“No Ordinary INvitation”

Ash Wednesday

February 18, 2026

Luke 14:15-24

I can relate to the first invitees of the banquet in today’s parable. As an introvert, I tend to make plans and then look for reasons not to attend those same events. It all sounds really good on paper. It sounds like fun when I accept the invitation. But I’m a home-body. I like wearing sweats and sitting on the couch, reading. I don’t have a fundamental desire to go out and party.

At the same time, that’s an easy thing for me to say when I have people with me at home. Even if we’re all doing our own things and not interacting much, we’re together. If I were alone, I’d need to rely more on invitations and opportunities—I’d need more community. In fact, I really need community now. We all do. We all need invitations. We all need a sense of belonging.

I had the privilege of attending an event at the Roccoco Theater last night called ‘Ignite Lincoln’ in which several people from the community were asked to speak for 5 minutes about what it means to belong. It was fabulous. And I took notes, because I didn’t have a sermon yet. We heard about an immigrant who received an invitation to stay from an unexpected friend. We heard about the power of empathy, and about the influence of the words we tell ourselves. We heard about the need for intergenerational relationships and community built around shared passion. We heard about how AI has helped lonely seniors feel heard and what welcome can look like for people leaving prison.

Essentially, we heard about a banquet in which we are not asked to check our brokenness at the door. That’s the welcome—the invitation—Jesus offers in today’s parable.

But as I studied the story this week, I felt cynical. The landowner we hear about today starts out as the wealthy do—inviting his friends. Inviting his peers. Inviting the people who have similar wealth and status. That’s the societal norm. He’s currying favor so that he is then invited to their celebrations. It’s the way things are done. There’s no point in inviting the poor and disabled. They have nothing to offer.

It’s only when the invitees all decline the invitation that the landowner reconsiders. And it doesn’t feel like he’s doing it out of the goodness of his heart. It feels like something punitive. “You’re snubbing my invitation? Well, I’ll show you. I’ll invite the untouchables. That’ll show you just how much you mean to me.” It feels resentful, not gracious.

And then when the second invitations don’t fill his space, he sends out for more—not because of his generosity but because he wants the party to look good. He wants full tables to make the work worth it. To make his friends jealous.

We tend to equate God with the landowner or householder or king in Jesus’ parables. But Jesus doesn’t make that connection. He is telling this story while dining at the house of a Pharisee. Several things happen at this time. First, a man with a disability enters the space, and Jesus heals him—while the other guests look on in disgust.

Then guests begin vying for the best spots at the table, and Jesus reprimands them, suggesting that if they begin more humbly, they may be asked to move up. But if they start by aiming for the best seats, they may be asked to move down and be humiliated. And then he tells the host that rather than inviting the kind of guests who can pay him back, he should invite people who are poor, differently abled, and outcast. And in such an invitation, he will be blessed.

Someone overhears this conversation and states, “Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!” Which Jesus responds to with our parable. At the conclusion, Jesus’ landowner says, "Not one of those I had initially invited will taste a bite of my dinner." Again, it sounds spiteful.

I wonder if the landowner represents people like that Pharisee. When we begin to define who belongs based on what we might get out of the relationship, we act spiteful, resentful, and punitive. But as we see in so much Scripture, when we’re looking for God’s heart, we find it among the least—the poor, the imprisoned, the differently abled, the vulnerable.

I wonder if it’s less about God’s invitation to us and more about our invitation to God. Do we invite God into our daily lives out of resentment? Do we invite God, at all? Do we wish God were more like those of status and wealth who might give us a bit more if we treat them just right? Do we find ourselves disappointed when what we pray for and hope for and demand of God doesn’t work out the way we wanted? Do we rescind the invitation when we don’t like the response?

I guess what I’m asking today is this: does God belong in our lives? Jesus makes it quite clear throughout Scripture that God’s invitation to us is complete grace. We are the broken living along the highways and bi-ways. We are the lame and the poor. We are the vulnerable. And God doesn’t wait to invite us to the table until all the better options run dry. God invites us immediately. God wants us. We belong. We belong at the table. We belong in God’s kin-dom. We belong with one another—all messy and dirty and able to offer nothing but our hearts.

And it is from that grace that we can extend an invitation to others—in their mess and dirt and vulnerability. This is the beauty of God’s love on this Ash Wednesday. We are dust. God created us from the earth. And we all will return to the earth. We are not God. We have nothing to offer in order to barter our way into God’s heart. But we are invited to live and eat and participate in God’s love. Because that’s where we belong. Because God created us. Because God claims us. Because God takes joy in celebrating with us.

Amen.

So, as we ponder God’s invitation and what it means to belong, I invite you to take time to consider the question: Where do you feel welcome? Write it on the heart you received at the beginning of worship. If you’re worshiping online, put your answer in the chat or on our Facebook page. You’ll be invited to bring your heart up during communion to place it at the base of the trees. We are dirt. But from this dirt can grow such beauty.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE