Pentecost 12, Proper 17C
In the name of God, the giver of
every good gift. Amen.
Though I’ve lived in the
northeast, mostly in New Jersey, for fifteen years now, there will always be a
degree to which I am and will forever remain a kid from Louisiana in the midst
of a cross-cultural immersion experience.
One of the cross-cultural
realities I’ve only noticed in just the last few years, since Michael and I
met, is the idea of wanting to know details about one’s ethnic and cultural
background soon after meeting them. One
of the early conversation starters that people in this part of the world tend
to talk about when they first get to know one another is something along the
lines of “where are your people from?”.
Are you Italian, or Portuguese, or English, or German, or whatever else?
This is outside my cultural
experience, because where I grew up we didn’t ask those questions. Not because we were too polite, but just
because it wasn’t a concern. And, of
course, that’s not the result of some moral superiority. In the South we didn’t ask those questions,
because nation- or culture-of-origin was generally seen as unimportant. The primary issue for Southerners was race –
and a very limited view of race, at that.
We thought in terms of black and white.
But here, in the northeast, race
and culture and ethnicity are far more than “black and white”. There are seemingly countless divisions and
understandings of human groupings. Of
course, with my time in New Jersey and New York, a big segment of the culture
that I’ve been exposed to has been among people of Italian heritage, and I
thought of some of that learning about Italian heritage this week when I read
this story of Jesus at the dinner party on the Sabbath.
I first learned about this
cultural quirk from watching the Sopranos, but for many Italians I’ve met, I’ve
learned that there is some truth behind it.
It’s the tradition of “The Book”.
Perhaps you’ve heard of it – “The Book”.
It’s a record that some people keep – from my understanding and
experience, particularly in Italian families – that records gift giving. Sometimes it is a literal book – a list in a
notebook. And sometimes it’s more of a
series of recollections by the leaders of the household. It records what gifts members of the family
receive at significant occasions – baptism, confirmation, graduation, weddings,
and so on. The idea is that gifts are
recorded so you’ll know how to give in return when the former giver has an
occasion to become a recipient.
Or, as Tony Soprano so gracefully
stated it to his daughter Meadow one time, “It’s so we’ll know when you get
married if they stiffed us.”
It’s all about quid pro quo – tit for tat. You give what you get and you get what you
give.
It’s sort of funny to hear this
cultural phenomenon coming out of a culture that is so closely defined by the
Roman Catholic Church and the Christian faith.
Throughout his life and ministry, Jesus advocates keeping track of who
is able and who isn’t able to give the big rewards in life, but it’s never so
you can give someone their just desserts.
It’s never about making someone gets only what they’ve earned. In Jesus’ mind, it’s always about giving the
most to those with the least. About
rewarding those who need it the most, not those who’ve already given the most.
“When you give a luncheon or a
dinner,” he says, “do not invite your friends or your brothers or your
relatives or your rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and
you would be repaid. But when you give a
banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot
repay you…”
That’s how Jesus keeps “The Book”.
In a world where suffering and
blessings seem to be handed out so haphazardly and with such little order and
logic, it can be sort of comforting to imagine that God is keeping score in a
different way. The fact is, in
comparison to the grace of God, all of us are poor. All of us are unable to give as good as we’ve
already gotten. It’s only because that
grace flows so freely that we can rest assured that God’s love will continue to
flow to and through us.
The lesson of Jesus is that the
point is never about our own honor. Our honor – the honor that we claim for
ourselves as we clamor for the best seats and the best rewards – is nothing
compared to honor bestowed upon us as children of a loving God.
And so, as recipients of that
honor – as the ones the book shows as having received so much more than we
could have given in return – it’s our responsibility to spread that honor
around. It’s our responsibility to look
out for the least and lost – the one’s most likely to be forgotten in this
world. They’ve not been forgotten by
God, and they shouldn’t be forgotten by us.
That’s why we collect food and
money for the hungry, and diapers for the mothers who are struggling to make
ends meet, and scarves for lonely and freezing seafarers, and blankets for sick
children. Not to claim our own honor –
not to feel good about ourselves. But to
share the blessings of God with those who need tangible reminders that they’re
worthy, too.
God has given more honor than
we’ve earned. We can never repay the
blessings that come from being a member of this household. All we can do is share the good news of God’s
love to everyone who will hear. Amen.
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