So, I don't know if you've ever seen a movie by Frederico Fellini. His films blended fantasy, baroque imagery, and a sort of earthiness that always kept you off-kilter and a bit uncomfortable, unsure whether you should be enjoying yourself or not.
When I was working at St. James in Knoxville, we had a Kroger grocery store within walking distance that we referred to as the Fellini Kroger. Now we've all be to fancy groceries and to not-so-fancy groceries. In Chattanooga, where I grew up, we called them the Steak-and-Cake groceries and the chitterling groceries. My family tended to frequent the chitterling grocery nearby because of the bargains and the two-for-one coupon days.
But, the Fellini Kroger was a different animal altogether. The people were freaks, clowns in the true sense of the word, weirdly and wildly dressed. Strangely reflecting back to us the strangeness of life on this planet. They were like Circq du Soleil rejects, hanging out in the corners of the parking lot, warming their hands over drum fires and drinking champagne. Playing the odd mandolin or violin, reciting poetry. At one time, there was a guy living in a tent who had a llama that would just stare you down with its llama eyes while gently chewing on a bale of hay.
I would occasionally find myself at the Fellini Kroger when I was in a hurry to get home. And it was in there that I met a large, loud woman named Darlene. My first experience of Darlene was in the beer aisle of the Kroger. We were both browsing the selection, and I put a box of Natty Lite's in my buggy. I was wearing my collar, and when Darlene saw me do that, she rushed up to me and wagged her finger at me and said, “Shame on you! A man of the cloth drinking beer!” I looked at her. Then I looked at my beer. Then I looked back at her and said, “Most people don't consider Natty Lite to be beer at all.” She reared back, and I was expecting a soul-scouring reprimand, but instead she laughed the deepest, loudest, most joyful laugh I believe I'd ever heard.
And then she followed me around for the rest of my trip in the Fellini Kroger, constantly holding forth on everything that crossed her mind. And that was a lot.
She then followed me out to the parking lot and to my car, and by that time I was getting a little annoyed. Then she invited me to dinner. Out of the blue: so come over and eat something. And she pointed to the end of the parking lot where the Fellini Freaks were all gathered.
I was not brave, so I declined. And I think she understood because she suddenly looked really sad. But she asked me if I would at least stay at my car until she got back, and she high-tailed it to an old, beat up mini-bus. Then she came running back, holding a piece of paper. She handed it to me and said she hoped I'd enjoy it. I said I was sure I would and shoved it in my pocket and drove off.
A couple of times I thought about turning back, going to see who these people were and what they were all about. But like I said, I'm not brave. So I went home and sat on the balcony.
I thought about those people, living a weird, fantastic, extraordinary life on the edge of my idea of civilization.
In our Gospel reading today, Jesus gives us the parable of the banquet. The idea of someone thinking he would do good by sitting in the place of honor and then being asked by the host to make room for someone more important than himself. I think we all have that fear of being humiliated by our own self-worth, and we kind of enjoy watching folks filled with hubris being brought low. So we try to convince ourselves that we are humble folk, always saying, “No, after you,” as we go through life.
But I think maybe Jesus isn't just giving us this lesson in humility. I think he's giving us a lesson in HUMANITY. We shouldn't sit in what we believe to be the seat of honor because that's not what honor is about. Honor, to Jesus, is recognizing the humanity – and spark of divinity – in ALL people. Wherever you sit at that great banquet, you are in a seat of honor, because you are seated by other Children of God, children that God loves – period. Period.
That's so hard for us nowadays with celebrities and the powerful telling us that power and wealth and status are the ways we measure honor. With gilded mansions with gilded fixtures, our name in lights, magazine covers and interviews, entourages and assistants. But that's not where Jesus sits.
As the author of Hebrews says, if you want to find Jesus at the banquet, it's simple: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it. Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured.”
If you want to find Jesus, go to the Fellini Kroger in your life: hospitals, nursing homes, and homeless shelters; park benches, underhangs, and bridges; fields, detention centers, and shadowy places. And share with them the news that they are welcome to the banquet. Share with them the most amazing meal they can have, a meal of love and compassion and understanding. Go there and share because the host of this banquet is generous, always generous, and the meal is never-ending, and the seating is truly honorable.
Later that night I was getting ready for bed and felt the paper, still wadded up in my pants. I took it out and looked it over. It was type written, like on an old typewriter. I realized then that Darlene was a poet. She had written:
We exist
Our voices may be small
But we exist
Our art might not be political
But we exist
We might not be controversial
But we exist
Our opinions might be ignored
But we exist
We are outsiders
Your friends
Your lovers
You're all connected
But not us
We are the unfamiliar
The unknown
The strangers in the crowd
No one sees us
But maybe you do