Who Gets the Best Seat? Not You, Apparently
Today I spent some time with Luke 14, and one section in particular caught my attention. Jesus is at a dinner, watching guests choose the best seats at the table. He tells them, “When you are invited to a wedding feast, don’t sit in the seat of honor. What if someone who is more distinguished than you has also been invited? The host will come and say, ‘Give this person your seat.’ … Instead, take the lowest place at the foot of the table” (Luke 14:8–10, NLT). Then he adds, “For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted” (Luke 14:11, NLT).
Status Games and Seat Assignments
This advice is practical, almost like social etiquette, but it also seems to challenge the way people usually think about status. In most cultures, there’s a tendency to want recognition—whether at a table, at work, or even online. We want our place to be visible and respected. Yet here the suggestion is to step back, to not assume the position of honor, and to let recognition come, if at all, from others.
I wonder how this applies outside of a literal dinner setting. In professional life, there’s often an expectation to advocate for oneself—to take the seat of honor, so to speak. If you don’t, you risk being overlooked. But there’s also something appealing in the idea of not needing to prove your worth constantly. What would it look like to live in a way that isn’t centered on being noticed, but instead on being present and contributing without concern for status?
Who’s on the Guest List?
The passage doesn’t stop there. Jesus also tells the host, “When you put on a luncheon or a banquet, don’t invite your friends, brothers, relatives, and rich neighbors. For they will invite you back, and that will be your only reward. Instead, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. Then at the resurrection of the righteous, God will reward you for inviting those who could not repay you” (Luke 14:12–14, NLT).
That second part pushes the idea even further. It’s not only about humility in where you sit but generosity in who you welcome. The natural human instinct is reciprocity—I’ll do for you because you can do for me. This instruction flips that around, suggesting a kind of giving that expects nothing in return.
The RSVP We Didn’t Expect
It makes me think about the systems we live in, where so much runs on exchanges and favors. Even kindness can sometimes come with an unspoken expectation: if I invite you now, you’ll invite me later. But here, the picture is of an open table where the people most often excluded are not just allowed in but placed at the center.
Both parts of the passage—taking the lower seat and inviting those who cannot repay—seem to point toward a way of living that resists the pull of self-promotion and transactional relationships. It’s a difficult challenge, since so many areas of life are structured around advancement and exchange. Yet the image of a table where honor isn’t grasped and generosity isn’t calculated feels worth considering.