“There’s a wideness in God’s mercy like the wideness of the sea; there’s a kindness in God’s justice, which is more than liberty.” We just sang those words. Do you believe them? Do you believe “there is welcome for the sinner and more graces for the good….”? Or is there a part of you that still believes you have to do something to get God to love you? Or worse, do you think that you’ve botched up your life so badly that there’s no way that God could love you? Or maybe it’s all those other people out there – whoever “they” are – who don’t deserve God’s love: the murderers, drug dealers, crooked politicians, child abusers, and streetwalkers? Or perhaps you believe that when “bad things happen to good people,” when people are caught in floods or tornadoes, or their cities are bombed, it’s because they deserve it, that God is punishing them – or the rest of us on their behalf. On this day fifteen years ago, some of us heard claims like that. So does any of this reflect your beliefs?
If your only idea of the God of the Hebrew Bible is what we heard this morning in the reading from Jeremiah, you might think that all those statements about God are true. Remember that Jeremiah originally wrote his prophecies at a time of great political upheaval, when the Babylonian armies had destroyed the temple in Jerusalem and were herding the Judean leaders into exile in Babylon. The prophet is very clear about God’s judgement of the people of Judah. Clearly God is enraged at them. God calls them foolish and stupid, skilled in evil, and ignorant of good. They have even violated creation. God pronounces judgement: God will destroy the land and make the earth mourn. And God is fiercely determined to carry out God’s plan.
And yet. Did you notice the hints that God did not intend to wreak total destruction? Did you notice something else besides God’s fierce anger? Did you hear “my poor people?” Did you hear that “my people” are foolish, like stupid children? Did you hear God acknowledge God’s deep relationship with God’s people, the hint of God’s compassion for them? Did you hear God say, “Yet I will not make a full end?”
Throughout this long book, the prophet continues to rail against the wrong-headed political alliances that eventually led to the triumph of the Babylonians over the Judeans. Yet, in chapter 30, God declares, “… have no fear my servant Jacob … and do not be dismayed, O Israel; for I am going to save you from far away, and your offspring from the land of their captivity.” And more: God declares, “I am going to restore the fortunes of the tents of Jacob, and have compassion on his dwellings; the city shall be rebuilt upon its mound, and the citadel set upon its rightful site.” Most important of all, God promises to make a new covenant with the houses of Israel and Judah. “I will put my law within them, and I will write it on their hearts; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.” The prophet Ezekiel, who also experienced the exile, also trusted God to seek out and restore God’s people. Using the familiar image of God as a shepherd, Ezekiel repeats God’s declaration that “I myself will search for my sheep and will seek them out. As shepherds seek out their flocks when they are among their scattered sheep, so I will seek out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered ….”
Perhaps Jesus had that very section of Ezekiel in mind as he responded to the implied criticism of the Pharisees and scribes. And here let me remind you that, despite what you hear in the Gospel, in Jesus’ time the Pharisees are the good guys – literally. Though the gospels often show them arguing with Jesus, they strove to keep the Law of Moses, to “read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest” it. They also continued the process of reinterpreting the law – which rabbis do to this day – so that the law remains relevant for those who try to observe it.
Like all good people, the Pharisees tend towards self-righteousness. Focused on their own efforts to be good, they exclude those who miss the mark more visibly. It is understandable that they might wonder why this charismatic rabbi not only seemed to avoid the obviously good people but sought out the least, the lost, and the left behind. Why would a self-respecting follower of God’s law do that? Here in Luke’s telling, Jesus answers their concerns by telling three stories, two of which we just heard. Just as we heard in last week’s gospel, Jesus uses hyperbole to make his point. Using images that would resonate with ordinary people, Jesus pictures a shepherd who chases after a lone sheep, leaving ninety-nine “in the wilderness,” then rejoices when he finds the lost one. Would a sane shepherd, even imagining that he had a flock that size, really leave them all to chase after one? Jesus then uses the image of a woman searching for a lost coin and rejoicing when she finds it. Would a person expend that much effort just to find one coin?
