all night. They were not all that far from shore, really. Later in the story, the distance from shore is pegged at 100 yards (picture a football field). Maybe they were fishing further, earlier. Maybe not. Dragnet fishing, which was the method they were employing, often involved a pair of boats and a spotter….an on-shore spotter….who could sometimes detect fish movements not visible nearer the boat (where the waters were churning). Thus it would not be uncommon, at least during daylight hours, for a spotter on shore to direct those in the boats to move their nets from hither to yon (or from yon to hither).

But, for the moment, methodology is secondary. What is primary is failure. The text tells us that we (remember, you and I are in the boat) fished all night and caught nothing. Seven of us went 0-for-the-evening. Zip. Zilch. Skunked. Whitewashed. Nixed. Nada. Nary a nibble. And, as Robert Lovette notes: “This little story of night fishing is as old as time itself. For while the disciples used all their expertise, all their talent and all their know-how, absolutely nothing happened.” Which sounds like a page from the diary of every pastor I know.

Which is not a throw-away line, but one on which the story pivots. A moment ago, I told you that the Gospel of John never tells a purely straight story. Which does not mean that John’s stories lie. What it means is that John’s stories are true on more than one level. Which means that there is simple truth there, but there is also truth you will neither see (nor “get”) unless you peel the story like an onion. And, as with peeling onions, when you get to the “sweet stuff” in John, it can sometimes make you cry.

Moments ago, I said that fishing (in the Bible) is synonymous with working. But for the purposes of this story, you need to expand your understanding of the word “working.” John is not talking about “earning a living” here. John is talking about “performing a ministry” here. For purposes of this story, fishing is a euphemism for the work Jesus has given the disciples to do….trained the disciples to do….indeed, called the disciples to do. In this story, fishing is not the disciples’ way of blowing off work (as in “let’s call in sick and go fishing”), but is the disciples’ way of going to work. Fishing is preaching, teaching and reaching. Fishing is casting out the Word and hauling in the hearers. Fishing is trolling for Jews and Gentiles….men and women….insiders and outsiders….the lost and those who are too dumb to know they are lost. What this story means to say is that the disciples went out to do the work of Jesus….and couldn’t get it done. Which wasn’t from lack of effort. They worked all night and nothing happened.

What does that mean? It means there are times when effort alone won’t do it. You’ve heard it said that success is one part inspiration and two parts perspiration. Which is true. Very little, in the way of success, ever comes to the lazy. But sweat, alone, doesn’t necessarily do it either. For example, did you know that studies of pastors who are in trouble in their churches report that those pastors (on average) work 25 percent harder than their colleagues. Which is nice. But at the end of the day….or at the end of their stay….guarantees nothing.

What’s more, if there was ever a time when the disciples should have been successful, it was then. I mean, notice when this little fishing expedition takes place. Right after the Resurrection, that’s when it takes place. And if there was ever a time when the disciples of Jesus should have been able to notch things “onward and upward for Jesus,” it should have been right after the Resurrection. I can’t think of anything more motivational than a resurrection. I mean, if the board chairman of your company were to suddenly rise from the dead, I think most of your salespeople would exceed their quotas for at least a couple of weeks. But even a resurrection didn’t seem to help these guys.

I ask you, can you imagine a young pastor (or maybe a second-career pastor) giving the old life up….leaving the old life behind….selling bits and pieces of the old life (like your drum set, Bruce) to pay the bills….spending three years in seminary to prepare for the new life….and then failing, upon finally arriving, to please anybody in his or her first appointment? Can you imagine that? I hope you can imagine that. Because it happens. It happens.

Part of the disciples’ problem is that Jesus wasn’t with them in the boat. Resurrected….yes. Readily available….no. “We can’t do it without the Lord,” I suppose they said. “Things were fine while he was here. But he’s no longer here,” they said. And you and I know what that is like, don’t we? Because we each have someone in our life we can’t function without. Someone dies….and we can’t do it. Someone splits….and we can’t do it. Someone retires….and we can’t do it. “It isn’t like it was,” we say. Which is true. And which can be immobilizing.

This family once had resources. This marriage once had resources. This church once had resources. This boat (in which we are presently bobbing) once had resources. But not anymore. Not anymore. They up and left…leaving us empty-handed.

All of us have versions of what psychotherapists call “the unpreparedness dream.” We are supposed to do something important, but we are not ready. Many such dreams involve high school. It is the day of the big test. But we have never been to class. We can’t find the room. We didn’t study. Or we can’t find our pencil.

Over the years, I have told you various versions of my unpreparedness dream….one of which, interestingly enough, involves baseball. It’s early spring. It’s Florida….Lakeland, Florida. It’s the training camp of the Tigers. Suddenly, Phil Garner spots me in the stands (where I am really quite comfortable). But he comes to the railing and calls me down, saying: “Ritter, it’s time to see what you can do.” So I am sent to third base. Which is fine (I like third base). Except, I have no glove. So I tell Phil. But Phil doesn’t hear. So I tell Shane Halter (who slides over from third to short to make room for me). Shane doesn’t care, either. Nobody cares. Nobody, except the members of the opposition who are now pointing at the gloveless third baseman and chortling with glee. Which is when I wake up and do not go back to sleep. And which is when I notice I am drenched in sweat. What does the dream say? Simply this. That in this, the ninth inning of my ministry, I still occasionally fear that I am being sent out there empty-handed.

