When You’re Poor, Crippled, Blind, and Lame
Preached by Benjamin Vrbicek
November 22, 2020
Scripture Reading
Luke 14:12–24
12 He said also to the man who had invited him, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. 13 But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, 14 and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.”
15 When one of those who reclined at table with him heard these things, he said to him, “Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!”16 But he said to him, “A man once gave a great banquet and invited many.17 And at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ 18 But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it. Please have me excused.’ 19 And another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them. Please have me excused.’ 20 And another said, ‘I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’ 21 So the servant came and reported these things to his master. Then the master of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.’ 22 And the servant said, ‘Sir, what you commanded has been done, and still there is room.’ 23 And the master said to the servant, ‘Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. 24 For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet.’”
We’ll dismiss children in just a moment. First, I want to begin our sermon with a discussion. Where you are sitting, take two minutes to discuss what food you are most looking forward to eating at Thanksgiving. And it is okay to feel passionate about it.
If you didn’t say mashed sweet potatoes with toasted marshmallow and oatmeal cookie crust, then you were wrong. But Jesus loves you anyway. Our passage this morning is about a feast. And since a certain feast falls around the corner, I figured we should get our minds going that direction before we begin. Let’s pray. “Dear Heavenly Father . . .”
Christians believe Jesus was born, lived, died, rose, ascended to heaven, and sits on the throne of the universe where he reigns until he comes again. From that throne, he inspired a disciple named John to write the book we call Revelation, the revealing of the end. It’s a difficult book to read and interpret, but if you have read it, you might know that the book begins with a series of letters that the living Jesus wrote to seven different churches in seven ancient cities. The word of Christ to each of these churches was for those churches at that time, but as careful readers of the letters we should be able to find the same tendencies described in the letters in our own hearts and our own churches. And for all the difficulty we have interpreting the rest of the book of Revelation, these opening letters are relatively easy to understand—and that’s what makes them difficult.
As we begin, I want to read part of the letter to the church in Laodicea because it pertains to the topics we’ve been wrestling with in our sermon series for ten weeks and even specifically the topic before us this morning.
14 “To . . . the church in Laodicea write: These are the words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the ruler of God’s creation. 15 I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! 16 So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth. 17 You say, ‘I am rich; I have acquired wealth and do not need a thing.’ But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked. (Revelation 3:14–17)
The letter goes on where Jesus pictures himself standing outside the church, wanting to come in and feast with her (v. 20). It’s a sad picture. Jesus says this church sees itself as rich, having acquired great wealth and not needing a thing. “But,” Jesus adds, “you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.” The letter to the church of Laodicea was written to help her see herself the way she really is: needy.
You might say of our church, “We have a bustling parking lot, talented musicians, a growing number of church members, new converts to Christianity, a deepening maturity in the faith among many, outreach into new demographics, a strong savings account, and a bright future.” That all may be true; we have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving. But these blessings might cause us to forget that we too are needy.
For weeks we’ve been talking about the idols that exhaust us and the savior who won’t. We’ve preached about the love of the Savior for sinners who are weary and heavy-laden. We’ve preached about good news of gospel joy for the exhausted. We’ve talked about the amazing grace of God for the spiritually poor, crippled, blind, and lame. But the question for us this morning is do we actually see ourselves as needy. Yes, the amazing grace of God is for the needy; yes, the banquet of God is for the hungry. But are we needy and hungry or are we already full?
Our passage from Luke 14 is about a banquet and feasting. The religious leaders invited Jesus to a party, just like many of us will either invite others to a Thanksgiving dinner or be invited to a Thanksgiving dinner. Look with me at vv. 12–14.
12 He said also to the man who had invited him, “When you give a dinner or a banquet, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, lest they also invite you in return and you be repaid. 13 But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, 14 and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the just.”
Note that the passage begins, “He said also to the man who had invited him . . .” (v. 12). Think how awkward this would have been. Jesus didn’t pull his disciples aside for a “teachable moment” and speak in hushed tones with them. He, as we have seen week after week, poked issues in the open even when it hurts for the good of the listeners.
