Rivetti's Blog

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Proper 19 Year C Revised Common Lectionary

September 12, 2010

St. James’ Episcopal Church, Pullman WA

The Rev. Mary Beth Rivetti, Rector

Luke 15:1-10

Last month, archaeologists working in the lower Galilee published reports that they had discovered evidence of what they are calling the first feast, a funeral celebration for an elderly woman of 45, with an extravagant menu of barbecued tortoise and roast beef. The amount of food represented in the find could easily have fed 35 people, and for this reason the researchers conclude that this is evidence not just of some sumptuous party, but rather a communal meal with ritual significance. It’s hard to get more evidence on the matter, since the remains are around 12,000 years old. But it is still tantalizing to imagine that communal feasting can be traced back ten thousand years before Jesus walked through the Galilee; to know that at the moment that marked the transition from hunting and gathering to a more stable form of life, the community gathered in meaningful ways to mark important life transitions, to bind the people through common gestures, to invest their eating with more meaning than just replenishing bodies worn down through the very effort of survival.

Feasting is all around us this week. At the full moon last week began the Jewish New Year, and this weekend marks the transition from the crowning of the year with harvest offerings, to the reflective moment of Yom Kippur, the day of Atonement. In the Jewish calendar these ten days are the Days of Awe, marked with feasting and fasting, prayer, memory of those who have died, and the hope of finding our names in the book of life. This weekend, too, marks the end of the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, the sunrise to sunset fasting, marked each sunset with the end of the fast and joyous feasting. This weekend is the Eid al Fitr, the big feast that concludes the holy month. And because the Eid, a moveable feast like Easter, coincides with the sad reminder of the attacks of September 11, this year the Muslim community has adjusted its celebrations – to Friday night in some cases, and tonight in this community. We are invited to participate with our local Muslim community at a community feast at 5:30 this evening – you’ll find the details in the bulletin.

Feasting is at the heart of the stories that Jesus starts to tell in the stories we hear in today’s Gospel. “All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.’” Now a couple of weeks ago Jesus was the guest of a leading Pharisee – perhaps the sort of guest we worry might show up some day, telling everyone how to behave, conducting a very public healing in our midst, preaching to us all about hating our fathers and mothers and giving up our possessions. But today, it seems, it is Jesus who is doing the welcoming; it is Jesus who is the author of the feast.

And the stories are about celebration as well. But first someone or something has to be lost. A sheep wanders off from the fold, and the shepherd leaves all the other sheep alone and goes looking for it, rejoicing as he carries back the sheep that was lost. The woman scours her house looking for the lost coin, and when she finds it, she calls in all her friends to celebrate the lost coin. And if you look at these two stories, they call our attention to the joy over finding something that was lost. And in fact they call our attention to a type of joy that is probably excessive and unseemly. Todd Scranton, the pastor of Simpson United Methodist Church downtown, assures me that joy would not be a response he recalled from his father tracking down wandering sheep. Annoyance verging on murderous rage at making him leave the other sheep behind – that might be a more accurate shepherdly response. Or some shepherds might even just leave the lost sheep to its fate – since leaving behind 99 sheep could expose them to wolves or thieves.

The woman in the story – at first perhaps the most reasonable of the examples – does what any housewife worth her salt would do – she spends the better part of the day sweeping through the house to find that little coin, that drachma that is worth a day’s wages – no small loss if she doesn’t find it. But her party with the neighborhood might be a little over the top. How much does the party cost where she invites in all the neighbors to celebrate? Even she is perhaps excessively festive.

Then there’s the big story – the one we didn’t hear today, but if you read this part of Luke often enough, you know what’s coming. It’s a story we hear in Lent – but it’s the next part of Jesus’ dinner talk. A man had two sons, and the younger son asked for his inheritance …. We know this as the story of the Prodigal (or wasteful) Son – who goes off to seek his living, blows his inheritance, and winds up losing everything including his dignity before he decides to turn back home. His father, most undignified for a man of substance, goes running out to meet him, covers him with a robe and a ring and a big smooch, and throws a big party for him. And the older brother, the good kid, grumbles about the party. And this is what Jesus is really trying to say to those Pharisees and scribes who were grumbling and saying, “This man welcomes sinners and eats with them,” — my son was lost and he is now found. He was dead but is now alive. It’s not the son who is prodigal in this story, but the father – the one who throws the big party and slays the fatted calf – and maybe a few hundred barbecued tortoises for good measure. Because the point of the story is that there is joy in heaven over the return of one who was lost. Excessive joy. It is beyond decency. It is celestial. The angels get into the act. It’s downright apocalyptic.

Feasting at the heart of our stories and traditions of faith. At the heart of what makes us human. Feasting at the heart of our understanding of the bounteous love of God. Yesterday we gathered here for a Eucharist in memory of those whose lives were lost nine years ago in the terrorist attacks on this country; we gathered to remember those who have lost their lives in the wars we have fought since that day. We gathered in silent reflection over our sorrow at a world where human selfishness and greed and violence have dismantled creation, as we hear in the words of Jeremiah:

I looked on the earth, and lo, it was waste and void;

and to the heavens, and they had no light.

I looked on the mountains, and lo, they were quaking,

and all the hills moved to and fro.

I looked, and lo, there was no one at all,

and all the birds of the air had fled.

I looked, and lo, the fruitful land was a desert,

and all its cities were laid in ruins

But instead, in our sorrow, we heard the promise of feasting, the holy mountain of God where await us the rich food and the fine wine, the holy city of God where God will wipe away every tear. The tree of life at the center of the river of everlasting life, the Lamb in the center of the throne, the glorious company of apostles and saints and those we love but see no more, who gather with us each week right here, as we lift up our hands in thanksgiving and say, The Lord be with you.