Wondering about what happened to the ninety-nine sheep left behind or the woman’s effort entirely misses the point of these stories. Jesus is not saying anything here about sheep, women, or even us. In answering the complainers, Jesus is saying something about God’s intentions. He is reminding his hearers – and us – that God takes the initiative to seek and rescue the lost. And maybe we’re all lost – only the ninety-nine “good” sheep and the nine coins hanging around the woman’s neck – that’s how the poor kept their money – don’t know that they’re lost. So God starts with those who do know that they’re lost, those who’ve wandered away and can’t find their way back, those who fall in between the cracks, or end up behind the drapes. And God not only takes the initiative to go looking for the least, the lost, and the left behind, God welcomes them, even eats dinner with them. To show what God was really like, “Jesus welcomed the people we ignore and despise. The sexually suspicious. The religiously impure. Ethnic outsiders. Rich tax scammers and lazy poor people. Soldiers of the Roman oppressors. The chronically sick and the mentally deranged. Women with multiple marriages, widows, and children. His closest disciples who betrayed him.”1
And why does Jesus – or God – take the initiative to seek out those on the margins? Of course in the parables, the sheep and the coin are forms of wealth. And you know what? So are we! So are all of us, even those who we good people wouldn’t be caught dead embracing! God loves all of us. And even more important, the least, the lost, and the left behind people are part of the community, and the whole is not complete without them. God’s search for us – all of us – is ultimately a quest for restoration and wholeness. “In this sense, all of us who are part of God’s creation should be just as anxious as God until the lost are restored and we are made whole again by their presence.”2
And so, what of us? If God always takes the initiative, if God always seeks us out, are we willing to be found? If we are, how do we let ourselves be found? On Tuesday, we wondered how to discern God’s will – which may be another way of asking the same question. No surprise: we discovered that we have to open ourselves to God’s presence in our lives. We realized that a deeper relationship with God helps us to be found by God and to let God lead us – even when the next steps aren’t always clear. The means? Intentional silent prayer is a good first step: letting go of our own ego, our own small needs and concerns, and simply sitting silently in God’s presence. Intentional reading of Scripture is another good practice. Daily examen, looking over your day and seeing God’s presence in the events of the day, is yet another good practice. We will experience all of them at next month’s quiet day, but I’ll be happy to give a preview of both practices to anyone interested.
But. Practices of prayer are never ends in themselves – if Jesus is our example. After taking time away for prayer, Jesus leapt right back into active ministry, healing, teaching, proclaiming the reign of God. Once God has found us, welcomed us, fed us, healed us, and strengthened us, then we have a responsibility to share God’s welcome with others, to actively seek the least, the lost, and the left behind, both those who come to us and those who don’t find their way through our doors, who may not even know that we exist.
Today, we remember all those first responders and everyone else who went out to help victims and family members of those who lost their lives in New York, Washington, and Shanksville, PA. And here’s another example. Every Wednesday evening, the Lost Sheep Ministry reaches approximately 250-300 people under the Interstate Bridge in downtown Knoxville, Tennessee. Many volunteers take part in this ministry. After a brief prayer service, they serve hot meals, give away gently used clothes, including work and interview clothes, staff a prayer table, provide dental and medical assistance, hold an annual flu clinic, and provide risk-free tuberculosis screening.3
Who are the homeless bridge people around us? To whom are we called to reach out with God’s love? “I once was lost, but now am found.” As God has found us, as God has showered us with love and great blessings, with whom are we called to share that love? Who needs to be found, so that the Body may be made whole?
Let your God love you. Then go out and to seek the lost, to share God’s love with them.
1. Dan Clendenin, “A Trustworthy Saying,” http://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay .
2. Jennifer Copeland, “Clean Sweep,” Christian Century, Sept. 07, 2004, http://christiancentury.org/article/2004-09/clean-sweep
3. http://lostsheepministry.org/under-the-bridge/
Showing posts with label Pentecost 17. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pentecost 17. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2016
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Whoever Welcomes One Such Child
“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me ….”
“Hey, Maryam, Jesus wants your little Ya’acov for a minute. Bring him in here, wouldya?” What do you suppose that mother was thinking as she picked up her little son and walked into the room where Jesus and his friends were sitting? Why would the rabbi want her son in with them? They weren’t going to do anything strange to him, were they? Of course the young mother didn’t know how clueless the rabbi’s twelve followers were about what Jesus was trying to teach them. She didn’t know how reluctant and afraid they were to ask him what he meant when he said all that stuff about dying on a cross and rising again. She didn’t know that they still thought he was going to throw out the Romans and establish a new political order. She didn’t know that some of them – John maybe, who might have thought he played second fiddle to Peter, or Judas perhaps, who was starting to doubt that Jesus would do anything worthwhile – had been quarreling about who would be top dog in the new order. She just thought they were hangers on of the miracle-working rabbi, following him around as if they had nothing better to do. Reluctantly, she handed over her child.
