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Matthew 22: 1–14
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Lord, send out your light and your truth that they may lead us
to your holy hill, to your dwelling. Amen. [Psalm 43:3]
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Anyone who has ever planned a wedding knows that weddings are extravagant
affairs. No matter what their budget, the parents of the bride – for
it is usually the bride’s parents who are footing the
bill – want to give their daughter, their new son–in–law
the best possible beginning they can afford. So they spare no expense to
decorate the church and reception hall with fresh flowers. They stretch
the budget to buy their daughter the dress of her dreams. And then they
bring in caterers to prepare a sumptuous meal and hire musicians to
entertain their guests. It’s a big deal, a very big deal,
emotionally and financially. And in the welter of details, deadlines
and personalities, tensions can run high.
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This morning Matthew is telling us the story of a carefully planned
wedding that didn’t go well at all. And once you understand it
was the King’s child, his only son who was getting married, you
can appreciate why every detail of this special occasion mattered even
more than usual. Since the invited guests were people he counted on as
allies, the king’s honor was at stake. His reputation was on
the line.
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Just imagine, then, how he felt when everything was finally ready, down
to the last detail, and his servants, the ones he had sent out to
deliver those invitations, came back telling him that everyone they
had asked had declined to come. Every last one was sending excuses
rather than gifts and congratulations. In fact, some of them actually
mistreated the King’s servants. They actually meant to insult him.
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The King was furious. He was livid. The prime rib was ready to carve.
The wine had been poured. Even the candles were lit – and now no
one wanted to come? So the King decided to fill his hall with anyone
his servants could find. He instructed those servants to go out into the
streets and invite everyone they encountered – good and bad
alike — to come in and fill the hall. He was determined to be
inclusive. He was going to be gracious, come what may. And up to this
point in the story, I think everyone would agree – the King had
been most gracious.
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But at this point everything shifts because Matthew adds the little
four–verse coda to his story of the guest who came into the
banquet hall inappropriately dressed. In fact, this is the part of
Matthew’s parable many people wish he had left off entirely,
because it suddenly casts the gracious King in a much less favorable
light.
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You see, up to this point we can accept the hint that the King in this
parable might well be God himself, always inviting people into the
Kingdom by grace alone. We understand that the King’s Son might
well be Jesus Christ who says, “Come as you are.” And we
accept that the wedding feast might be the wedding feast of the Lamb,
the joyful occasion when Christ chooses the Church as his bride. But
what are we to do with this vision of an angry, vindictive God who
throws the newly invited guest into outer darkness – just for
wearing the wrong clothes to his festive occasion? A lot of ink has
been spilled over this question, as commentators try to explain away
the awkwardness.
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Some say it must be a mistake – that Matthew couldn’t
possibly have meant this ending, but a scribe put the ending of one
parable onto the end of another. That, they say, explains the awkwardness
of such a gracious beginning and such a harsh conclusion.
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Others insist that the fault lies entirely with the poorly dressed man.
In those days, they say, wealthy patrons handed out appropriate festal
garments to their guests, and this particular guy simply hadn’t
bothered to put on his complementary robe. That, they say, explains
the host’s rage.
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Still others explain the parable allegorically: Augustine said the
robe represented love. Luther was sure it represented faith. Calvin
insisted the robe signified a combination of faith and works. And
still others say that the robe signifies baptism – for everyone
knows that when you are baptized you are to take off your old life and
put on the life of Christ instead.
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This last explanation of the festal robe as baptismal robe probably
comes closest to my own understanding of this parable, because it
aligns closely with my own experience. For my life in Christ began in
earnest – not exactly with my baptism as an infant, but when I
invited Christ into my life as an adult and began to let Him guide me.
I can’t even tell you who initiated the invitation. But I do know
it made a huge difference in my life. And because it was pure grace, I
took it seriously. For grace, I knew, was not permissiveness.
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So I renewed that invitation every day by living into it, day in and
day out. I built on that budding relationship with the Lord, as best
I could. And little by little, he changed me, he transformed me from
within. Saint Paul describes the process when he says to the
Colossians;
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So chosen by God for this new life of love, dress in the wardrobe
God picked out for you: compassion, kindness, humility, quiet strength,
discipline. Be even–tempered, content with second place, quick to
forgive an offense. Forgive as quickly and completely as the Master
forgave you. And regardless of what else you put on; wear love.
It’s your basic, all–purpose garment. Never be without it.
[Colossians 30 12–14, The Message]
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Oh, sometimes, yes, I did get distracted. At other times I put off doing
the things I heard the Lord tell me to do. And every once in a while
I even tried taking matters back into my own hands – until I saw
how disastrous that impulse was. But I always returned to the Lord,
thanking him for forgiving me, thanking him for his grace. And that
has kept me in the banquet hall, celebrating a new beginning, a fresh
start with the Lord. Day after day and year after year.
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To God be the glory!
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Amen
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