So you think you're important, do you?

When he noticed how the guests picked the places of honour at the table, he told them this parable: “When someone invites you to a wedding feast, do not take the place of honour, for a person more distinguished than you may have been invited. If so, the host who invited both of you will come and say to you, ‘Give this person your seat.’ Then, humiliated, you will have to take the least important place. But when you are invited, take the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he will say to you, ‘Friend, move up to a better place.’ Then you will be honoured in the presence of all the other guests. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” Luke 14:7-11

I had a friend who described one of her favourite hobbies as “people-watching”. She found pleasure even on holiday in simply sitting and observing the people around her. She wasn’t being nosey; she just had a curious nature.

Usually when we think of Jesus we picture him right at the heart of things – standing to teach before a great crowd of people; or the focal point of a group witnessing a miracle of healing; supremely, of course, at the centre of a terrible death scene, nailed to a cross between two criminals. The centre of things – a fitting place for the one who is to be elevated as Lord of all creation.

But there were also times when he became a people-watcher.

Luke tells us that, attending a high society banquet, “he noticed how the guests picked the places of honour at the table”. I picture him sitting quietly to one side, with a slightly frowny smile on his face, while the guests jostled for the best places at the table. This is foolish, he says. What if someone more distinguished turns up, and you suffer the humiliation of being asked to take a lower place? Is that a risk worth taking?

I’m sure Jesus isn’t wanting to offer advice about the social etiquette of attending a party. No: there is a much bigger message here - about the dangers of pride, of status-seeking, of wanting to be top dog.

I watched a film once where the names of the actors came up at the start in a very strange way. One star’s name appeared first on the left of the empty screen, but halfway down from the top. When that name had faded, the next name appeared, this time on the right of the screen, but at the top. Very odd, I thought. I later learned that this arrangement was the result of hours of fierce negotiations between the representatives of the two stars, by which neither could claim to be the star.

It's easy to smile. But haven’t all of us sometimes felt “put out” because we weren’t given the kind of recognition or status we felt we were  entitled to?

Jesus’ lesson is told in the context of the Pharisees, who had the reputation of being the topmost dogs of all in the religious scene. But it can happen in almost any setting.

John the Baptist was a truly humble man, very happy to fade into insignificance once Jesus had appeared on the scene. But his disciples were rather different. One day they got involved in some kind of squabble about “ceremonial washing”, and took up the cudgels on behalf of their teacher: “Rabbi, that man who was with you on the other side of the Jordan – the one you testified about – look, he is baptising, and everyone is going to him…” (John 3:26). As if to say: This must stop! Master, you were on the scene first – it’s quite wrong that this Jesus should be stealing the limelight.

And John – bless him! – puts them right, and silences them with the final, perfect word on this subject: “He must become greater; I must become less” (John 3:30). Can you imagine a better motto for any follower of Jesus? Is it your motto? Is it mine?

Jesus’ own disciples were no better. Luke tells us that “an argument started among the disciples as to which of them would be the greatest” (Luke 9:46). How petty! How pathetic!

Jesus responds to this not simply with words, but by setting a child in the middle of the group (I wonder if that child remembered this event into adulthood?) and telling them that “it is the one who is least among you all who is the greatest” (verse 48). In the kingdom of God there is, quite simply, no room for status-seeking or ego-trips.

This doesn’t mean that a Christian should never be ambitious; there’s nothing wrong with aiming to be the best we can be in our secular employment, our parenting, our leisure and sporting pursuits, or our use of the many gifts and talents God has put within us. But simply that this success must never be in pursuit of personal self-esteem or the desire for praise.

Nor, of course, is there any room for false humility, a crawling, put-on, Uriah Heep type of lowliness which makes people’s toes curl. No: just a Christlike humility which is content not to be noticed or recognised if that is what’s called for.

One of the greatest things ever written about Jesus is that he “made himself nothing” (literally he “emptied himself”: Philippians 2:7).

The plain fact is that it is by becoming nothing that we become something. That is the way of fulfilment, peace and joy. And there is no other.

Lord Jesus, please drain out of my soul every hint of self-importance and self-love, and to you be all the glory. Amen.