The End of Etiquette

A sermon preached on September 1, 2019 at St. James Episcopal Church in Arlington, Vermont. 

In this morning’s gospel reading, Jesus is hanging out with the Pharisees again. And I want to be clear here upfront that the Pharisees are devout religious people trying to do the right thing and live the right way. They are not the villains of this story. They are faithful human beings. Human beings with whom Jesus – as a fellow Jew – is engaging in conversation. And, one of their leaders has invited Jesus – a rather controversial and challenging figure – into his home for a meal on the sabbath. True hospitality, I’d say.

I often think of Jesus as “the great noticer.” And at this gathering, he notices the way folks arrange themselves around the table, representing various places of honor to reflect their stations within this particular context’s social structure. I imagine him watching carefully as they move around the room, each toward his known place – almost like a well memorized dance. It’s not that these people – these Pharisees – are necessarily doing this to intentionally ostracize others or show off their positions of power. More likely, they are simply following social norms – dancing a dance – so deeply engrained, they don’t even notice they’re doing it. And Jesus – God among us – simply exposes the dance.

And he doesn’t do this by wagging his finger and saying, “you all should get up from the table and reorganize yourselves right now. You’re being unwelcoming, you should be ashamed of yourselves.” Despite what some would have us believe, Jesus is not in the shame business.

No, Jesus paints a picture of another imagined gathering to illustrate his point. A wedding reception. And he says that if you’re invited to a wedding, don’t automatically go sit in the place at which you’re most comfortable – with the people you know, the people who look and act and sound like you. Don’t fall into your old pattern – your well-worn “dance moves.” Rather, take a step back and give someone else a chance to take that seat at the table. And, if you happen to be invited to take some kind of seat of honor, do so. But the key is that the place at the table is based on invitation and relationship. Not on unspoken societal “dance moves” -- rules and norms we’ve been taught since childhood.

I read a book recently called The Art of Gathering by Priya Parker. It’s not a church book. It is actually a book about how to offer hospitality in our world right now – from meetings to weddings to small dinner parties and everything in between. But this book goes far deeper than an “etiquette guide.” In fact, the author is, in a sense, arguing for the end of etiquette. In this country, etiquette has largely been what she describes as “random knowledge of how old rich people want you to behave.” Things like proper table settings, which fork to use, dress codes, and the correct way to address a thank you note. Etiquette is not without value, she argues. It has worked well in small, stable, enclosed groups where all community members know the unspoken “rules.” It likely worked for the Pharisees.

But there will be no rules of etiquette at the dinner party Jesus invites us to. There will be no dances so deeply engrained, we’re unaware we’re even dancing. Jesus invites us to learn some entirely new moves. This morning, Jesus is giving us a glimpse of God’s dream for us. A glimpse of the Kingdom of Heaven. To which we are all invited – “the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.”  

All of us. You and me. It’s astounding. And the seating plan at this party has nothing to do with human-made social structures. It has nothing to do with nationality or language or skin color or education or gender or sexual orientation or ability to pay our way or work ethic or popularity or beauty or health or strength or age or intellect. The seating plan is based on open invitation. God’s open, everlasting, unbelievable, over-and-over invitation to us.

And, as people of God, even as we look toward taking our seat at that ultimate heavenly table, we are called to commit ourselves to this kind of “heavenly dinner party living” right here and right now. We are called to offer that same kind of open invitation to all people. To the stranger. To the outcast. We are to give up our seats. Our places. If that is what is necessary to welcome more in. I wonder what dances of ours need to be exposed? Because I believe, friends, that we as church are called to think about the ways our liturgies and church gatherings do and do not welcome all people. Because it seems unspoken rules of etiquette will not do, if we are to live as people of God.

And if, for some reason, we find our celebrations are simply impossible for some to attend – those who use wheelchairs or those who cannot read, for example – I believe we are asked to change the seating itself. The very structure. Until our invitation to all is truly authentic. Our gatherings ought to be extensions of the love of God for all people – all people having been created in God’s image.

In a few moments, we will gather around this little table as we celebrate Eucharist. In doing so, we will simultaneously gather with a larger cosmic Christian community at a dinner party that transcends space and time. And none of us – none of us – not lifelong Christians, not clergy, not anyone – has a special place of honor at this table. We are all invited into this relationship – with God, with one another and with all of creation. And, we are all called to extend that invitation to friends and strangers alike. To give up our seats, and maybe to learn some new dance moves.  

And so, if you are new here, or returning after some time, or just wondering about all this, please do join us if you are comfortable doing so. We can’t wait to make room for you. And if you have questions, please ask. You are invited by God to this table, and you are welcome here.