When Jesus Makes the Guest List
Join me in imagining for a moment….. I’ve been watching Gilded Age on HBO Max, and it sparked my curiosity in looking into the real history of the events in that show. Picture this…
New York City, 1883. Fifth Avenue glittered with new mansions, each one trying to outshine the next. But the sparkle was more than stone and chandeliers. It was about power and who belonged.
At the top of the heap was Caroline Astor, The Mrs. Astor. She decided who counted as “society.” If your name was on her list of 400 people, you were someone. If not, you were nobody.
And where was this power displayed most visibly? At the opera. The Academy of Music was not just a theatre; it was a throne room. Its U-shaped opera boxes were symbols of social standing. And only the oldest families had them. As one historian put it:
“Only the oldest and most prominent families owned seats
in the theatre’s exclusive boxes.”
(Source: History Today)
The Vanderbilts, despite being among the wealthiest families in America, were left out. Their fortune was too new. To Mrs. Astor, they did not belong.
So Alva Vanderbilt came up with a plan.
On March 26, 1883, she threw a party New York had never seen before, the famous Vanderbilt Costume Ball. Twelve hundred invitations went out. The New York Times reported:
“The scene presented one of fairy-like beauty, illuminated by thousands of lights, reflected by masses of flowers, and softened by silken draperies.”
(Source: New York Times, March 27, 1883)
Guests arrived in elaborate costumes, knights, queens, courtiers, dripping with jewels. One guest even came as an “Electric Light,” wearing a glowing dress powered by hidden batteries.
The house was lit with electricity, still a wonder of the age. The message was clear: ignore us if you dare.
And it worked. Mrs. Astor, who had refused even to acknowledge the Vanderbilts, relented. She had to, because her daughter wanted to attend. So she called on Alva Vanderbilt, and the wall began to crack.
But the Vanderbilts and their allies were not finished. Later that year, on October 22, 1883, the Metropolitan Opera House opened. Built by the “new money” families excluded from the Academy, it was grander, brighter, and more lavish than its rival.
One commentator quipped:
“The Temple of Wealth has been opened… formally dedicated to the worship and glorification of money.”
(Source: Vogue)
This was not just opera. This was war, the Opera War. Old money and new money sparred for honor, for recognition, for a seat at the table of society.
Now, imagine Jesus walking into that glittering scene.
He sees the jockeying for invitations, the anxiety over who belongs, the scramble for the best seats. He notices the careful curation of guest lists, the power struggles dressed up in velvet and lace.
And he says:
“When you are invited to a banquet, do not take the place of honor. Take the lowest place. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted. And when you give a banquet, do not invite your friends or your rich neighbors, in case they invite you in return. Invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you.”
(Luke 14:8–14)
Imagine the entire room, previously clapping, now the applause is disrupted. There’s a little confusion, but as he speaks, the mood flips.
The Kin(g)dom that Jesus is teaching about is not one where there is a social hierarchy. There are no different classes or “right sides of the tracks.” Jesus proposes one big house where all are family.
The Kin(g)dom that Jesus is inviting his followers to imagine doesn’t have anything to do with money, position, privilege, or earthly power; instead, it is built on grace alone.
And here is where the story stops being theirs and becomes ours.
Most of us do not move in circles of opera boxes or costume balls, but we do know something about guest lists. Not always the formal kind, but the unspoken ways we decide who is in and who is out.
Think about your week. Who do you see every day? The neighbor whose name you don’t know. The coworker who eats lunch alone. The barista who knows your coffee order. The family that waves from down the block but isn’t in the neighborhood group text.
It is not that we mean to exclude, but it is easy to shrink our circles to the familiar, the comfortable, the people who we trust can reciprocate in a friendship. Yet Jesus’ teaching reminds us that God’s kin(g)dom table is different. There is always room for one more.
We are invited to live in a different mindset of radical generosity, but with zero expectations. Imagine inviting the whole street over for your birthday dinner, and they never reciprocate. They never introduce you to their friends. They don’t even remember your name. Jesus says we should invite those people. The ones who do nothing for us.
Jesus’ message here isn’t about charity either. Yes, he lists examples that may draw us to those conclusions, but remember, this isn’t about money. This is about shifting our priorities away from worrying about earthly classes and social hierarchy. We are invited to instead, relentlessly focus on living in the radical generosity that Jesus lives and teaches through grace.
Notice, though, Jesus doesn’t say “Don’t have any banquets and give the money you would have spent to the poor.” We are still invited to celebrate with one another and enjoy each other’s company, but in a different mindset.
Jesus’ teaching here is an invitation to pull our thinking away from earthly powers and shift our focus onto eternal matters. Jesus is inviting us to live now, like we will in God’s kin(g)dom. This isn’t about charity, instead, about living in a way that is genuine, invitational and focused on God.
This week, text a photo or a word of encouragement to the parent who never signs up to help in your child’s classroom. Not because they’ll thank you or join the PTA, but because you want them to know they matter.
Go out of your way to finally introduce yourself to the neighbor whose name you should already know. Not because you expect to be invited over later, but because community starts with presence.
Sit with the person at work or school who usually eats alone. Not because they’ll become your best friend, but because Jesus teaches us to expand the table, not shrink it.
If you host a meal or a party, add one more chair for someone who can’t repay you, who may never invite you back. Celebrate anyway.
The Opera War may have reshaped New York society for a season, but the King(g)dom of God reshapes eternity. The feast of welcome, humility, and grace is forever. And the good news is this: there is a seat for you, but you’ll probably be seated next to someone you weren’t expecting to be there.
Reflection Questions
Who are the people you see every day but do not usually notice? Who are the people in your daily life that you pass by but rarely engage — at work, in your neighborhood, at the store?
Does this mean we are all supposed to be invited to Travis and Taylor’s wedding?
What invisible “guest list” do you carry in your mind that determines who is in and who is out?
What would it look like to practice radical generosity with zero expectation of return?
Who might God be nudging you to make room for at your table this week?
I regularly use AI to help edit and enhance my posts. This post was aided by AI for editing and helped with finding quotes and images to enhance the telling of this story. As always, the content and meaningful engagement with scripture is mine.
