From VIP to VIG: God’s Extravagant Party

Proper 25C / Ordinary 30C / Pentecost +20
Texts: Luke 18:9-14, Joel 2:23-32, Psalm 65

And He also told this parable to some people who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and viewed others with contempt: “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and was praying this to himself: ‘God, I thank You that I am not like other people: swindlers, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I pay tithes of all that I get.’ But the tax collector, standing some distance away, was even unwilling to lift up his eyes to heaven, but was beating his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, the sinner!’ I tell you, this man went to his house justified rather than the other; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but he who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Luke 18:9-14, NASB

Two men went up to the temple to pray: one a Pharisee, and the other a tax collector. One, a good moral person, a law abiding citizen, pillar of the community; a servant of God who keeps the church going with tithes and offerings and service, who reads the Bible, prays and fasts more than anyone. The other, an immoral person who engages in a dubious, unscrupulous profession; someone who conspires with unjust systems to extort the people, and then leverages their position to take more money for themselves. In other words, an outsider at the temple; someone who might scandalize others simply by being there (“what is he doing here?”). 

It’s no wonder then that the Pharisee has contempt for the tax collector, someone who obviously has no concern for the law or for God or the people, someone who is part of the problem of society today, here at the temple as if they care about worship. We might have felt the same way — though those listening to Jesus tell this story might have been surprised that even someone as good as a Pharisee might also have these unkind thoughts about other people. 

The Pharisee looks at the tax collector and feels contempt. He is glad he is not one of “those people.” The tax collector, knowing full well that he is not living according to God’s commandments, might not have expected to be received by God that day. He prays for mercy, and he is given that and then some: he goes home justified, made clear, wiped clean, no strings attached.

I wonder if you’ve ever had an experience of receiving more than you ever thought you would. A particular event stands out for me, when I was a young college student stranded in an airport.

Most of you know that I’m originally from Brazil and first came to the US as an international student. One year, I had a ticket home to Brazil for the summer, and my friends dropped me off at the airport in Knoxville. After I got there, my flight out of Knoxville was canceled. I went to the airline ticket counter to see if they could get me on another connection so I could still fly to Brazil that night. The man behind the counter told me that all the flights were full and there was no way I could fly to Brazil that night. Not only that, but the next flight he could put me on to Brazil was in two days.

It seemed like there was nothing I could do about it. Feeling defeated, I went to a local hotel that night. I was alone in Knoxville and very homesick, so early the next morning I packed my bags and went back to the airport to plead for some way to get home that night. Again, the airline representative told me there were simply no seats in the flight to Brazil, and I would have to wait until the following evening. I had no place to go, so I spent the day in the airport. In the afternoon, when there was a shift change, I went back to the ticket counter to plead again.

This time I was met by the same gentleman who had helped me the evening before, when my flight was canceled. I said, “I know you’ve told me there are no seats, and the employee this morning told me there are no seats, but would you please look again? I would really like to get home tonight.” He looked at me and started working on his database. Then he said, “There’s a seat,” and handed me a ticket to first class. 

If you’ve ever flown anywhere, especially overseas, you might have noticed that there’s a pretty big distinction between first class and coach. First class guests get seated first, have a lot more room and comfort, real silverware and a menu with better food and drinks. They have their own VIP clubs where they can relax before a flight. For me, a young college student who had not paid for first class, it was an unexpected, extravagant gift.

In the temple and in ancient Jewish life, there was also a distinction between the religion VIPs (“very important persons”) and the common people. The Pharisee, which by definition means “one set apart” or “separated one”, was considered very pure, second only to the priests and scribes. Way down the list would be someone like a tax collector, after observant Jews and non-observant Jews, and even after those who were unclean because of physical issues like being blind, because tax collectors were considered morally unclean. As far as impurity went, they were second only to dead bodies.

I wonder if that’s why the tax collector in this story stands afar as he prays. He doesn’t get very close, maybe because he feels he doesn’t belong there. While the Jewish purity system might seem strange to us, if we’re honest, we might recognize some ways that we also rank people into different distinctions, even in church. 

