What a smorgasbord taught me about favoritism, humility, and a well-timed rebuke.

Last Tuesday was the annual CrossNet fundraising banquet—an event that draws the “who’s who” of Christian giving in our area. Held at Shady Maple Smorgasbord, it’s a wonderful night where local business leaders and representatives from dozens of churches gather to celebrate the incredible work CrossNet does—providing help and hope in Jesus’ name. It’s always sold out, and this year was no exception, with over 900 people crammed into the football field–sized banquet hall.

Now, if you’re not from the area and you’ve never been to Shady Maple, you’re missing out. The place basically has its own zip code—an immense restaurant facility with a 44,000-square-foot gift shop and an accompanying farm market. It lives up to its byline: Where food is a destination.

It’s the only facility in southeastern Pennsylvania that can handle an event of this size. And handle it, they did. The food was hot, fresh, and delicious. The servers were gracious and efficient, and the logistics were flawless. The staff was clearly prepared for this annual all-hands-on-deck event. To give you an idea of the scale, our table was number 94—and there were several rows beyond ours.

Even though our table had a high number, it didn’t take long before we were dismissed to make our way to one of the dozens of buffet lines. You could choose from salad bars, main course stations, and dessert bars scattered throughout the room. The main course buffets were tucked into alcoves along the walls.

The salad bar line was long, so Pam and I headed toward a main course alcove that looked like it was moving quickly. But as we approached the entrance, we encountered an elderly gentleman in a black server uniform, wearing food prep gloves and standing like a sentry at the gate. He was briskly directing people with the precision of an air traffic controller. With a firm, sweeping motion, he pointed me away from the buffet I had chosen and redirected me to a different line deeper in.

Now, I don’t know why, but that bothered me. The food station I had picked was completely empty, and the one he was sending me to had people in line. Something in me rose up in protest. I had already picked my line. I’d made my choice. Now here was this buffet czar messing with my plans. I internally grumbled and shuffled to the new line.

As I stood there, I couldn’t let it go. I glanced back. What’s this guy’s deal? Just let me pick my own mashed potatoes! My mind kept running with it—Poor guy’s probably supplementing his meager retirement income, trying to find some sense of control. Maybe he’s getting his identity out of directing buffet traffic.

Back at our table, I overheard Cliff and Gene talking.

  “Well, Marvin was really being proactive,” Cliff said.

  “Yeah,” Gene replied. “He sure knows what he’s doing. The guy’s got leadership skills.”

Wait—Marvin? Marvin Weaver? The founder of Shady Maple? The man who built this multi-million-dollar business from the ground up and serves thousands daily? The guy whose portrait hangs in the entryway to the grocery store I walk past every week? The man who employed both of my teenage kids when they were in high school?

I didn’t say anything, but my jaw just about hit the table. Here’s a guy who could’ve been sitting at the head table, shaking hands with donors—but instead, he was directing traffic at a buffet line to make sure the night went off without a hitch. I sat there, feeling about an inch tall.

Why did I assume he was just some retiree trying to scrape by? Why did I jump to the conclusion that he was a power-hungry employee on a buffet power trip? Here was a man who built an empire, yet was willing to serve right alongside his employees to make sure things went smoothly. I had COMPLETELY missed the mark.

I like to think of myself as someone who doesn’t play favorites—someone who tries to look past appearances and stereotypes to see people for who they truly are. I genuinely want to see others the way God does. But that night at the buffet, I faced the uncomfortable truth: I’m not as far along in becoming like Jesus as I thought.

James doesn’t mince words when he says, “My brothers and sisters, believers in our glorious Lord Jesus Christ must not show favoritism… Have you not discriminated among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts?” (James 2:1, 4). That stings a little. Because even though I wasn’t choosing seats of honor or shunning someone in shabby clothes, I was doing something just as subtle—measuring someone’s worth by the role they appeared to play, and assigning value based on assumptions instead of truth.

God calls His children to a higher standard. He calls us to resist favoritism and to see people not by their title, attire, or perceived importance—but as precious souls, uniquely created in His image.

The truth is, I need God’s help every day to lay down my internal scorecard and see others with eyes of mercy and humility.

I’ve got a long way to go in that department. But I’m grateful for the buffet line that night—and for the gracious rebuke it gave me. In today’s world, what a difference it would make if Christians stopped making snap judgments based on assumptions and truly saw people through the lens of God’s grace.

Lord, help me to drop my judgments and open my heart to see people the way You see them. Help me to recognize when I’m making assumptions and to extend grace instead of criticism. Teach me to value humility and service, just as You do. Amen.