Perhaps Maryam shouldn’t have been too hard on the Twelve. We wouldn’t have done much better, because Jesus was preaching and practicing a radically world-changing message. Jesus was “turning the world upside down.”1 Jesus taught his disciples that the religious leaders, whom everyone was supposed to admire and follow, had actually forsaken the Law of Moses in favor of myriad, complicated human traditions. Jesus taught his disciples that peoples’ needs supersede even the demands of the Law, and that it is OK, for example, to heal even on the Sabbath. Jesus taught them to love their enemies and to pray for those who persecute them. Jesus taught them that God loves and cares for all people – Gentiles, women, the disabled, the poor, the hungry, those in prison – all people. Jesus taught them that if they truly wanted to see God they must look among those on the margins of society: the homeless, the destitute, prostitutes, and even the hated tax collectors. Jesus taught them that those who wanted to be his disciples were expected to lead by serving everyone. Pointing to Maryam’s child, Jesus taught them that he himself could be seen in the most insignificant, vulnerable, defenseless members of society. And in all his teaching, whether they understood it or not, Jesus gave them fair warning that by serving as he had served they risked losing everything dear to them, including their own lives.
The Twelve may have had trouble understanding Jesus’ teachings, at least until after the resurrection, but down through the centuries a lot of his followers did understand what he was getting at. Many of them tried hard, risking – and even losing – their lives to welcome in Jesus’ name those whom polite society disdained. St. Brigid, St. Francis, St. Catherine of Siena, Bishop John Coleridge Patteson, who was martyred in Melanesia 1871, Constance and her companions, who died nursing Yellow Fever victims in Memphis in 1878, all of them understood Jesus’ teaching.
One who deeply understood Jesus’ command to welcome children in his name was Prudence Crandall.2 Have you ever heard of her? She is now on our church calendar. She was born into a Quaker family in Rhode Island in 1803 and was educated at the New England Friends School. Her own access to education left her passionate about teaching. She opened a girls’ school in Canterbury, Connecticut in 1831. Initially all her students were white. However, in 1833 Crandall defied convention and admitted Sarah Harris, an African American student who herself wanted to become a teacher. When outraged white parents demanded that Harris be expelled, Crandall started a new school, for African American girls. Demands that she close the school and threats to destroy it soon followed, but Crandall kept her word to her students to continue teaching them. When the school began to attract pupils from other states, the Connecticut legislature passed the so-called “Black Law,” making it a crime to teach out of state African American children. Under the law, Crandall was arrested, jailed, and convicted. The good citizens of Canterbury were outraged when her case was finally dismissed. On September 9, 1834 an angry mob smashed the windows of her school and set it on fire. For the safety of her students, her family, and herself, Crandall closed her school the next day. Having just married in August, Crandall then moved with her husband to Massachusetts. Following her husband’s death, Crandall moved to Elk Falls, Kansas, where she continued to work with children of all communities. A state historical marker in Elk Falls recognizes her work.
Many in our own time have also understood Jesus’ command to welcome in his name children, and all those disdained by polite society. I think of the Saint Joseph’s Family in Haiti, which runs an orphanage for formerly street boys in Port au Prince, another orphanage and day school for poor neighborhood children in Jacmel, and an orphanage for disabled children in the hills above Port au Prince. I think of Haiti Partners, which runs schools and trains teachers. I think of Episcopal Relief and Development, which has partnered with other agencies to end preventable deaths of children worldwide. I think of L’Arche, an international network of more than 150 communities dedicated to serving those with developmental disabilities. I think of the intentional community, the Rutba House in Durham, North Carolina. They serve a diverse group of young people in their own neighborhood, in a program that keeps children in school through mentoring and tutoring. I think of those who work with U.S.-born children of illegal immigrants, children who are American citizens, yet who face possible deportation with their parents. And I think of the collective efforts of this parish to be the Body of Christ in the world through providing for children’s physical needs in our diaper program and through welcoming children and their families to our Loaves and Fishes Dinners.