Except I’m not. Nor are you. Nor are we as a church. Follow the text carefully. In the dim, half-light of dawn….silhouetted against the shoreline where fear and fatigue meet….Jesus meets us. And it is daybreak, whether the clock says so or not. For there is one kind of daybreak when the sun comes up. But there is another kind of daybreak when the Son comes in.

And he speaks to us now as he spoke to us then. And what he says is: “Drop your nets one more time. Switch sides (meaning change tactics, methinks). But do the same thing you have been doing, with the same equipment you have been using.” Which is not what I would expect him to say, given that it sounds, for all the world, like “keep on keeping on.” But what it says is this: “Here, in this boat….on this sea….using this equipment….making this effort….acknowledging his presence….obeying his command….we can be successful.” We do not need to wait for better nights, stronger nets, wiser heads or other Lords to do the work. The resources are available.

Sometimes they do not seem to be in-hand. But they are very much at-hand. The more astute of you have already observed that the title of this sermon (“Go Fish”) is also the title of a card game played by very small children. It is a game where each player tries to make matches. And if, in the hand you are dealt, there are no cards that match, you have to seek the cards that match. First from another player….as in, “Have you any _____?” If the answer is yes, the card is given. If the answer is no, the other player says: “Go fish”….meaning dip into the pile lying on the table. Which usually, over time, will offer up anything that is needed. All the missing pieces are available….across the table, around the table, or on the table.

There are a million versions of my closing story. This is mine. Jesus dies, rises, goes to heaven, and meets an angel who knew him when. Whereupon the conversation (beginning with the angel) goes something like this.

“Jesus, long time no see. Where have you been?”

“Here and there upon the earth.”

“Doing what?”

“This and that, as directed by my Father.”

“Was it a good work?”

“Not only a good work, but a life saving work.”

“Was it a hard work?”

“I guess you could say that, given that it cost me my life.”

“After you retired?”

“No, shortly after I started.”

“Was it your work alone?”

“No, I shared it with a few friends.”

“What will become of your work now that you are gone?”

“I left it in the hands of my friends.”

“And if they fail?”

“I have no other plans.”

Note:  This message was the first of three sermons preached in conjunction with our fall stewardship campaign entitled “Not Without You.” All the campaign images grow out of this text from John 21. The campaign logo is as follows:

First, Do No Harm 6/10/2001

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

June 10, 2001

Scripture:  John 18:12-27

Note:  The following sermon was preached at all four services on Sunday, June 10. At the 9:30 service, it was heavily slanted toward graduates. At the 11:00 and 5:00 services, it was directed toward confirmands. First Church was privileged to confirm a total of 74 sixth graders at the aforementioned services. For purposes of consolidation, the Confirmation version of the sermon is reprinted here.

The Sermon

Isn’t it one of the ironies of the summer driving season, that just as gasoline is becoming more affordable, our roads are becoming less negotiable. Or, as they say about Michigan, we have but two seasons….winter and road construction. I can’t drive anywhere without having my progress slowed by signs that read: “UNDER CONSTRUCTION.” But not every such sign is out there to read. Some of them are in here to wear.

But why wear a sign that reads: “UNDER CONSTRUCTION”? Because you are very much a work in progress. You are full of pride and potholes. But stay with the “under construction” image for a minute. Most such signs come with miles attached. They suggest that a particular road is going to be under construction for two miles….four miles….sometimes even seven miles. So how long are you going to be “under construction?”

If you are talking about the maturity of your body, I suppose the answer is eight or nine years. By that time, you’ll be 21. And I am told that by the age of 21, your body will be as good as it’s every going to get. You’ll still be generating brain cells until 21. After that, they’ll start to die. Pleasant thought, isn’t it?

And if you are talking about the maturity of your mind, a different set of figures apply. It will be six years before you graduate from high school…..ten years before you graduate from college…. twelve years before you finish a master’s….and minimum of fifteen years before you earn a Ph.D. True, you may not be going that far. But if you are, you are going to be “under construction” for a long time.

But if you are talking your maturity as a Christian, how long will it take? Well, I’ve got news for you. You are going to be “under construction” forever. Come September, I’ll be 61 years old. I am still trying to learn what it means to be a Christian, and to live what it means to be a Christian.

Sitting behind you (in this very sanctuary) are a lot of people who have some age on them. Some of them are a little older. A lot of them are a whole lot older. I would guess that at least fifty percent of them understand what I am telling you. They are the ones wearing “under construction” signs. But the rest of them don’t have the faintest idea what I am talking about. As Christians, they think they’re finished. What’s worse, they think that God is finished with them. Color them “silly.”

So what does one say to a group of“still under construction Christians”? Well, one usually offers a mighty challenge. Most Confirmation sermons are a variation on the “believe it and live it” theme. Reduced to their essence, they sound something like this.

            Stay with the church.

            Stay with Jesus.

            Serve the church.

            Serve Jesus.

            Honor the church.

            Honor Jesus.

            Clean up the world through the church.

            Clean up the world with Jesus.