We might be able to think of some persons that we would identify as a VIP in the church, possibly for very good reasons: they show up regularly, contribute with service and with their tithes, they are faithful in prayer and Bible study, they are moral and upstanding citizens. These people probably feel like they belong here; this is a comforting and familiar place. And we may also be able to think about people who would be uncomfortable and who might feel like they don’t belong in a church.

Even if you’ve always felt like you belong in church, you probably know what it’s like to feel that you don’t belong somewhere. I know I felt that way when I was upgraded to first class that year. In fact, I was told so: I was standing in line for first class boarding when the man behind me tapped me on the shoulder. I don’t know what gave it away — the cheap backpack I was carrying, my age, my brown skin or my non-designer clothes — but something did because he said, “Excuse me, this is the first class line.” In other words, you don’t belong here.

Well, he was right; I didn’t have the means to be there. And yet he was wrong, because I had a first class ticket in my hand. And so the tax collector, who hadn’t earned his justification, who didn’t even offer a sacrifice that day or made any restitution, goes home with a justification ticket that was entirely a gift.

If you paid for a first class upgrade and then found out some college student got it for free, would that make you upset? Possibly. What if instead of a college kid trying to get home, it were an unscrupulous or otherwise undeserving person who got it?

Perhaps those of us who live conscientious lives have a hard time with unscrupulous people getting grace, because despite what we profess to believe about grace, we actually believe we have earned it.

This was the problem with the Pharisee in Jesus’ story. Everything he said was true: he was a good person, he did far more than what was expected of him. He is aware of his blessings. The problem is that he makes a false correlation about cause and effect and draws the wrong conclusion. He thinks his blessings are the result of his goodness, and that he is entitled to his justification. What he doesn’t understand is that his goodness is in itself a gift and that God’s favor or justification has nothing to do with his achievements.

This reminds me of another one of Jesus’ parable, the parable of the prodigal son. The story goes that after the younger brother squanders all of his father’s money and behaves in a terrible way, he is welcomed home with an extravagant party. The older brother is not happy. He basically says to his father, “I’ve been responsible all this time and you’ve never thrown a party for me!” And the father says, “son, all I have is yours.” In other words, you can have a party any time you like. You can have an extravagant party not because of what you have or haven’t done, but simply for being my son.

The word of the Lord to the prophet Joel displays some of the extravagance of God’s grace, after a period of desolation and repentance: “he has poured down for you abundant rain… the threshing floors shall be full of grain, the vats shall overflow with wine and oil… you shall eat in plenty and be satisfied.”

Not only is God’s grace extravagant, but it is indiscriminate: “I will pour out my spirit in all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female slaves, I will pour out my spirit” — young and old, male and female, free or slave. God’s extravagant grace is for everyone. He continues, “everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved” — not just the VIP chosen people, but everyone who calls on the name of the Lord. It’s a VIG party: Very Indiscriminate Grace.

What would it be like for us to expect to see God’s spirit and grace manifested in every person — regardless of gender, age or social status? What would it be like to know that God values us for who we are as God’s children, rather than what we do? What would it be like to understand that none of us can buy the VIP pass to grace, but all of us receive the VIG invitation to God’s extravagant party?

It’s possible to come to church and feel like you don’t belong here, whether or not other people think you do. It’s possible to think, “If they really knew who I am inside, they would know I don’t belong.” This VIG invitation is for you.

It’s possible to come to church and feel like you have done all the right things and yet have a yearning inside that says, “Where’s my extravagant party?” This VIG invitation is for you.

The invitation is to call on the name of the Lord; to make ourselves vulnerable and present ourselves before God, in all of our striving, and in all our sinfulness and need. 

The invitation says “come to the table; taste of God’s mercy and grace, God’s extravagant and abundant spread of love and grace.” 

It’s an invitation to joy rather than contempt; to community rather than divisions, to grace rather than appraisal. 

Come to the table; you belong here.