Pentecost 22, 10/12/2008

Sermon on Matthew 22:1-14, by James V. Stockton

Once more Jesus spoke to the people in parables, saying: "The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying, `Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.' But they made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while the rest seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them. The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, `The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.' Those slaves went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests. But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, `Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?' And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, `Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.' For many are called, but few are chosen."

In the life of the parish we are provided reminders of the blessing it is to have a place in the fellowship of God's people. We have celebrated the lives of those saints among us, persons dear to us and bright in spirit, persons strong and quiet, confident in faith. In this world and in the world to come, they have shared the same Faith, the same Lord, and the same parish community. At the same time, they are person whose uniqueness unto themselves respectively, and whose differences from one another, exemplify the width and depth of variety that comprise the family of Faith, the community of all God's people.

Some of you heard the story before; it's set in Europe during World War 2. A soldier has died in battle, and two of his friends in arms want very much to provide him a decent burial. At a village nearby they find a cemetery. It happens, though, that the cemetery is attached to a church of a particular denomination, but the fallen soldier was a member of another. The two friends ask permission of the priest/minister/pastor to bury their friend. But the clergy person replies, "I'm sorry, fellows, but since your friend was not one of ours, he simply doesn't belong in this cemetery." The minister sees their disappointment on their faces. "I'll tell what you can do, "he says. "You can bury your friend right here," and he shows them a grassy space just beyond the graveyard. "See?" he says, "It's just outside the fence." With no other option, the two friends accept the pastor's offer. And they vow to one another and to the priest that they will return; that their friend will not be forgotten or alone.

Forgotten and alone: it's what the people of God are feeling when the prophet Isaiah writes. The people of God, captives of more powerful nations around them, are feeling forgotten of God. Unwilling strangers in a strange land, they feel quite alone. And knowing this, the prophet seeks to bring to his people a word of hope, of truth, of promise. And a word that recalls them to the vocation to which God first summoned them long, long ago. It's a reminder that when God told their ancestor Abraham "I will make of you a great nation,..." that this was not for their sake alone, but that God also said to Abraham, "...and by you all the families of the earth shall bless themselves." Is it possible that the people have lost memory of their call and have thus become lost along their way, and become confused about who they are, who they are meant to be, what they are to do, and to whom they are to turn for guidance and for strength?

Is this why the prophet Isaiah now reminds them that if they have forgotten, yet God has not? Prophetically, Isaiah bids the people to sing with him in praise of how God has always been a refuge to the poor, and the needy in their distress." Even if they have somehow forgotten their way with God, God has not forgotten them. And God has not forgotten, and will not let His people forget, that deliverance from all wrong, all evil, from all suffering, death, and dying, is an offer God makes to destroy this shroud from above not some, but all people; and that His promise is a feast prepared in the halls of heaven not for some, but for all. To a people suffering enslavement, to a people hungry in body and soul, what more meaningful way to speak of both the call and the promise that first made them a people long, long ago?

But people do forget, don't they? I read where a television producer for Steve Allen was trying to recall a famous poem by James Joyce. He tries, and tries to remember the name, finally very frustrated, he cries out, "You know, you know! "‘Only ‘Whatsisname' can make a tree!'"

In the Gospel reading for today, we hear from Jesus the final of a series of three parables; and it seems that maybe he is wondering if the very people who should have the very best memory, have in fact forgotten. From their vantage as new leaders in the infant Church, remembering Jesus telling these parables, perhaps the disciples are wondering if they themselves are in danger of forgetting, as well.

The first parable told of two sons and their father. Both sons lie to their father, but only one fails ultimately to do as the father asks, while the other obeys. The second parable told of the owner of a vineyard who hires people to work there, and then dares to pay them the wage they'd all agreed on, though some thought they were more deserving than others. Finally, what seems the harshest of the three. The third parable tells of a King and his wedding feast for his son. Jesus tells this story in a time and place in which marriages are arranged by parents for their children years in advance. Those who will be guests at the celebration have an invitation of long-standing, and are watching as the children grow older, eventually realizing the day is at hand. So, when the king sends out his notices, ‘Come to the feast!' this is no unexpected surprise, but, ideally, a long- anticipated joy. When the guests decline the invitation, then, it's no small matter, but a clear insult to both the father, the son, and the bride.

After all, what is it that keeps them away? For some, it is simply that the invitation has become stale and irrelevant, there are newer attractions to excite their interest. Some have given themselves over to the busyness of their labor having made of work an end in itself, instead of a means to enable them to celebrate the more meaningful aspects of life. For some, their wish to conduct more business, the desire to accumulate more money, and acquire more things has left them no longer capable of appreciating life's more enduring gifts and their relationship with the giver.

And the consequences are devastating. And if this seems harsh, it is because Jesus is speaking to his harshest critics, the chief priests in the Temple, the elders of the family clans, and the Pharisees. It is because all of these are in positions where they could most readily know and where they most need to know that the father in the parable, the owner of the vineyard, and the king, are God Himself, calling them and all His people to obedience, to humble and rewarding service, and finally to the celebration of the marriage of His Son to the lives of all His people.

And I think Jesus wonders, and I think the disciples wonder as they remember, will people continue to cut themselves off from God? And in so doing, will they continue to cut off others from God's call and promise?

When the two soldiers laid their friend to rest they vowed that they'd remember him and would come back. And so it's but a couple weeks later, and they return to the little village. They find the cemetery easily enough, but, as they search and search all around the grounds, they cannot find the grave of their friend. Finally, the minister/priest/pastor sees them and comes running. They plead with him, "Where's our friend's grave?" "Everything's all right, fellows," he tells them. "Your friend is in here." They follow the pastor as he leads them through a gate, and inside the cemetery, to the grave of their friend. "You remember," the priest begins, "the day we buried your friend." They nod, still confused. "That night," the minister continues, "I kept thinking about him, and I couldn't sleep; so I got up, and I came out here, and I moved the fence."

As we remember that he did so, so long ago, we remember that Jesus calls his people still today, to move outward, beyond ourselves, you and me, beyond our fences, over our barriers, and past our differences into the wide and deep variety of souls that comprise the family of all God's people. As we remember that Jesus called the people of his day, let us hear his call to us still today to look around us, and notice what fences between us God has moved aside to bring us together: bright and lively, strong and quiet, older, younger, richer, poorer, women, men, children, black, brown, red, yellow, and white, gay and straight, all the fences that the Son of God continues helping us to move further outward; helping us to help others move outward, beyond their boredom, their busyness, or their constant bid for more, to help them move what fences they have erected; and to hear, perhaps again, the call and promise of God, and enter into God's celebration with us, of the blessing of our place together in the fellowship of all God's people.

Amen.

The Rev. James V. Stockton
Episcopal Church of the Resurrection
Austin, Texas

E-Mail: jstockton@sbcglobal.net

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