Heck, most of you still have trouble cleaning your room. So I won’t embarrass any of you by asking: “How many of you made your bed before coming to church today?” Although the answer would be illuminating.

I am going to surprise you. Instead of starting with a big challenge this morning, I am going to start with a small one. Do no harm! You heard me. Do no harm!

I didn’t think that up by myself. It’s the first item in the physician’s credo. Before doctors go out to do their thing among the sick and the dying, someone tells them: “There’s a lot of healing you can do….should do….are trained to do….no doubt will do. But first, don’t make things worse.” That’s good advice.

For most of your growing-up life, there weren’t a lot of things you could do. You lacked power. You lacked opportunity. But along about this time in your life, most of you have discovered that you have an incredible ability to do harm….to hurt….to destroy….to inflict pain. What do I mean? I’ll tell you what I mean.

Early on, you learned you could harm your stuff. When you were a little kid, you got mad at yourself. You got mad at your friends. Or you got mad at your parents. Then you went upstairs and trashed your room (tearing things….breaking things….mashing, mangling and mutilating things), only to discover that once you felt better, your stuff was still busted up.

More recently, you have learned that you can harm yourself.

            By what you eat….or don’t

                        exercise….or don’t

                        ingest, imbibe, inhale….or don’t.

You can hurt yourself in ways that show right away. And you can hurt yourself in ways that may not show for years. But you can screw up your life royally. Which is something that, until a few months ago, probably never occurred to you (and may not have occurred to you yet, given that some of you are a bit more dense than others).

You can harm your stuff. You can harm your body. And you can harm others. You can kill a German Shepherd puppy, like those kids did down in Ecorse the other day. There they were, playing beside the train tracks. They had a puppy. They had a train track. And they found themselves wondering what would happen if you tied the puppy to the train track….just before a train came. Would you believe it? Trains slice German Shepherds in half. Amazing.

But while most of you will never kill a puppy, you will kill a friendship. In fact, you have probably already done that. At least once. Which hurts. You better believe it hurts. There’s lots of ways to kill a friendship. Some of them are verbal. You may still have a relatively weak body, but you have an incredibly strong tongue. You have the capacity to cut people down….cut people up….cut people to ribbons….slice and dice people until you reduce them to tears. I once heard it said of a demure little girl: “She may be tiny, but boy does she have a mouth on her.” The author of the book of James says that “death and life are in the power of the tongue.” He’s right, of course. And all of you know it.

Everybody is talking these days about bullies. You have probably already met kids who used their mouths to be bullies. But chances are, you may have already used your mouth to be a bully, too. And didn’t even know it.

What am I saying? I am saying that you can cause pain. To which I would say: “Don’t!” The world doesn’t need any more pain. As the world’s pain goes, Jesus came to heal it (and said that we ought to do so, too). So first….for God’s sake….don’t contribute to it.

Let me tell you a story. It’s a very personal story. In fact, I told it to a group of people like you, five or six years ago. But you were in the second grade then. So I doubt you heard it.

It’s a story that made a big impact on my life. It took place when I was 13, sometime during the autumn after I was confirmed. A lady moved into a house on Northlawn (four blocks from my house on Wisconsin). She was a single lady….although she did have a kid. The kid could have been as young as 15.…or as old as 25. I couldn’t tell. That’s because her kid had a big body but a slow head. So it’s hard to tell (from a distance) exactly how old he was.

I didn’t know anybody in my neighborhood….or among my friends….who knew this lady or her kid. And I didn’t know anybody in my neighborhood….or among my friends…..who liked this lady or her kid. So why in the world did we dislike a lady (and a kid) who we didn’t even know? Because she was not of our color, don’t you see. In fact, these were the first people, not of our color, to move into our neighborhood. Which bothered a lot of the adults. So it bothered a lot of my friends.

But it gets worse. My friends were all planning to go over there….after school….after paper routes….after supper….after dark….to make things just a bit uncomfortable for this lady. The plan was that we would mill around….call names….throw stones….hurl some rotten fruit…. write nasty things on the sidewalk….that sort of thing. Everybody I knew was planning to go. Everybody I knew figured that I was going to go. Which led to a dilemma.

On the one hand, I knew it was wrong. I knew it was hurtful. I knew it was not behavior worthy of a kid who had just been confirmed the year before. On the other hand, I knew I wanted to be with my friends. I knew I wanted to be like my friends. And, more important still, I knew I wanted to be liked by my friends.

I would like to tell you that I told my friends:

            I can’t go….this is wrong.

            I can’t go….this is unchristian.

            I can’t go….this is not what a confirmed member of the Church of Jesus Christ would do.

            I can’t go….I don’t want to add any more pain to what this woman and her kid have already experienced.

But I am embarrassed, almost to tears, to tell you that I didn’t say any of those things to my friends. I believed those things. But I didn’t say them. But I also didn’t go. The conversation that afternoon at school went something like this:

“Hey, Ritter, are we going to see you over on Northlawn tonight?”

“No,” I said.

“Why not,” they said.

That’s when my moment came. That’s when I could have taken my stand. That’s when I could have made my witness. That’s when I could have honored my Lord. That’s when I could have expressed my faith. But I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I said:

            Because my old lady won’t let me out after supper.