In college one summer I worked for Fellowship of Christian Athletes, an organization that holds Bible studies with student-athletes. On one slow afternoon late in the summer, I got a call from an incoming freshman to college. The conversation started fine, I guess. This young man had questions about the school and his Christian faith and how he might thrive at college as a Christian. Then he began to ask me about the fraternity system and what I thought about it, and if I was friends with any presidents of any fraternities. And then he started to ask about student government and if I knew anyone in that, like, say, the school president. “And what about student-athletes—do you know any of them, and would you be willing to connect me to them so I could call them and talk about coming to school there in the fall?” I told him that I did know a few student-athletes but that I didn’t know the student body president because the school had 26,000 students, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be connecting him to that person or any other person.
I suppose I could have been misreading the situation, or perhaps we could simply chalk it up to the fact that he was an eager freshman. Still, that phone call has always stood out to me as one of the most overt attempts I’ve experienced of being leapt over to get to someone else, someone presumably more important. If you’ve experienced this, you know how wrong it feels.
I don’t think Jesus’s words in this passage to not invite certain kinds of people for meals—like your friends or rich neighbors—means you can’t ever have anyone over to your house that is your friend. I don’t think it even means you can’t buy a meal for someone that you’re hoping will become a helpful connection for you in the future, whether socially, professionally, or relationally helpful. I don’t think it means you can never do that. I say that because what if you have a rich neighbor (who you’re not supposed to invite), but this rich neighbor is also blind which is someone that you are to invite), then what do you do? You can’t obey and not obey this at the same time. Also, what if you do reach out to people and they become friends. Do you say, “I’m sorry, but we can’t have dinner anymore?” Of course not. Jesus is not saying you can never invite someone better off than you over for a meal. But the risen Jesus is asking us if we ever invite for dinner those who are unable to repay us?
It would be easy to lay this on thick with Thanksgiving around the corner. Perhaps that makes this passage more timely. Maybe you’ve already had ideas about who you should invite and this passage confirms it. That’s great. But if you pressed me, I’d tell you that who we invite to a feast is actually not the main point of the passage. I think inviting people to receive favor when they can’t repay you is about reminding us of something we tend to forget. If we spend our lives giving to people who can’t pay us back, then we become continually reminded of what God does for us. Their culture of reciprocity, of pay back and favors and of owing one another, was causing them to be unable to hear the gospel. This is the main point, which comes out clearly in the next few verses. I’ll read v. 15 again.
15 When one of those who reclined at table with him heard these things, he said to him, “Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!”
All this talk of feasting and inviting guests and rewards and the kingdom of God caused one entitled guest to blurt out what he did: blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God. The expected response, we presume, would be raised glasses and something like “Hear, hear” or “Well said” or “Amen, brother.” Clearly the man assumes he will be at the eternal feast.
This reminds me of a sermon I once heard by one of my favorite preachers. I’ve only seen the video, but the sermon was to a youth gathering of some 5,000 students and leaders at a Christian conference. At one point in the sermon, this preacher began to get animated. He says something like, “Those who are truly converted by God will begin to live lives that honor God. And true Christians don’t want to look like the latest pop star but instead want to be conformed into the image of Christ.” And the audience started to get into it too. They applaud and clap and shout, “Amen.”
Do you know what the preacher says next? He calmly takes a step forward, points his finger, and says, “I don’t know why you’re clapping; I’m talking about you. I didn’t come here to get ‘Amens.’ I didn’t come here to be applauded. I’m talking about you.”[1]
In this passage, Jesus has just looked at the of host of a party who had invited all his rich friends because the host was hoping that all his friends would now have to repay him. And Jesus told the host that’s not the way you party. And in case this wasn’t clear, Jesus then tells as a story. Look again at vv. 16–24.
16 But he said to him, “A man once gave a great banquet and invited many. 17 And at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ 18 But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it. Please have me excused.’ 19 And another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them. Please have me excused.’ 20 And another said, ‘I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’ 21 So the servant came and reported these things to his master. Then the master of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.’ 22 And the servant said, ‘Sir, what you commanded has been done, and still there is room.’ 23 And the master said to the servant, ‘Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. 24 For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet.’”
