I don’t like today’s Gospel. I don’t like the parable in today’s Gospel. Actually, I don’t like any of the parables of judgment that we’ve been hearing these past few weeks: not the one about the two sons, nor the one about the wicked tenants, nor this one with its frightening ending. Where’s the grace? Where’s the good news? Why are we hearing these lessons? What does the Church want us to hear in them?
It’s not hard to guess Jesus’ intent in these parables. All of them clearly indict the religious leadership and suggest that those who are on the edges of society, who have been deemed poor, insignificant, or unclean by the fastidious Pharisees and other leaders, are closer to full enjoyment of God’s love than the religious leaders are. Perhaps Jesus was hoping that such an indictment would induce the religious leadership to change course and join his disciples. Perhaps he was upping the ante and pushing his conflict with them closer to its eventual outcome. Nor is it difficult to guess why the early Christian community preserved these parables of Jesus, and why writer of the Gospel of Matthew included them in his Gospel. Writing in the ‘80’s, when tensions between the fledgling Christian community and the synagogue leadership were increasing, the Gospel writer’s primary goal was to announce that God’s Kingdom had indeed finally arrived in the person of Jesus. At the same time, the writer also sought to explain to a mixed-ethnic community why the religious elite of Judaism had largely resisted the Christian message, and why the early Christian community should continue to attract an increasing number of Gentiles.
I still don’t hear much grace or good news, do you? And as we ourselves begin to shiver a little in fear of judgment, perhaps we’re tempted to ask ourselves where we fit in this parable. Take a minute and think about it: with whom do you most closely identify in this parable? Sitting here in a pew of this beautiful church, having committed yourselves to Jesus, having committed yourself to this parish, waiting to be nourished with Christ’s Body and Blood, perhaps you identify with those servants – we resist calling ourselves “slaves,” don’t we – those servants who faithfully do the king’s bidding and go out issuing invitations, first to the previously invited guests, then to any and all willing to come in. Do you see yourselves out there, for example, inviting friends to St. Peter’s, or perhaps welcoming our Loaves and Fishes guests? Or perhaps you identify with the previously invited guests who can’t come to the banquet for various reasons. Perhaps we are some of “the great intenders,” the ones not committing crimes or abusing anyone, just going about our business. Are we one of those ones who blithely pursue a life of perfect intending? “Yes,” we say, “someday, sometime, I’ll get around to accepting God’s invitation, just not now.” Or perhaps, like many of us, you identify with the rag-tag bunch rounded up by the next set of servants, thankful that you’ve been accepted by God. Does anyone here identify with the wrongly-clad guest? Perhaps we worry that we don’t follow all the rules, or don’t measure up to God’s expectations, or are still living an old life unacceptable to God. Or perhaps you’re even now saying to yourself, “I’m glad I’m not that person.” Perhaps you’re wondering if our parish has on a wedding garment. Are we doing what God expects of us? With whomever I identify myself in the parable, though, I’m still left wondering, where’s the grace in this parable? Where’s the good news?
My brothers and sisters, as long as we focus on ourselves in this parable, we can’t hear the good news. The truth is that this parable is not about us: it’s about God. Like most of Jesus’ parables, this one has something to tell us about God and about what God hopes for in us. The good news is that God’s realm is open to all: there is no A-list for God’s party. All are invited. Actually, we hear the same good news in our reading from Isaiah, don’t we? Writing about eight centuries before Jesus, Isaiah gave us a wonderful vision of the celebration that God has prepared for God’s people. Didn’t God promise us, in Isaiah’s words, a feast of rich food and well-aged wine for all peoples? Jesus uses that same image of a banquet, here a wedding banquet, one of the most joyous human occasions most of us can imagine, and Matthew reinforces it, to proclaim that God has invited all of us into God’s realm, not just the religious elite, not just those who have the time or resources to be especially punctilious in their practice of holiness, not just those who can take a week-long retreat every year, wonderful as that might be. God invites all of us: rich and poor, busy and idle, black, white, yellow, red, brown, all ethnicities, all genders, all, bad, lukewarm, good.
And God doesn’t stop inviting us to the feast: God continues to extend invitations to join God’s blessed community to all who would hear, at any and every time. God invites us into God’s community by encouraging us to allow ourselves to be open to God’s presence in our own personal prayer time, perhaps even to venture into the mysterious realm of contemplative prayer. God has a standing invitation for us to feast at the Eucharistic banquet, taking in God’s word and tasting Jesus’ Body and Blood. A pastor of a small rural parish would say at the end of the liturgy, “Go in peace, this has been the highlight of your day; it’s all downhill from here.” God also has other ways of inviting us into God’s realm. God invites us to share with others when we reach out to those in need, when we give of ourselves and our time, for example, to feed the hungry at Loaves and Fishes, or when we help the victims of natural disasters. God invites us to use our skills in organizing and advocacy by speaking up for those who have no voice and through responsibly exercising our voting rights. God invites us into God’s realm when we gaze on God’s creation with awe and appreciation, when we forgive one another, when we bravely bear the various struggles of our lives. In all our fears, frustrations, sadness, desires, accomplishments, and joys, God invites us into a realm of peace, where we center our attention on the One who loves us deeply enough to come among us in the flesh.
Are we alert to God’s invitation? We may refuse or misunderstand God’s invitation, but God continues to extend God’s invitation to us, hourly, daily, weekly, continuously. And if we hear God’s invitation, if we do accept it, and if we realize that God’s invitation is for all, then God can begin to transform us. Perhaps we fear to accept God’s invitation because we know that ultimately it must be actualized in our lives. God’s grace is unending, but it is not free of cost. Ultimately, we must do more than stand speechless on the threshold without the needed clothes. Ultimately, we must put on that wedding garment and let God change us. Ultimately, we must let God work through us, gradually changing us into the persons God created us to be.
Are we as a parish alert to God’s invitations? God’s invitation to the feast was not extended only to size A-size parishes, parishes like Redeemer or St. Thomas in Cincinnati. God’s invitation is extended to all of us, even to small parishes like St. Peter’s. God’s invitation is extended to all people, not just those who wear a clerical collar. I believe the Common Ministry program is one way that God is inviting us as a parish to bring God’s kingdom nearer. If we accept God’s invitation, if we enter joyfully into the wedding hall, God will transform us. Are there other ways God is extending invitations to us a parish? We are an outpost of God’s kingdom right here in Gallipolis, Ohio. If we can stay alert to God’s invitations, and if we can accept and actualize them, be assured that God will change us, grow us, and strengthen us to share God’s invitations with others. Can we do it? Here’s my answer, John van de Laar’s poem, “The Amazing Invitation.”
No special qualifications needed;
No particular connections or exclusive memberships required;
No secret passwords or unique attributes expected;
No campaigning or canvassing,
no examinations or reference checks;
Just an amazing invitation to a feast;
to find our place at Your table
Alongside these other unworthy ones,
these other beloved ones;
these others humble enough to accept the invitation
without asking who else will be there.
Well, Jesus, Lord of the Feast.
with thankful and open hearts,
we accept Your amazing invitation.1
1. Accessed at http://sacredise.com.
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