Now, you need to know, I never called my mother “my old lady” except for that one time. And the fact is, I could have gone out after supper anytime I wanted to. I was a good kid. I was also a responsible kid. My mother would have believed anything I told her. But I blamed my unwillingness to go on “my old lady” rather than on my relationship with Jesus Christ. Because my friends would buy that.

In the years since, I have spent my entire life telling “the old, old story of Jesus and his love.” I am not bashful about telling it. I tell it in public, in front of hundreds of people. I tell it out loud, into a finely-tuned microphone. I print it on colored paper. I record it on cassette tapes. I send it out over the World Wide Web. But when I was 13….in the company of my friends….I did not tell it then.

But do not lose sight of this. On that night (when I was 13), I did not go with my friends to that house on Northlawn. I stayed home. Which made nothing better. But which made nothing worse. First, do no harm. More than that, I hope you’ll do. But at least that, you must do.

In time, Jesus will ask for a deeper commitment. If you don’t believe me, ask my esteemed colleague who writes:

            I was in graduate school at Vanderbilt. I had left my wife and our young children back in my little parish and had moved into a tiny room in Nashville to prepare for those terrible comprehensive exams. “Comps” are killers for a Ph.D. student. I mean, they can make or break you. And I was studying for a Ph.D. in New Testament.

            I would go, every night (along about 11:30 or 12:00) to a little all-night diner. No tables. Just stools. Where I would have a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of coffee….to get me away from my studies. Every night, same time. Every night, same order. It got so that when I came through the door, I didn’t even need to say anything, but what the counter man would start grilling the cheese and pouring the coffee. Then I’d join the others of the night, hovering over my coffee, thinking about what possible questions my New Testament doctoral committee could ask on my oral exams.

            Which is when I noticed a man who was there when I went in, but had not yet been waited on. I’d been waited on….even had a refill. As had the others. Finally, the counter man went over to the man and said: “What do you want?” As I remember, he was an old, gray-haired black man. I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. All I knew was that the counter man went back to the grill, scooped up a little dark patty from the back of the grill, and slapped it on a piece of bread. No pepper. No salt. No ketchup or mustard. No pickle or onion. No lettuce. No tomato. Not even a napkin. Then he handed it to the man in exchange for some money. Whereupon the man went out the side door (by the garbage cans) and sat down on the curb. And in the shadow of the 18-wheelers of the night, with salt and pepper from the street to season his meat….he commenced to eat his sandwich.

            To which I said nothing. I did not protest or witness to the cook. I did not go out and sit beside the man at the curb. I did not note the irony of it all to the people sitting beside me. I did not do anything. Because I was thinking about the questions coming up on the New Testament, don’t you see.

            So after a little while, I paid my bill….went back up the hill….back to my room….back to my studies….and walked right past the rooster (who looked, for all the world, like he was getting ready to crow).

Note:  I am indebted to Fred Craddock for the wonderful story at the conclusion of the sermon.

Meeting the Lord in the Dining Room: 3. The Protocol

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

March 18, 2001

Scripture: Luke 14:1, 7-11

A colleague of mine recently received a letter from one of his parishioners. It read as follows:

            My dear pastor, I notice that you seem to set a great deal of importance on your sermons and spend no small amount of time preparing them. I have been attending services for the past 30 years and, during that time, I have listened to no less than 3000 sermons. But I hate to inform you that I cannot remember a single one. I wonder if your time might be better spent on something else.

After waiting a couple of days to heal his pride and swallow his defensiveness, my friend wrote back, saying:

            My dear parishioner, I have been married for 30 years. During that time, I have eaten 32,580 meals….mostly of my wife’s cooking. Alas, I have discovered that I cannot remember the menu of a single meal. Yet, judging by outward appearances, I have been nourished by every one of them. In fact, I have the distinct impression that without them, I would have starved to death years ago.

That story was reported to me in response to my last two sermons on the subject of food. In fact, everywhere I go, I find people responding to these sermons on food. Mark Demorest sent me a wonderful article (following last week’s sermon) about the state of gluttony in the good old USA. It appeared in Money Magazine (if you can believe that) and it was written by a travel writer reporting on restaurants where you can put your appetite to the test. As the result of his research, he suggests that while gluttony may still be one of the seven deadly sins, it’s loads of fun. What’s more, gluttony may cancel out a few of the other sins, given that after tackling a 72-ounce steak, lust will be the furthest thing from your mind.

Which he did….try to consume a 72-ounce steak, I mean. It happened at the Big Texan Steak Ranch in Amarillo, where four or five customers a week try to finish that much beef in one sitting. The challenge is to consume 72-ounces of sirloin (as well as a salad, baked potato, shrimp cocktail and a dinner roll) in 60 minutes running time. Unfortunately, they do not allow you to eat at a regular table. Instead, they move you to a little stage near the center of the dining room so that everyone can watch you pig out. Which led the author to observe: “Eating on display may seem a bit weird at first….but hey, no guts, no glory.” Alas, he had the guts, but missed out on the glory. Meaning that he wasn’t successful. But then, only one in five is. As for me, I think I’ll pass. But should you give it a try to next time you are in Amarillo, make sure somebody takes pictures.

