17. Sunday after Pentecost, 10/09/2011

Sermon on Matthew 22:1-14, by David Zersen

Perhaps it's because this parable floats around in the back of my mind, encouraging me to think about different practical possibilities, but I've often wondered what we would do if we spent the whole day (or even more) preparing for a dinner party with invited guests and nobody showed. We would probably begin by asking ourselves if we had the right day. Then, after checking the calendar we might call some people and ask if they were coming. If we got a few responses that said, "Sorry, we can't make it," we'd begin to get angry. If we got really angry over the lack of politeness and decency, I don't that we'd go out and burn the guests' houses down. I have, however, thought that if it happened that people wouldn't show, maybe we could go ask neighbors at the last minute (maybe even someone with whom we hadn't been particularly friendly) if they wanted to join us for dinner. When they discovered that this was in fact a mighty fine spread, they might wonder about the extravagance of the meal. And we might have to confess, that it was never intended for them at all.

All that comes to mind when I reflect on the parable of the Wedding Feast. Jesus' parables are wonderful stories and this one really gets us thinking. One thing we need to remember about the parables is that they basically have a single point and there aren't a lot of hidden meanings in the details. I've read some explanations of this parable that have it addressing Jesus' crucifixion and the Last Judgment and lots of other things. However, I think this parable is simply dealing with attitudes, God's own attitude toward us, and ours toward him.

And the rather extreme language about destroying the murderers and burning the city as well as throwing someone into outer darkness is simply a good example of Jesus' fondness for hyperbole, a means of exaggeration to make a point.

On the one hand, there is a generous offer being given by the king who represents God himself. A feast is being prepared and the generosity is so great that invitations are given three times. The first time, people reject the offer. The second time, the king explains that a lot of work has gone into preparing this feast and everything is ready. But all are too busy and find excuses, some involving business and some agriculture.

Then the hyperbole sets in and those invited kill the messengers (a phrase that has metaphorical value in our language) and the king sends the army and destroys the murders and burns their city. That certainly makes it exciting, and the listeners surely pay attention to what may follow.

What follows is an invitation to anyone who wants to come (the highways and the bi-ways has also become metaphorical for us) so that the reception is packed. This much at least we understand, although it would be good to know the background for this social setting.

In the Palestine of Jesus' day, it was commonplace to extend the invitations long before the event not only to assure the numbers who would be present, but because the celebration could last for days and those coming had to make arrangements as well. Clearly it was impolite to ignore the invitation once you had already committed to come.

In Jesus' preaching and teaching, invitations to the kingdom of heaven were regularly being extended. Crowds gathered, people showed interest, but lives did not change. In our parlance, we might say, numbers were up, spirituality was in vogue, but sincerity and ethical practice were down.

I experienced a modern example of this last week. I was sitting in the chapel office in the Dresden, Germany, airport, talking to a volunteer about the people who stopped by to visit in the chapel. "In many cases," she said, "people come because they're curious. They have no Christian background (largely because of 50 years under atheistic Communism), they don't know anything about the Biblical stories (ergo), but they wonder what it's all about. So they stay for evening prayer and experience the invitation to visit a local church when they return home. They may choose to do this, but back in their city, they may not follow through."

Jesus' hyperbole also comes through in a modern way. The woman said that her daughter married a man who had grown up in the secular, even atheist environment of the German Democratic Republic. When he visited his mother-in-law's home for the first time, he saw a cross on the wall. He expressed a fanatic fear: "You're not a member of the church?" he raged. "Are you one of those?" His background had given him such a negative and fearful image of Christianity that he thought his new mother-in-law must be in some kind of crazy sect. The "invitation" that the cross on the wall extended was so intimidating that he was ready, speaking hyperbolically, to burn her house down.

There is something very contemporary in such a story as well about this text today. Many people in our increasingly secular world react to Christian invitations with great suspicion or with antagonism. When a friend or relative invites people to church, they may respond positively, but never return the second time. In conversations that lead to religious matters, secularized people prefer to change the subject. Bumper stickers and Christian slogans that encourage one to consider the claims of Jesus are snickered at because, it is assumed, that those using them are probably fanatics of one kind or another.

It is interesting to me that all too many of those who have rejected the gracious invitation extended by the Christian community to hear God's call to love and forgiveness feel that they themselves have been excluded for one reason or another. Although the summons in this parable is ultimately to "anyone you find," the Christian community historically has found a passage here and there in Scripture which allows them to exclude different races, roles for women, people with minority sexual orientations, or individuals with scientific views that disallow literal interpretations of biblical stories about origins. So, many cults, sects and denominations develop not because there is not general agreement about the church's historic creeds, but rather because there is no consensus about details which the larger invitation to love could well embrace.

Thus, when the invitation comes to share in the community's celebration of God's extravagant kindness, the rejection is not so much a matter of boredom or lack of understanding as it is rooted in the feeling that the invitation is either insincere or clouded with conditions.

In any case, in the text, as in life itself, there are many who despite the suspicions and feelings of rejection, do come. They come to prayer meetings, to small chapels, to village churches, to suburban mega-churches. They come by the tens, by the hundreds, by the thousands. They come seeking answers to their questions, to their hurt, to their fear. But somehow, sometimes, they are not right for the setting. They are unprepared. They misunderstand what God's attitude toward them is.

As in the parable, some are not dressed for the occasion. They come to a wedding reception and the aren't wearing the right clothes. So they are asked not to return. Or they are given the feeling that this may not be the place for them.

Some people are very sure what this passage is about. I'm not at all sure, but I think, as with art of various kinds, we must make up our own minds. Last week in Germany, I was a participant in a four-day conference and one evening there was a presentation of Klang Music. The title was "Das Schweigen" ("The Silence"), and in one sense, I was longing for silence when the hour-long presentation was over. I knew it was about a man's life. There was noise like sandpaper rubbing. Like people walking. Like water falling. Like dishware clinking. Like people mumbling. Like music playing. But when it was over, it was up to the individual to decide what this had been about.

So with this verse (22:11), it is up to us to decide who it is, invited to celebrate grace in community by God himself, who is denied entry. Could it be one of us here today?

Does it have to do with failure to repent of one's sins?

Or an unwillingness to believe certain matters?

Or an inability to be accepting of some people?

Or a failure to show care for those in need?

I would really like to know what you think. Because I think that this is one of those passages in which we have to know that although we are invited, we are also chosen.

We are accepted, affirmed, embraced, chosen. We are loved beyond measure. And everyone sitting today, as well as those who are not, needs to know that God in Christ has cancelled the distance between us through the cross and opened the future to us through the resurrection.

Each one of us needs to know the answer to the question, "How did you get in here without wedding clothes"?

One Sunday in our home parish in Austin, a homeless person who usually comes on Tuesdays to get handouts chose to accept the invitation to come to church. He didn't participate in any of the liturgy or hymn singing. He did come forward to participate in the Eucharist. When he left the service, there was a big puddle on the floor. He was incontinent. I wondered whether he was the one without the Wedding Garment because I heard that it was suggested that he not return.

This is a big question for us this morning. How do we know, given that the invitation is extended "to anyone you find," what "few are chosen" actually means?

This is a good Sunday to explain to yourself why you know that you are chosen.

It's also a good Sunday to look around and ask yourself whether there are conditions under which some might not be chosen, and why?

Prof. Dr. Dr., President Emeritus David Zersen
Austin, Texas
E-Mail: djzersen@aol.com

(top)