This Sunday's lectionary reading was Luke 14:7-24, the one about Jesus telling guests at a wedding about how to choose where you sit, i.e., don't presume you are the most important person and immediately sit in the honored chair because someone more worthy may show up and you'll be asked to move.
It is a familiar text to many Christians. Probably not as familiar outside this circle.
Our pastor turned the familiar into something unexpected. He tied it to our church's mission to provide "radical hospitality." Paraphrasing, started by asking how many of us sit in the same pew each week. How would we feel if when we showed up someone was sitting in our spot?
I'm always late. I tend to sit on the Trenton side (the shorthand for the pews are the Trenton side, center and the Princeton side, easier than keeping track of left and right since is that facing the front or facing the back?), but it varies based on what is open. In the summer I like sitting next to an open window or near a fan. Or (ideally) both.
He then talked about our place outside of church. In the real world. How do we feel when someone takes over our role.
What are my roles?
When Ashley was in school, my role was to take pictures. This was in the days before most people had cameras on their cell phones. I almost always had a (separate) camera on me. I was willing to take pictures, and (more importantly) willing to share the pictures.
On my dig site, my role is to encourage the other diggers (make sure they stay hydrated, keep their spirits up) and clean up at the end. I come from a distance and never make it early, so my role would never be the one to set up. That's someone else's role.
When my parents entertain the family, it is my role to clean up so there is not as much left for my mom to do after we leave. I make sure the extra table is where it belongs, and that dishes are washed. I make sure dad has dessert.
We fall into these roles without thinking about it. It is part of our DNA.
How would I feel if someone took place?
When cell phone started to come with cameras, I felt redundant. Not needed.
At the dig site, we feel like a team. We look out for each other. We clean up together.
I often wish my sisters, and the menfolk would chip in with the clean up, but is that how I really feel or do I like hiding behind the sink?
Susanne and her family of five are lovely. Their English is amazing. It is easy to forget it is their second (or third) language. They are well-travelled and know how to be good guests. They all helped out. Often before I had a chance to wash a dish or put something away, her husband, Lars, or she was doing it. I must admit, it was a little jarring.
I felt a little bit like I was being replaced by Jacquie 2.0, a little more professional,
a little happier, definitely blonder, speaks multiple languages fluently, was able to keep working while raising three wonderful children (yes, the Danish social structure helps with that), and seemed to do everything better than me. She even travelled in an all-while outfit that was spotless after 22 hours of planes, trains, and airplanes. It is hard to not feel a little jealous. Thankfully she is also genuinely kind.
My rational mind reminded me I am not being replaced. After a few days in New York, they will return to Denmark. They won't be here at Thanksgiving and Christmas to wash dishes and keep my dad happy.
How will I feel the next time I encounter a Jacquie 2.0? Can we be friends or will we act as rivals? Is there room for another me or will I feel as if I am being replaced?
These are questions that are important to consider as our church family tries to connect with new people.
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