There used to be an ice cream parlor over on Telegraph Road which made a big deal out of big orders. As I remember it, they had a concoction called the Pig’s Trough. And every time one person ordered it, six waiters delivered it. What’s more, they rang bells, banged drums and made a whole lot of noise. Which meant that every eye in the place turned in your direction. They might as well have put you on a stage. Or on television, for that matter.

What is this thing about having people watch you eat? Well, it takes many forms. Such as this little, overlooked line in Luke’s 14th chapter. Let me read it to you again.

            “One Sabbath….when Jesus went to dine at the house of a ruler who belonged to the Pharisees….they were watching him.”  (Luke 14:1)

Have you ever been watched while you eat? Years ago, my mother told me that people would notice the way I ate and draw conclusions about me….and about the people who raised me. To some extent, she was right.

Much is revealed by the way we eat. I know a man whose corporate responsibility includes selecting candidates, from among those newly hired, for his company’s executive training program. He is the one who has to figure out which of the fast-trackers can cut the mustard. So he holds interviews, gives tests, reads letters of recommendation, and reviews transcripts….all the traditional things. And then he takes each candidate out to dinner and observes his or her behavior. “Watch how a person eats,” he claims, “and that will tell you all you need to know about their character….given that manners are what you learn (and what you do) not for yourself, but out of regard for other people.”

Which reminds me of Will Willimon’s story about being interviewed for a job at Yale. The first evening they took him to Mory’s (as in “from the tables down at Mory’s, to the place where Louie dwells”). There he was, face to face with five Yale professors. And his host said that he must have….in fact, his host ordered for him….the French onion soup. Then everybody sat back with perverse delight as Willimon fielded question after question, while trying to plunge his spoon through the thick, cheesy crust, without sloshing liquid over the side in the process. And then there was the matter of the cheese, which never quite broke free from the glob and ended up stringing itself from chin to spoon until severed by the fingers. Which is why I never eat the Swiss onion soup at Peabody’s when I am dining in polite company. I love the Swiss onion soup at Peabody’s. It simply doesn’t get any better. But every time I eat it, I embarrass myself by wearing it. Which isn’t pretty. No, not pretty at all.

But on this occasion….while they were watching Jesus….Jesus was watching them. At issue was not the “how” of their eating, but the “where” of their seating. To be specific, Jesus ended up addressing the seat selection process and the way that certain people plunked themselves down at the head table (or as close as they could get to it). Leading Jesus to say: “Don’t do that. It could get embarrassing, you know. I mean, you could be sitting in one of the front seats and your host could approach you and ask if you would mind ‘movin’ on back.’ I mean, it could get ugly.”

When my friends and I were teenagers, we used to go to the ballpark and sit in the cheap seats. Most of the time, that meant “General Admission” in left field. From our distant perch, we would gaze upon those wonderful field-level seats between home plate and third base, adjacent to the Tiger dugout. Most of those seats were in the hands of people with season tickets. “Fat cats,” we called them. And even though the seats were sold, they were not always occupied. Meaning that there were days when the ticket holders didn’t show up. Once the game started, we would monitor their availability. If, by the end of the first inning, they were still empty, we would quietly make our way toward them. Sometimes we would get lucky and slip past the gaze of an usher. Whereupon we could enjoy the next several innings from the best seats in the house.

But, more often than not, the occupants would merely be late in arriving. Along about the third inning, the usher would come and ask to see our tickets. Which, when produced, would indicate that we were not where we belonged. So we would slink back to left field, not entirely unrepentant. After all, why should such wonderful seats go begging? Besides, we didn’t know anybody who hadn’t, at one time or another, tried the same thing. I will report, however, that I gave up the practice when I began to take a date to the ballpark.

In anticipation of such an embarrassment, Jesus said: “Instead take the lowest seat when you enter, the one with the clear view of the dishwasher (every time they open the kitchen door). For you never know. You could get lucky. And the host could come over to your table and say: ‘Hey friend, how about movin’ on up?’”

I know a fellow who is employed by a great university. And he’s hung around the place so long that he knows all the signs that tell whether you are on the “inside” of university politics or on the “outside” of university politics. A big indicator is your table assignment at major university dinners. The head table is best. Tables 1-3, next best. Any table, 10 or under, you’re pretty much okay. But if you wind up at table 20, you’d better update your resume.

As some of you know, Kris and I enjoyed the recent privilege of breakfast with President Bush, along with a couple thousand of his nearest and dearest. The occasion was the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, which has been going on since 1949. It was a wonderful occasion…. one that I talk about everywhere I go. But given the number of people squeezed into the ballroom at the Washington Hilton, I wondered if I’d need a telescope to see the speakers’ platform. To our great fortune, we were actually pretty close to the front. We sat with Murray Jones (talk about “good company”), a couple of other Americans, the recently-ousted monarch of a small African nation, and the Honorable John Taylor from the British House of Lords. I resisted any temptation to make a stupid joke about Lord and Taylor. But it felt good to be near the front.

Given my role in banquet occasions, I often sit at the head table. What’s more, I appreciate….and, to some degree, enjoy….the status of high placement. And yet I hear the words of Jesus when he says: “Hey friend, don’t presume anything. Start down low. Consider yourself lucky to be there at all. Let your host call the shots.”

