CONSIDER THE FURNITURE
Author: Fr. Michael Byron
September 01, 2019
The
arrangement of the furniture in a room can be a powerful silent statement about
who is more important and who is less—at least in their own imagination. When I was a newly-ordained priest I was
serving in a parish not far from here. We had a permanent deacon on the staff—a very kind and generous man—with
whom I did not get along very well because we thought very differently about
things like ministry and liturgy. He
kind of drove me crazy that way—and I will own my role in that conflict. He died several years ago. He was aware of my unhappiness in working
with him, so one day he suggested that I come over to his house for coffee on a
Saturday morning just to have a conversation and be together in a neutral
space. I appreciated that, and I
went. After a pleasant meeting around
the kitchen table with his wife, he invited me downstairs to his home-office in
the basement, where we could discuss some of the issues that were bothering
me. It was a fine gesture.
So we came
to that room, and he took his seat behind this enormous desk—complete with his
name plate facing me (in case I’d forgotten his status as deacon) The best
analogy I can think of is that of Mary Tyler Moore seated in Lou Grant’s office
at WJM-TV. Visually there was no
question who was “in charge” and who was the supplicant begging for a
hearing. I don’t know if that was
deliberate that morning, but the effect was unmistakable. I clearly was there in that room on his
terms, in a position of relative weakness and vulnerability.
I’m happy to
report that we eventually became good friends before his death, but I think
that’s due in large part to the fact that I didn’t have to work with him anymore,
and he didn’t have to put up with me either. But I’ll never forget the effect of that big desk, and the arrangement
of the chairs.
The way we
put the room together discloses a lot about just who we think we are, relative
to everybody else in the place, —or at least who we desire to be. I have been very deliberate in my workplaces
throughout all of my ordained life to be sure that I am never talking to
somebody from the far side of a big desk. There is a powerful message that is communicated by that. But just think of all the other places where
the arrangement of seating speaks of power and importance. Think of a courtroom. Think of a congressional hearing. Think of a wedding reception. Think of a Cathedral church. Think of a corporate boardroom or a school
classroom. Space speaks loudly. And it isn’t just physical space…And in fact,
for most of us most of the time, it isn’t about physical space at all. Instead it’s about how we imagine ourselves
to be in relationship with the people we meet every day.
That’s
really what Jesus was getting at in his teaching in today’s gospel. He understood the human condition very well,
because he was very human—like us. He
knew the temptation of walking in to a room or out on the street and to
immediately begin to prioritize the importance of everybody else around
him—those who belong on center stage or on a raised platform, and those who
barely belong at all. And to be honest,
we all aspire to center stage—or at least to be recognized by those whom we
imagine already to be there. It’s the
sin of pride. And that is exactly the
opposite of what and who the gospel calls us to be. Exactly the opposite.
We are told
today that the one who aspires to be exalted will be humbled, and the one who
imagines him/herself to be little will be exalted. It’s a challenge to re-arrange the furniture
in our mind’s eye…to flatten out the space in the room, and to get rid of that
big pretentious desk that we believe keeps us important—which of course it
doesn’t. It only serves to deceive.
Humility is
not the same thing as humiliation. There
is nothing virtuous about hiding our God-given gifts and talents under bushel
baskets. There is nothing helpful in
withholding our gifts from the community, or in denying our talents. But true humility, as Jesus spoke of it, is
the refusal to think of ourselves as more beloved and more deserving of God’s
attention because of any accomplishment of ours. It just isn’t true. Because nothing of our own doing makes us
precious to God. We already are, in
exactly the same measure as every other person on earth, born or unborn, smart
or not-so-much, virtuous or sinful, popular or outcast, healthy or sick,
honored by others or scorned, influential or powerless. Here in church the floor is level, and the
furniture is not intended to separate, but instead to gather. May we be mindful of the ways that we imagine
ourselves amid the spaces of life.
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