“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me ….” Despite what we already do, I still hear a challenge in Jesus’ command. Do we understand that in following Jesus we leave ourselves open to the possibility that Jesus might want to change our expectations? Is there another way to welcome children and those with them on the margins that we have yet to see? Are we doing all that we can to effectively minister to children? Let’s start with our own children. Are we doing all we can to nurture them in the Christian faith? What else might we doing? Even now, work is going forward on cleaning out what once was a space for youth. Surely, creating an inviting space where our older children can gather is important to their formation. I’d like us to develop ways for our children to enjoy being together for activities other than worship, to work beside caring, thoughtful adults, to enjoy themselves as they are formed more closely to Jesus. We might also ask ourselves, what happens when our children leave this place? Is their formation as Jesus’ disciples happening anywhere else? What are they learning at home?
We might go on to ask ourselves, what are we doing for other people’s children? Do we need to consider ways to mentor, tutor, and perhaps even feed local children? At one point, we talked about partnering with a local school. Is that idea dead? What other needs do local children have? And if we ask ourselves why we might do any of these things, rest assured it is not so that we can play Lady Bountiful and feel good about ourselves. We undertake any of these ministries, because we see the face of Christ, in the faces of those to whom we minister. We undertake these ministries, because we have pledged ourselves to be the Body of Christ in the world, and we try as best we can to do what he did in the flesh, including welcoming children of all communities, and all those on the margins of society.
Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me ….”
“C’mon in, Maryam. Jesus is winding up. He’s just about done with talking about your son.” Maryam tentatively stood in the doorway of the front room. She saw the rabbi’s friends seated at his feet. She saw her son Ya’acov nestled in Jesus’ arms and Jesus looking down at him lovingly. Then Jesus gently lifted the boy up and placed him back in her arms. He looked at her and smiled. She saw the love in his eyes. And she knew, that from that moment on, her life would never be the same.
1. Albert Nolan, Jesus Today (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2008), 50.
2. Holy Women, Holy Men (New York: Church Publishing, 2010), 558
“Hey, Maryam, Jesus wants your little Ya’acov for a minute. Bring him in here, wouldya?” What do you suppose that mother was thinking as she picked up her little son and walked into the room where Jesus and his friends were sitting? Why would the rabbi want her son in with them? They weren’t going to do anything strange to him, were they? Of course the young mother didn’t know how clueless the rabbi’s twelve followers were about what Jesus was trying to teach them. She didn’t know how reluctant and afraid they were to ask him what he meant when he said all that stuff about dying on a cross and rising again. She didn’t know that they still thought he was going to throw out the Romans and establish a new political order. She didn’t know that some of them – John maybe, who might have thought he played second fiddle to Peter, or Judas perhaps, who was starting to doubt that Jesus would do anything worthwhile – had been quarreling about who would be top dog in the new order. She just thought they were hangers on of the miracle-working rabbi, following him around as if they had nothing better to do. Reluctantly, she handed over her child.
Perhaps Maryam shouldn’t have been too hard on the Twelve. We wouldn’t have done much better, because Jesus was preaching and practicing a radically world-changing message. Jesus was “turning the world upside down.”1 Jesus taught his disciples that the religious leaders, whom everyone was supposed to admire and follow, had actually forsaken the Law of Moses in favor of myriad, complicated human traditions. Jesus taught his disciples that peoples’ needs supersede even the demands of the Law, and that it is OK, for example, to heal even on the Sabbath. Jesus taught them to love their enemies and to pray for those who persecute them. Jesus taught them that God loves and cares for all people – Gentiles, women, the disabled, the poor, the hungry, those in prison – all people. Jesus taught them that if they truly wanted to see God they must look among those on the margins of society: the homeless, the destitute, prostitutes, and even the hated tax collectors. Jesus taught them that those who wanted to be his disciples were expected to lead by serving everyone. Pointing to Maryam’s child, Jesus taught them that he himself could be seen in the most insignificant, vulnerable, defenseless members of society. And in all his teaching, whether they understood it or not, Jesus gave them fair warning that by serving as he had served they risked losing everything dear to them, including their own lives.
The Twelve may have had trouble understanding Jesus’ teachings, at least until after the resurrection, but down through the centuries a lot of his followers did understand what he was getting at. Many of them tried hard, risking – and even losing – their lives to welcome in Jesus’ name those whom polite society disdained. St. Brigid, St. Francis, St. Catherine of Siena, Bishop John Coleridge Patteson, who was martyred in Melanesia 1871, Constance and her companions, who died nursing Yellow Fever victims in Memphis in 1878, all of them understood Jesus’ teaching.