What’s involved here? More than meets the eye….I’ll tell you that. And I’ll tell you how I know that. There’s a little clue in Luke’s narrative that gives it away. For Luke tells us that the “banquet” in this story is a “marriage feast.” And whenever you see the phrase “marriage feast,” you know that it is meant as a symbol for the Kingdom.

And this is one of those stories. Its purpose is to give us a glimpse of “end time.” It says: “Don’t count on what you count on now, counting then. All this jockeying for position. All this wanting to be in the right seat. All this wanting to be number one. None of that is going to count.” The only thing that is going to count in the Kingdom is humility. Which means that at that banquet….at that time….the appropriate place to gather is at the foot of the table.

And concerning that, listen to what Mark Trotter says next:

Nobody knows what is going to happen at the banquet. I get impatient with people who think they know what is going to happen. They always seem to know who is going to heaven and who is not, as if they were privy to the guest list….as if they knew beforehand who had been invited….as if they had access to the seating chart….and as if they knew who was going to be at the head table right next to Jesus. I notice that the people they say are going to be in heaven tend to be the people who agree with them. And the people who aren’t going to be there are the people who do not agree with them. These people pass themselves off as Bible-believing Christians. But one wonders if they have even read the Bible. Because if you read the Bible, it’s as clear as “clear” could be. Nobody knows! The only certainty is that there are going to be surprises. As the old spiritual suggests: “Everybody talkin’ about heaven, ain’t goin’ there”….at least, right off.

Except there is one clue. The humble are probably going to make the first cut with the least trouble. Which leads to a pair of concluding thoughts.

The first concerns a test for humility. I picked it off the Internet the other day. It’s amazing what you can find there. Consider this:

During my second month of nursing school, our professor gave us a pop quiz. I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one. “What is the first name of the women who cleans the school?”

Surely this was some kind of joke. I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her fifties. But how would I know her name? I handed in my paper, leaving the answer blank. Then I heard another student ask if the last question would count toward our grade. “Absolutely,” said the professor. “In your careers you will meet many people. All are significant. Each deserves your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say hello.”

I’ve never forgotten that lesson. I’ve also learned that her name is Dorothy.

My second concluding observation concerns the whereabouts of Jesus at the banquet. I mean, you might want his autograph. Or you might want to have your picture taken standing next to him. So you’ll want to know where he’s sitting, won’t you? Of course you will. So I’ll locate him for you. He’s at table 20.

* * * * *

Oh, by the way, their names are Tony, Chito, Gary, Dastin and Kate. Who are they? Why, they’re the people who clean the building. Just so you’ll know.

Note: I am indebted to Dick Cheatham, Mark Demorest, Will Willimon and Mark Trotter for various and sundry contributions to this sermon.

Meeting the Lord in the Dining Room 2. The Menu 3/11/2001

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan

March 11, 2001

Scriptures: I Corinthians 8:1-9; Luke 10:1-9

And God said: “Let us make man in our own image….after our likeness….and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, the fowl of the air, the cattle and every creeping thing upon the earth.” So God made man in God’s own image….male and female, God created them. And God looked upon the man and woman and saw that they were lean and fit. And God populated the earth with broccoli, cauliflower and spinach….green and yellow vegetables of every kind….so the man and the woman would live long and healthy lives.

And the Tempter said: “I know how I can get back in this game.” Whereupon he created McDonald’s. And McDonald’s brought forth an “Eighth Day of Creation Special”…..a 99 cent double cheeseburger. Which was when the Tempter whispered to the man: “You want fries with that?” And the man said: “Supersize them.” And the man gained five pounds.

And God created the always-healthful yogurt, so the woman might keep the figure that the man had found so fair. But the Tempter brought forth chocolate, causing the woman to gain five pounds, and leading God to say: “Won’t you try my crispy garden salad?” And the Tempter countered with Ben and Jerry’s. And the woman gained ten pounds.

And God said: “Behold, I have sent you heart-healthy vegetables, not to mention olive oil in which to cook them.” Which was when the Tempter appeared with a chicken fried steak, so big it hung over the edges of the platter. And the man gained ten pounds while his cholesterol climbed through the roof.

So God brought forth running shoes and commanded the man to lose those extra pounds. But the Tempter answered with cable TV and remote control, thus ensuring the man would no longer have to rouse from recline to switch from ESPN and ESPN2. But after the man gained another 20 pounds, God brought forth the potato….a tuber low in fat and brimming with nutrition. But the Tempter snatched it away, peeled its healthy skin, sliced it into chips, threw them in the fryer, placed them on a plate, and set in their midst a luscious bowl of sour cream (from heaven only knows where).

And with cream on his chin and chips on his chest, the man went into full cardiac arrest (while still holding fast to the remote). So God created the triple bypass. And the Tempter created an HMO.

Were I to preach a sermon on gluttony (still one of the seven deadly sins), that story would speak for itself. To be sure, the earliest Christians concerned themselves with how much people ate. And with good reason. For there existed in biblical times….and in other times, as well…. festivals of gorging, during which pagans ate and drank for days and days. You know, of course, how such was possible. The host, in addition to keeping the table groaning and the flagon flowing, provided each dinner guest with a delicate little feather. And if you need further explanation as to what the feather was for, see me after the service. Or better yet, ask the first pagan you encounter at the brunch table when your hour in church is done.

