"Compelling Them In"
The Commemoration of Elizabeth Ann Seaton
Office of Noonday Prayer, January 9, 2016
Text: Luke 14:15-23
The Rt. Rev. Marty Field
Bishop, Diocese of West Missouri
The Rt. Rev. Marty Field
Bishop, Diocese of West Missouri
Today, the Church honors Mother Elizabeth Ann Seaton, a saint in both our Church and the Roman Catholic Church. Both honor her for selfless devotion to the poor and the downtrodden, which is why today’s Gospel lesson is read on her day, today, the day of her death in 1821.
To properly interpret and apply the Lucan parable assigned for this observance, it’s necessary to understand its context. Understanding what occasioned it, allows us better to understand Jesus’ point.
So, in Luke’s 14th chapter, we find Jesus at a Pharisee’s house for dinner. Jesus never seems to be far from a party, and the theme of feasting ties this chapter together.
Furthermore, as Luke tells it, Jesus seems to be quite dedicated to insulting his hosts. When they catch Jesus healing on the Sabbath, they accuse him of sin. In return, he defends his actions and accuses them of hypocrisy — which does nothing to endear him to them. He then pours salt into their wounded pride by offering unsolicited advice about seeking the lowest seat at a banquet rather than the highest, and about inviting the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind — those who can never repay your kindness — for that kindness, Jesus says, is repaid in the resurrection!
All of this is in Luke’s chapter 14 and leads to where today’s Gospel picks up. The dinner Jesus attended, His healing on the Sabbath, His chastisement of the Pharisees for seeking places of honor, and finally, His command to invite the poor and not your friends to your parties, sets the stage for today’s parable of “The Great Supper".
The gist of this story is easy enough to understand. A nobleman sends out invitations, prepares a huge party, and then informs the invitees that it’s time to come. The response is underwhelming, to say the least. In fact, they stay away in droves, making lame excuses of all kinds.
Undeterred, the host will not have an empty house, so he instructs his servants to scour the streets for all the poor, lame, and blind. Of course, what this means is the uncouth, the smelly, and the drunks. You might think that’s quite enough, that the host has proven his largesse, but he is not finished, yet. The host, you see, is a great man and the house is a great mansion. Not satisfied with the scum of the local streets, he commands his servants to bring in those from even further away, from the highway and the hedges, the boulevards and the bushes and compel them to come. He wants every seat filled. Verse 23: “Go out into the roads and lanes, and compel people to come in, so that my house may be filled.” Why? So that none of the original invitees, even if an invitee changes his mind, will have a place.
Did you hear that word, “compel”? Does that word sound wrong? Uncomfortable? Like a word Jesus would never use?
To deal with that bothersome word, it may be helpful to interpret this parable metaphorically.
The host is, of course, God. The servants sent to invite are the prophets. The original invitees are the Jews whom God had chosen, but by rejecting Christ, they also rejected their seats at God’s banquet.
Lest you think that Jesus is being anti-Semitic with this allusion, he places Gentiles even lower on the scale because Gentiles (us?) are the poor, blind, and lame, not to mention other more nefarious folk.
The supper itself is the heavenly banquet so often referred to as an image of Eternal Life.
Given this metaphoric overview, let’s now look more closely at that word, “compel”.
Depicted here are two different kinds of invitations. One kind is like the first wave of invitations; invitees may refuse to come to the party, and the host allows that refusal to stand. The second kind countenances no refusal. In fact, there is an undertone of something more stern, kind of like when the Godfather "makes you an offer you can’t refuse".
The strange thing to me is that if the host is willing to compel the robbers and thieves to come to his party, it sure seems like he would be much better off compelling high society to come. At least they wouldn’t steal his silverware. If neither want to come, then what difference does it make whom he compels? Regardless of the man’s motivation, this issue of compulsion is both interesting and troubling.
However, if this parable is not to be interpreted as permission to force others to come to God, then what does this mean?
I believe "compel" points to the fact that no one — neither the rich and high society of the first wave of invitees nor the poor and homeless of the second — have any intention of coming to the party. Each of us has our own willfulness. We don’t want anyone dragging us to their idea of a party or enforcing their standards on us. We are that stiff-necked! And maybe because we sense what’s coming.
Note something with me: this party, while it opens as a come-as-you-are party, is not a stay-as-you-are party. To come to the party is to be changed. In the parallel passage from Matthew 22:2-14, one guest is found not to be wearing the prescribed wedding attire that the host supplied. He has not changed for the party and has not been changed by the party. His refusal to change is immovable! So he’s out on his ear to a place where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The Church certainly is expected to use all lawful and moral means to craft arguments that “compel” folks with emotional and intellectual integrity to come to God, but that’s not always enough. Some, in the end, will still stubbornly refuse. Some could pass through the pearly gates, stand at the foot of God’s throne, and still refuse what God offers.
Ultimately, though, I wonder if our response is really what matters . . . at least as far as salvation is concerned.
In salvation, God does the work. We are completely passive; we receive. Our salvation does not depend upon our work, or initiative or lack thereof, our response, our faith, or anything we do.
That’s what Elizabeth Ann Seaton, whom we honor this day, came to know and why she helped establish the Sisters of Charity. She was the American “Mother Teresa of Calcutta” of the early 19th century. When the mainline Protestant churches – much like Ebenezer Scrooge — were, on the topic of compassion to the poor, basically saying, “Are there no poor houses?” Mother Seaton was taking the poor in and building communities that not only “gave them a fish, but taught them to fish”.
