The situation Jesus describes in the gospel some will hear this weekend —master inviting servants to eat–sounds like a preposterous reversal until we consider the times it’s actually happened. The roles we expect are of course, servant donning apron and serving food and drink, then eating after the master is finished. But what about the times that doesn’t happen?
In Jesus’s life, guess who’s first to see the water-turned-wine at Cana? Big hint: it’s not the clueless steward, the bride or groom, but the folks who lug the heavy jars. He continues to set the example at the last supper, removing his outer garment (symbol of public self, “official” role), tying a towel around himself and washing the feet of his friends. Bear in mind, these are gnarly feet that have walked long miles in sandals on dusty, rocky roads. And in that culture, the grubby job of foot-washing was the work of women and slaves.
Or consider the work most parents do without giving it much thought. Does the Ph.D., M.D., attorney or other highly educated person let that stand in the way of diapering, burping, or bathing her child? Does the healthy CEO call the butler to pick up the toddler who’s fallen off a trike? Or does he simply get on with bandaging the scrapes and wiping the tears on his monogrammed, designer shirt sleeve?
A recent film, the Finale of “Downton Abbey” shows a community raised in a strict hierarchy of dominant/subservient relationships. Upstairs and downstairs were clearly delineated; the servants watched the board of ringing bells to see where to bring tea or help dress the nobility for a formal dinner. But those lines began to dissolve in earlier episodes when Sybil, youngest daughter of Earl and Lady Grantham, married their chauffeur. (The shock waves throughout the family and society were palpable.) World War I further eroded class distinctions, when the aristocrat might crouch alongside his valet in the trenches, and mustard gas or cannon didn’t distinguish social class. At Downton, Lord Grantham is personally close to his valet, Bates—they’d served in the Boer War together, and as the Crowleys are about to leave their estate, the two men reminisce like old friends about their youth. So too, his daughter Lady Mary is probably closer to Anna, her maid, than to her sisters or her friends.
In a lovely scene at the end, Mary remembers a special holiday ball when the cook danced with the Lord, the Lady danced with the butler, and the parlor maid danced with the heir apparent. Fiction bordering on soap opera? Maybe. Or a vision of a kingdom where the impossible becomes real; a mulberry tree could uproot and be planted in the sea? Today when the wealthy possess prodigious power and the rights of “lower” classes are trampled upon, Jesus points to another order. “Have faith,” he seems to say. “God doesn’t parcel out infinite love by social ranking. The apparently insurmountable ladder you see now may, as Merton says, be built against the wrong wall–and it won’t last forever. Reversals can surprise, establishments can crumble, boundaries can be breached, and human relationships don’t always stick to a strict hierarchy. You got one identity that matters here, and it comes with no distinguished titles, awards or epaulets. Servant or master—you’re one with God—can’t top that.”
Kathy Coffey 