For the Christian, gluttony was considered wrong….not because you could kill yourself with a knife and fork (as many did, and continue so to do), but because gluttony violated the Christian dictum about sharing with the hungry. You will remember the Gentile Christians who were in the habit of arriving early for the common meal. Their purpose was so that they could pork down all the food and guzzle down all the wine, leading Paul to object, strenuously. Paul’s objection had nothing to do with the fact that they were making spectacles of themselves, but that they were cleaning the table before later arriving Christians (who were probably the newer and, therefore, least-likely-to-be-in-the-know Christians) could get their fill, or even their fair share.

Among the things I needed to learn in order to be an effective minister (but that nobody bothered to teach me in seminary) concerned the proper way to organize a potluck. If you expect more than 70 people, you need to spread the food over more than one table and create multiple serving lines. Failure to do this means that the first people through the line will require a forklift to carry their plate back to the table, while the last people will be lucky to choose from among three half-empty bowls of cole slaw.

Point being: The amount of food you eat should be governed by the needs and claims of the neighbor, rather than by the comfort or discomfort of the stomach.

When last I stood before you, we were talking about food (you and I)….about dining room tables (you and I)….and about how the Lord might either be met or missed there (you and I). Last time I asked: “Who is at the table?” This time I would invite you a little closer, the better to see: “What is on the table.” As a footnote, I recently stumbled on the wry observation by the late Charles Schultz, to the effect that no one would have been invited to dinner as often as Jesus, unless he was interesting and had a highly-developed sense of humor. Which is worth pondering, given the frequency with which Jesus is the answer to the New Testament’s quintessential question: “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

On Friday, I warmed up for the writing of this sermon by eating low-ticket Middle Eastern fare at lunch (pita, hummus and a falafel sandwich), followed by high-ticket Jewish fare….Bar Mitzvah fare….at supper (everything from challa to honey-laden pastries). Which was not strange to me. I have been to Israel. I know the diet. I can do the diet. If you want to know more about the diet, I can talk about what Jesus ate….what Jews eat….what Torah requires….what kosher means…..that sort of thing. Which might make a good luncheon speech. But not today. Instead, I want to look at two biblical stories, make one biblical point, and then send you off in search of sustenance.

The first “slice of Bible” I want to place on your plate comes from the lips of Jesus. We find it in one of his many “hit the road” speeches delivered to his closest followers. I am using “hit the road” here, not in the negative sense of “get lost,” but in the positive sense of “go to work.” In short, Jesus occasionally gives marching orders. In some of them, he actually becomes quite specific (as in what to pack, what not to pack, where to go, who to go with, what to say upon arriving, and how long to stay before leaving). That’s a lot of specificity. This “hit the road” speech in Luke 10 is not untypical, although it is given to “the seventy”…..and we really don’t know who “the seventy” are. But listen:

            After this, the Lord appointed 70 others and sent them on ahead of him, two by two, into every town and place where he himself was about to come. And he said to them: “The harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few; pray, therefore, the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers. Behold, I send you out as lambs in the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals. Salute no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say: ‘Peace be to this house!’ If a son of peace is there, your peace shall rest upon him. If not, it shall return to you. And remain in the same house, eating and drinking what they provide, for the laborer deserves his wages. Do not go from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and they receive you, eat what is set before you. Heal the sick who are there and say to them: ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’”

It goes on, but I stop here so you will not lose what I lost for over 50 years (until John Rick helped me find it last week). I’m talking about Jesus’ twice-repeated instruction:

1.      “Remain in the same house, eating and drinking what they provide.”

2.      “Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you.”

There is ample evidence that Luke preserved these early sayings attributed to Jesus. And there is ample evidence that Matthew (and perhaps others) edited them out. Moreover, we know that the Gospel of Thomas (which you do not have readily available) summarizes them most succinctly:

When you go into any land and walk about in the districts, if they receive you, eat what is set before you and heal the sick among them. (14:2)

This is incredible! For it means that Jesus, as a devout and practicing Jew, told ambassadors going forth in his name that they could set aside Jewish dietary restrictions….of which there were many….to eat the food of the house. Clean or unclean….no matter. Kosher or non-kosher….no matter. Meat with all the blood drained from it versus meat without the blood drained from it….no matter. Meat from beasts which chew the cud and divide the hoof like beef cattle versus meat from beasts that neither chew the cud nor divide the hoof like pigs….no matter. What matters are relationships. People bond over food. Therefore, says Jesus, don’t let matters of menu keep you from making friends and building bridges in my name.

To refuse someone’s food in the name of appetite (“Yuck, I don’t like it”) or diet (“Sorry, my doctor forbids it”) is off-putting enough. But to refuse someone’s food in the name of religion is to miss an opportunity to become one with each other and (perhaps) to become one in Christ. Having traveled in a variety of cultures, I know that it is so. And when my mother warned me to eat whatever was set before me (prior to going to a stranger’s house for dinner), she didn’t know how biblical she was.

