Proverbs 25:6-7; Psalm 112; Hebrews 13L1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Our expectations can serve us, and they can also get us into trouble. When they serve us, they motivate us. They give us clarity about what we want, help us set goals, and keep us focused. Expectations reflect what we believe and value. When they grow out of positive beliefs, they help us persevere in hard times and set healthy boundaries that protect us.
When our expectations become burdens, they harm us. When reality doesn’t match what we expected, it can feel like failure—or even betrayal. Rigid expectations can lead to controlling behaviors that limit possibilities rather than allowing space for something new to emerge. And when expectations go unmet, they can strain relationships or place unrealistic pressure on ourselves and others.
I have a friend who learned this lesson the hard way when raising her two little girls. Every night was a battle at bedtime. Her daughters—kindergarten and second grade—were endlessly creative with excuses to stay up just a little longer: “I need a drink of water.” “One more story!” “There’s a monster under my bed.” “My pillow isn’t right.” And occasionally, the big philosophical, stalling question: “Why do people die?”
Finally, my friend decided to outsmart them. She pulled out the kitchen timer. Her new expectation was simple: when the first excuse came, she would set the timer, and when it rang, the girls had to be in bed—lights out, no more excuses. After a few days, everyone got the rhythm: when the timer started, bedtime was five minutes away.
The next week, feeling confident, she tried a new plan. Instead of waiting for the excuses, she set the timer right away—ten minutes before lights out—whether they complained or not. Pretty soon, bedtime was smooth and predictable.
But after a couple of months, she got a little sneaky. Without telling her girls, she began shortening the timer—nine minutes, eight, then six. By the time she got down to four minutes, the girls caught on. They checked the timer, and she was busted. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth that night as they demanded to know how long this scheme had been going on, how many minutes they had been cheated out of, and insisted on getting all their minutes back that very night. They stayed up past midnight.
What she hadn’t realized was that the girls had developed their own expectations. They had built internal clocks and, at first, trusted their mother when things felt a little off. But as the gap grew wider, trust began to erode. She couldn’t defend herself when she was caught, so sho lost the privilege of setting the timer. From that point on the girls set the timer to ensure they got their full ten minutes every night.
Sometimes our expectations get us into trouble when we impose them on others, as my friend discovered. Expectations can also serve us when we examine them honestly—as her daughters discovered.
Jesus grew up hearing the simple proverb we read today:
“Do not…stand in the place of the great; for it is better to be told, ‘Come up here,’ than to be put lower in the presence of a noble.” This helped him to define expectations.
At that Sabbath meal in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus noticed the dinner guests jockeying for the best seats, claiming the places of honor rather than waiting to be invited. Their expectations of themselves were high. And how humiliating it would be to miscalculate your place and be asked to move down!
But Jesus doesn’t stop with a warning against pride. He pushes further. He tells them: don’t just invite those who can return the favor. Make space for those who have no seat at the table—the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind. In other words: let your expectations be shaped not by social standing, but by the wideness of God’s welcome. The wideness of God’s love.
I grew up at St. Paul’s in Selma, and in the Upper Hall there’s an old diagram of the pews from the 1920s. It shows where families sat, because back then parishioners paid a “pew tax” as part of the building fund. Depending on the size of your family, you had a whole pew, two-thirds of one, half, or even just a third. To this day, you can still see the dividers in the pews.
As a child, I knew exactly which pews not to sit in—they were “owned” by families who had occupied them for decades though we no longer paid a pew tax. Visitors, however, did not. I remember one Sunday when a visiting family unknowingly sat down in the pew of one of the most prominent families in the parish. We all held our breath. The longtime family came in, stopped briefly when they saw strangers in “their” pew, and then—without a word—slipped into the pew behind them. It was one of the most gracious acts of hospitality I had ever seen in the church. At the Peace, they shook hands with the visitors, introduced them to others, and welcomed them at coffee hour. They never once mentioned the pew.
Imagine how embarrassing it would have been if they had asked the visitors to move—not just for that family, but for the whole congregation watching. Instead, they set aside rigid expectations and made space for newcomers. In doing so, they revealed the heart of the kingdom: a place where the stranger becomes a guest, and the guest becomes family.
We are blessed when we make space for others—especially for those on the edges. Many who walk through church doors carry all kinds of expectations: hopes for belonging, freedom from suffering, or simply the possibility of peace and joy. When we greet them with warmth—a smile, a handshake, a seat offered without judgment—we meet those deep human expectations in simple but profound ways. And in giving joy, we find joy ourselves.
It is easy to examine our expectations as to whether they offer hope and guidance or narrow our vision and create unnecessary suffering. It is more difficult to release them. My friend and her daughters discovered the importance of trust and flexibility—even with something as small as a kitchen timer. That family at St. Paul’s discovered the joy of welcome by releasing their claim to a pew. Jesus shows us that our expectations can either build up the kingdom or tear it down.
It doesn’t have to be a dinner party or bedtime or even church, our expectations about the world, about ourselves, about others can always inspire us when they are shaped by grace, humility, and the wideness of God’s love.
Amen.