You probably won’t be surprised to know that this was the last time in the gospels the religious leaders invited Jesus to a dinner party.
Let’s talk about the excuses in this parable. The excuses aren’t necessarily sinful in obvious ways but rather subtle ways. No one says to the host of the party, “I can’t come because I killed someone, and I have to hide the body.” No one says that. Their excuses are subtle. Each of the excuses also indicates a certain amount of wealth and privilege. No one is saying, “Thank you for the invitation, but your house is far away, and I can’t walk there, nor does the bus schedule let me get there and get home in time to work the third shift at the factory.” That would be a different kind of excuse. Instead, one guy has a large field to inspect, another has five yoke of oxen, and another just got married. A yoke described how farmers hitched oxen together. The wood and rope connecting system was called a yoke, which allowed the full force of two oxen to plow side by side. To have five oxen was like buying a huge farming combine, not some little tractor. If you have five oxen or a combine, you’ve got a big farm.
So what’s going on in these excuses? It’s like the letter to the church in Laodicea. They think they have everything they need, so why do they need to attend a party at some guy’s house. If I don’t need you, why would I hang out with you if you can help me? In a society where every meal, every interaction, every relationship was a way to climb a ladder, if you see yourself as above another, you don’t need someone else’s banquet. Who needs a banquet with feasting and friendship and joy if you already have these? But Jesus looks at those who think they don’t need him and says, “You say you are rich, having acquired great wealth and not needing a thing. But you do not realize that you are wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked.”
So, in the parable, the command goes out to bring in everyone who can be gathered. And when it seems like there is enough, the host says, “Go get more; there’s still more room.” So the messenger goes to the crannies of cities and then even out to what many interpreters believe is a reference to the Gentile territory of Israel to get more people at the party. The master wants a big party, so he sends his invitation throughout the world.
As that invitation goes throughout the world, do you wonder what it might sound like? What might an invitation from Jesus sound like? I think it might sound a lot like Jesus’s words in Matthew 11, our theme passage for the last ten weeks where Jesus says,
Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28–30)
Jesus says, “Come to me.” When we come to our Savior, we don’t come primarily to a doctrine or an abstract notion of truth but we come to a person. We come to the person of truth and grace.
You might think that the one who is Lord over heaven and earth, the one who rules all things, would say, “Come to me those who have their act together. Come to me, you who have manhours to give. Come to me, you who have achieved and overcome. Come to me because you can help me.” But that’s not who Jesus invites. He invites the helpless and the dependent. He invites the weary and heavy-laden. Think about that phrase. Weary denotes those engaged in difficult, exhausting work, likely speaking of a weariness that is self-inflicted; you’re tired because you are working hard. Heavy laden denotes those who have been put upon, whose who like a donkey have had their backs loaded down with weights they didn’t create, and they didn’t choose, but the burden is there. To both groups, Jesus says, “Come to me because I am gentle and lowly in heart.”
Your sin and your shame and your weakness and your idolatry are the very things he wants. You may think that when you have your act together—however you might envision a spiritually perfect life—that this is when you are most acceptable to Jesus, most invited to feast with him. But that’s not what Jesus says. Jesus bids you come before you are better, before you have fixed the problem, when your sin stinks like rotten garbage.
In the invitation of Jesus, he describes his yoke as easy and his burden as light. Imagine being yoked to a healthy ox. You’d be worked to death in an afternoon. Jesus invites us to be yoked to him, to have rope and wood harnessed between our neck and his, which, I think, is a provocative metaphor for faith. And Jesus calls that arrangement easy and light.
For all that has been preached here over the last few months and all that will ever be preached here in the future, what I really want you to know is that the love of Christ is for you—if you know you need him.
I’ll invite the music team back up as we pray, and we’ll go into a time of communion. . .
[1] To watch clips of this sermon by Paul Washer and get some of the helpful background information, check out this video by Tim Challies.