The second “Bible slice” I would pile on your plate comes from Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth. This time, he was addressing a “menu dispute” in the Corinthian Christian community. At issue was meat dedicated in pagan temples, or meat sacrificed to pagan gods and then sold or served in the marketplace. Let me explain. It was not uncommon for a steer or a lamb (or some other animal) to be taken to a pagan temple as a sacrificial offering to a god or goddess. But the whole animal was never burned on the altar. Only a small part was burned….a token, really….sometimes just a few hairs pulled from the animal’s carcass.

What happened to the rest? Well, I’ll tell you what happened to the rest. The first gleanings went to the priests of the temple. They took home the ribs….maybe even a whole flank. I like that idea. Then the donor of the sacrificial animal took home the other parts, whereupon he cooked them up, gave a banquet, and invited his friends and neighbors to partake….which might well include Christians. The question being: “Should Christians go?” And if they go: “Should they eat the meat?”

Sometimes, after the token sacrifice on the altar, there was so much meat left over that it was wholesaled out to the butcher shops. But it was seldom marked as such. So the question arose: “Should Christians buy meat from the shops, never knowing in whose temple it might have been….for what purpose….and for how long?”

This issue split the Corinthian church. Somebody brought meat to a potluck. And that started it. You could hear them buzzing in the various corners of Fellowship Hall:

            You gonna eat the meat?

            I ain’t gonna eat the meat!

            Ah….come on….there’s nothing wrong with the meat.

            Yes there is.

            No there isn’t.

            Let’s ask Paul.

So Paul said three things. First, Paul said that if fighting over the meat is going to divide the church, then maybe nobody should eat any meat. That was Paul’s angry response.

Second, Paul said:

            I don’t worship idols. I don’t bow down before statues. I don’t go into pagan temples. I know who my God is. What’s more, I know that my God is the only God there is. So all that other stuff about gods and goddesses is just so much unenlightened hocus pocus. Which means that since the meat is being offered to nothing that is anything (God-wise, I mean), it’s just meat. It goes into the temple as meat. It comes out of the temple as meat. Why not cook it and eat it?

That was Paul’s theological response.

But then Paul offered a third word.

            If there are people you know whose faith will somehow be injured by what they see you do (maybe because they are brand new in the faith and haven’t got this idol business sorted out in their head) well….for their sakes….why not skip the meat and head for the macaroni?

That was Paul’s pastoral response.

Don’t you see it? Of course you see it. Once again, menu issues become secondary to relationship issues. The cardiologists are probably going to kill me for saying this, but you can eat any darned thing you want to, provided you consider the sensitivities of the people joining you or observing you.

And if the cardiologists don’t get me, Miss Manners will, when I say that you can refuse anything that is set before you, provided you consider the sensitivities of the people joining you or observing you. Medically speaking, we monitor our appetites for reasons of health. Religiously speaking, we monitor our appetites for reasons of relationship. It is the only way I can make sense of the charge….leveled by the Pharisees….that Jesus ate with gluttons and wine bibbers. To which Jesus seemed to respond: “Of course.” Or “Why not?” Relationships being paramount, Jesus concerned himself far more with who was at the table than with what was on the table.

As a biblically-grounded Christian, I can partake of anything, provided (there’s that word for a third time) that, in so doing, I draw nearer to you, and that together we draw nearer to Christ. Read the New Testament carefully and you will see little, if any, concern over the role of food in filling us up. But you will see great concern…..repeated concern….over the role of food in drawing us close.

Isn’t it ironic that in his “hit the road” speech, Jesus told his followers to eat anything that is there for the eating and heal any who are there for the healing. Over the years of my ministry, I have discovered that more healing is done at the table than any other place I know.

During one of our many conversations last weekend, John Claypool told some of us (in wrenchingly personal testimony) about the Saturday morning the lights went out in the eyes of his ten-year-old daughter, Laura Lue, following her 18-month battle with leukemia. For weeks, he said, it was hard enough to get up and get dressed, let alone go anywhere, do anything, or be with anybody.

But slowly, we pulled it together, even to the point of finally deciding to go out for a little supper (my wife, myself and our son) at a little place the four of us once liked to go. “But when I sat down and looked at that empty chair, I thought I wouldn’t be able to go on. In fact, I wasn’t even certain I could stay.”

But then I realized that while I was sitting at a table with one missing, I was also sitting at a table with three present. So I stayed. And we ordered. And as we ate, we talked about the ordinary stuff of our lives….yesterday….today….tomorrow. And somehow, during the course of that meal, I turned a corner. For while I knew I was never (ever) going to be the same, I knew I was going to be all right.

It is a time-honored tradition in the church to punctuate the season of Lent by foods denied and meals not eaten. For in so doing, it is suggested, we will draw closer to Christ. And if that works for you, by all means, stay with it.

But if it doesn’t, why not punctuate Lent with a different discipline? Why not try inviting someone to dinner (family, friend, stranger, even enemy)? I’m talking a really good dinner. Then see if, perchance, you don’t accomplish the same purpose.

Note: I am indebted to Murray Jones for the Internet-circulated story with which the sermon begins. I am indebted to Fred Craddock for his understanding of “gluttony,” in a sermon entitled “Trouble at the Table.” And I am deeply indebted to John Rick for directing me to a wonderful chapter, “Magic and Meal,” in John Dominic Crossan’s