God’s care and salvation are for all whom he can embrace . . . or all whom his servants can embrace on his behalf. God does his part. If we do our part, only those who obstinately refuse will miss the party.
And Jesus loves a good party. And wants us all to attend!
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
To properly interpret and apply the Lucan parable assigned for this observance, it’s necessary to understand its context. Understanding what occasioned it, allows us better to understand Jesus’ point.
So, in Luke’s 14th chapter, we find Jesus at a Pharisee’s house for dinner. Jesus never seems to be far from a party, and the theme of feasting ties this chapter together.
Furthermore, as Luke tells it, Jesus seems to be quite dedicated to insulting his hosts. When they catch Jesus healing on the Sabbath, they accuse him of sin. In return, he defends his actions and accuses them of hypocrisy — which does nothing to endear him to them. He then pours salt into their wounded pride by offering unsolicited advice about seeking the lowest seat at a banquet rather than the highest, and about inviting the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind — those who can never repay your kindness — for that kindness, Jesus says, is repaid in the resurrection!
All of this is in Luke’s chapter 14 and leads to where today’s Gospel picks up. The dinner Jesus attended, His healing on the Sabbath, His chastisement of the Pharisees for seeking places of honor, and finally, His command to invite the poor and not your friends to your parties, sets the stage for today’s parable of “The Great Supper".
The gist of this story is easy enough to understand. A nobleman sends out invitations, prepares a huge party, and then informs the invitees that it’s time to come. The response is underwhelming, to say the least. In fact, they stay away in droves, making lame excuses of all kinds.
Undeterred, the host will not have an empty house, so he instructs his servants to scour the streets for all the poor, lame, and blind. Of course, what this means is the uncouth, the smelly, and the drunks. You might think that’s quite enough, that the host has proven his largesse, but he is not finished, yet. The host, you see, is a great man and the house is a great mansion. Not satisfied with the scum of the local streets, he commands his servants to bring in those from even further away, from the highway and the hedges, the boulevards and the bushes and compel them to come. He wants every seat filled. Verse 23: “Go out into the roads and lanes, and compel people to come in, so that my house may be filled.” Why? So that none of the original invitees, even if an invitee changes his mind, will have a place.
Did you hear that word, “compel”? Does that word sound wrong? Uncomfortable? Like a word Jesus would never use?
To deal with that bothersome word, it may be helpful to interpret this parable metaphorically.
The host is, of course, God. The servants sent to invite are the prophets. The original invitees are the Jews whom God had chosen, but by rejecting Christ, they also rejected their seats at God’s banquet.
Lest you think that Jesus is being anti-Semitic with this allusion, he places Gentiles even lower on the scale because Gentiles (us?) are the poor, blind, and lame, not to mention other more nefarious folk.
The supper itself is the heavenly banquet so often referred to as an image of Eternal Life.
Given this metaphoric overview, let’s now look more closely at that word, “compel”.
Depicted here are two different kinds of invitations. One kind is like the first wave of invitations; invitees may refuse to come to the party, and the host allows that refusal to stand. The second kind countenances no refusal. In fact, there is an undertone of something more stern, kind of like when the Godfather "makes you an offer you can’t refuse".
The strange thing to me is that if the host is willing to compel the robbers and thieves to come to his party, it sure seems like he would be much better off compelling high society to come. At least they wouldn’t steal his silverware. If neither want to come, then what difference does it make whom he compels? Regardless of the man’s motivation, this issue of compulsion is both interesting and troubling.
However, if this parable is not to be interpreted as permission to force others to come to God, then what does this mean?
I believe "compel" points to the fact that no one — neither the rich and high society of the first wave of invitees nor the poor and homeless of the second — have any intention of coming to the party. Each of us has our own willfulness. We don’t want anyone dragging us to their idea of a party or enforcing their standards on us. We are that stiff-necked! And maybe because we sense what’s coming.
Note something with me: this party, while it opens as a come-as-you-are party, is not a stay-as-you-are party. To come to the party is to be changed. In the parallel passage from Matthew 22:2-14, one guest is found not to be wearing the prescribed wedding attire that the host supplied. He has not changed for the party and has not been changed by the party. His refusal to change is immovable! So he’s out on his ear to a place where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The Church certainly is expected to use all lawful and moral means to craft arguments that “compel” folks with emotional and intellectual integrity to come to God, but that’s not always enough. Some, in the end, will still stubbornly refuse. Some could pass through the pearly gates, stand at the foot of God’s throne, and still refuse what God offers.
Ultimately, though, I wonder if our response is really what matters . . . at least as far as salvation is concerned.
In salvation, God does the work. We are completely passive; we receive. Our salvation does not depend upon our work, or initiative or lack thereof, our response, our faith, or anything we do.
That’s what Elizabeth Ann Seaton, whom we honor this day, came to know and why she helped establish the Sisters of Charity. She was the American “Mother Teresa of Calcutta” of the early 19th century. When the mainline Protestant churches – much like Ebenezer Scrooge — were, on the topic of compassion to the poor, basically saying, “Are there no poor houses?” Mother Seaton was taking the poor in and building communities that not only “gave them a fish, but taught them to fish”.
God’s care and salvation are for all whom he can embrace . . . or all whom his servants can embrace on his behalf. God does his part. If we do our part, only those who obstinately refuse will miss the party.
And Jesus loves a good party. And wants us all to attend!
In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.