One who deeply understood Jesus’ command to welcome children in his name was Prudence Crandall.2 Have you ever heard of her? She is now on our church calendar. She was born into a Quaker family in Rhode Island in 1803 and was educated at the New England Friends School. Her own access to education left her passionate about teaching. She opened a girls’ school in Canterbury, Connecticut in 1831. Initially all her students were white. However, in 1833 Crandall defied convention and admitted Sarah Harris, an African American student who herself wanted to become a teacher. When outraged white parents demanded that Harris be expelled, Crandall started a new school, for African American girls. Demands that she close the school and threats to destroy it soon followed, but Crandall kept her word to her students to continue teaching them. When the school began to attract pupils from other states, the Connecticut legislature passed the so-called “Black Law,” making it a crime to teach out of state African American children. Under the law, Crandall was arrested, jailed, and convicted. The good citizens of Canterbury were outraged when her case was finally dismissed. On September 9, 1834 an angry mob smashed the windows of her school and set it on fire. For the safety of her students, her family, and herself, Crandall closed her school the next day. Having just married in August, Crandall then moved with her husband to Massachusetts. Following her husband’s death, Crandall moved to Elk Falls, Kansas, where she continued to work with children of all communities. A state historical marker in Elk Falls recognizes her work.
Many in our own time have also understood Jesus’ command to welcome in his name children, and all those disdained by polite society. I think of the Saint Joseph’s Family in Haiti, which runs an orphanage for formerly street boys in Port au Prince, another orphanage and day school for poor neighborhood children in Jacmel, and an orphanage for disabled children in the hills above Port au Prince. I think of Haiti Partners, which runs schools and trains teachers. I think of Episcopal Relief and Development, which has partnered with other agencies to end preventable deaths of children worldwide. I think of L’Arche, an international network of more than 150 communities dedicated to serving those with developmental disabilities. I think of the intentional community, the Rutba House in Durham, North Carolina. They serve a diverse group of young people in their own neighborhood, in a program that keeps children in school through mentoring and tutoring. I think of those who work with U.S.-born children of illegal immigrants, children who are American citizens, yet who face possible deportation with their parents. And I think of the collective efforts of this parish to be the Body of Christ in the world through providing for children’s physical needs in our diaper program and through welcoming children and their families to our Loaves and Fishes Dinners.
“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me ….” Despite what we already do, I still hear a challenge in Jesus’ command. Do we understand that in following Jesus we leave ourselves open to the possibility that Jesus might want to change our expectations? Is there another way to welcome children and those with them on the margins that we have yet to see? Are we doing all that we can to effectively minister to children? Let’s start with our own children. Are we doing all we can to nurture them in the Christian faith? What else might we doing? Even now, work is going forward on cleaning out what once was a space for youth. Surely, creating an inviting space where our older children can gather is important to their formation. I’d like us to develop ways for our children to enjoy being together for activities other than worship, to work beside caring, thoughtful adults, to enjoy themselves as they are formed more closely to Jesus. We might also ask ourselves, what happens when our children leave this place? Is their formation as Jesus’ disciples happening anywhere else? What are they learning at home?
We might go on to ask ourselves, what are we doing for other people’s children? Do we need to consider ways to mentor, tutor, and perhaps even feed local children? At one point, we talked about partnering with a local school. Is that idea dead? What other needs do local children have? And if we ask ourselves why we might do any of these things, rest assured it is not so that we can play Lady Bountiful and feel good about ourselves. We undertake any of these ministries, because we see the face of Christ, in the faces of those to whom we minister. We undertake these ministries, because we have pledged ourselves to be the Body of Christ in the world, and we try as best we can to do what he did in the flesh, including welcoming children of all communities, and all those on the margins of society.
Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me ….”
“C’mon in, Maryam. Jesus is winding up. He’s just about done with talking about your son.” Maryam tentatively stood in the doorway of the front room. She saw the rabbi’s friends seated at his feet. She saw her son Ya’acov nestled in Jesus’ arms and Jesus looking down at him lovingly. Then Jesus gently lifted the boy up and placed him back in her arms. He looked at her and smiled. She saw the love in his eyes. And she knew, that from that moment on, her life would never be the same.
1. Albert Nolan, Jesus Today (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 2008), 50.
2. Holy Women, Holy Men (New York: Church Publishing, 2010), 558
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A Rich Feast
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.
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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