Published With Thanksgiving

“When you’re invited to a celebration, don’t sit down in the place of honor; because, someone else may have been invited that’s more honored than you. The one who invited you will then have to come and tell you, “Do you mind moving and letting them sit here.” And you’ll be humiliated by having to sit in the back of the room” (Luke 14.8-9).

Funny Farm, starring Chevy Chase and Madolyn Smith Osborn was the last film directed by George Roy Hill (who directed Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Sting, and Period of Adjustment). And if the title doesn’t jump out at your or you’re having trouble remembering it, I should mention that it came out, 3 June 1998, on the same day as a little film called Big.

The movie is the familiar fish out of water story. Andy Farmer moves with his wife Elizabeth out of New York, leaving his job as a sports writer, to the little town of Redbud, Vermont. In peaceful, idyllic, rural America he plans to write his own Great American Novel. Things, as you may imagine, don’t go as planned.

In one scene, Andy takes Elizabeth out to dinner and to a small hotel, where he gives her a beautifully wrapped, thin, square box. It contains…not what she’s expecting given the setup. Inside the box are the first chapters of Andy’s novel, which he wants her—then and there, with him building the fire just a few feet away—to read. Her response to the first couple of pages is underwhelming. Andy and Elizabeth both find themselves with thwarted expectations that evening.

At fifteen, when I saw this movie, I’d already written some stories and poems that I, of course, thought were amazing. And I had been disappointed at my parent’s response to reading them. I may not have had three big laughs on the first page, but it was obvious my mom and dad were missing what I’d so expertly placed before them. The only consolation from those moments is that I learned not to watch anyone read what I’d written at a much earlier age than Andy did.

The last and first teachings of Jesus have stuck with me over the years. I think it’s their practicality, the applicability. Don’t sit down in the seat of importance. Don’t assume you’re the honored guest. It’s twice as humiliating.

But Jesus is talking about more than just us and our ego. As always, Jesus is pointing us back to our relationships both with him and with each other. Taking the best seat, acting like you’re the star of the evening, or thinking your book is a new classic is about more than you, it’s about the position in which it places someone else. It means causing someone to have to ask you to sit somewhere else.

None of this means that we shouldn’t share ourselves, intimately, with those we love. But it does mean that we have to be humble enough to accept ourselves as who we are, and that we aren’t always who we think we may be. Our humility has an effect on those we know and love, and can keep them from moments as difficult as Elizabeth experienced. And it may just keep you out of an argument.

And, maybe, don’t sit nearby while your spouse reads your work.

Jesus, help me to rest in your love for who I am and all that I am.