Places of Honour
Pentecost 12; Luke 14:1, 7-14
Jesus was invited to a sabbath meal
at the home of a leader of the Pharisees,
and he noted how some people chose
the places nearest their host
as though they were entitled
to be seen to be important
because of prestige or pedigree.
Then he told them a parable
that exposed the absurdity
of displays of superiority.
He turned the tables as it were
on their practices of honour and shame,
and suggested a counter-cultural banquet
where only the humble were invited,
those who were poor or disabled,
those who could not return the invitation.
I wonder how this parable
might apply to me, unwilling
to attend or to host a banquet,
and unsuited to climb ladders,
either physical or hierarchical.
Too easy though to cop out:
although I don’t aspire
to choose or to be assigned
institutional places of honour,
I have to admit that I love
to be out front in worship,
to deploy my performance skills
and my years of study and reflection,
to declaim the words of thanksgiving,
to consecrate and administer
the sacramental bread and wine
to those who gather at the table.
Do I not occupy a place of honour there?
Am I guilty of exalting myself?
I have observed some who do.
Is it sufficiently humble
to ask the hard questions?
Where is the fine line
between entitlement
and empowerment?
Are my gifts and presence
used in the service of the Spirit,
or co-opted for inflation of my ego
and manipulation of others?
If we were to hold a banquet
for the poor and marginalized,
would they feel patronized
by our display of generosity?
Is it possible to foster a meeting
of sharing and mutual respect
where all are genuinely humble,
willing to learn from each other?
I love that saying
that Christ in me
meets Christ in the other.
Perhaps the heavenly banquet
revolves around the host at centre,
the welcomer between and within,
and all are hosts and honoured guests.
Barbara Messner 28/08/2025
Barb, poet priest 
It would be so easy to ignore the ways in which you are wealthy (in talent, to name one), but you haven’t done that. You’ve brought this story home to your heart and soul, and my, what a brave and faithful thing that is. Thank you.
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Thank you. Reading your comment I feel heard and supported in the painful but revealing business of engaging personally with the gospel in some of the poems.
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I often think that the lectionary texts come around every three years because that is how long it takes me to forget how they put me in touch with my life. Thank you for your words today.
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Sometimes I’m tempted to stay with the poem of three years ago which was often at the level of social comment or the dilemmas of the Christian community. This year I seem to have to go more often into the personal, which I find often leaves me feeling vulnerable and exhausted. It’s encouraging to have poems and comments from you and Eric who are engaged in the same searching reflection and understand the struggle.
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I so admire your ability to reach deep into yourself, exposing that vulnerability. Some days I can do that and others I am filled with anger or despair about my country or tenderness for my failing dog and stay on the surface. Those days your words reach me so deeply.
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That anger and despair and that tenderness are so much part of you, but staying on the surface for a while is needed to ease the pain and enable you to go on. In retirement I find myself on the surface a lot, especially in escapist reading. The Scripture and poems sometimes drag me into the soul searching. Your poems and Eric’s encourage me to face that vulnerability. We are fellow pilgrims on that path.
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I am honored to be a fellow pilgrim with you.
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