Pentecost 12C (Luke 14:1, 7-14)

​My understanding of professionalism is straightforward: anyone who is compensated for their work is, in essence, a professional. This broad definition expands who counts as a professional and, in turn, raises expectations for work ethic and responsibility. By this standard, I, too, am a professional at St. Agnes’. One of the key benefits of this transactional relationship is that it establishes a framework for quality assurance between both parties, fostering trust through clear expectations and accountability—there are real consequences if that trust is broken.

Yet, Jesus calls us to something beyond even the highest standards of professionalism. His invitation is not limited to fulfilling a contract or meeting ethical obligations. Instead, he asks us to do for others what can never be repaid—to act with a generosity that transcends any transactional exchange. This is a call to offer kindness, forgiveness, or love where no compensation is possible, to serve in ways that go beyond material reward or recognition.

What might this look like in practice? It could mean giving time and attention to someone in need, being graceful and gracious without expectation, serving with compassion simply because it is right—not because it will ever be acknowledged or returned. In this way, Jesus challenges us to move from the realm of the professional to the realm of the truly human, where grace, mercy, and love are given freely and without measure.

From the opening words of our Sunday Eucharist to the final dismissal, we rehearse this practice of generosity. We receive a divine generosity we can never repay, and our communal worship reminds us of this unearned gift. We are invited, like the guest in Herbert’s “Love (III),” to receive and to give without reservation or calculation, trusting that the table of God’s kingdom is set not by merit or repayment, but by the boundless generosity of Love itself. To serve in this spirit is to participate in a feast where all are welcome, and where the greatest honor is found in humble, self-giving love.

Love (III) by George Herbert

Love bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
                              Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
                             From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
                             If I lacked any thing.
 
A guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
                             Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
                             I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
                             Who made the eyes but I?
 
Truth Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
                             Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
                             My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
                             So I did sit and eat.

My friends, be the presence of this Love—taking the hand, smiling in welcome. Be the voice of this Love, inviting those in need, those overlooked or burdened, to sit and eat at God’s table. Be the breath of God for those who have lost their breath.