I
don’t know about you, but I love weddings. I guess it’s because I officiate so
many funerals as part of my ministry that when I get the chance to perform a
wedding ceremony, I start grinning like a six-year-old on Christmas morning. I
even have my own special “wedding garment.” I have a clergy shirt with French
cuffs and a rabat vest. I get a haircut and shine my shoes, too. My wife tells
me I don’t have to dress up because, “nobody’s looking at you.” Nevertheless, I
really enjoy sprucing up for a wedding. It’s one of the very few times people
in our culture of casual indifference bother to make an effort. I want
this occasion to be as special as possible, so I dress to honor the bride and groom
and their families.
The
guests invited to the wedding in the parable Jesus tells us in the Revised Common
Lectionary gospel reading for Pentecost 20, Year A (Matthew 22:1-14) aren’t
quite so thrilled. They’re not even casually indifferent to the invitation—they’re
openly hostile to it and kill the slaves who bring it! Of course, it’s
not too much of a stretch to say that Matthew is alluding to both prophets and
Christian proselytizers who had been martyred for proclaiming the gospel where
it wasn’t welcomed. Bible scholars also think the reference to the city the
enraged king burns (v.7) is a reminder of how the temple of Jerusalem was
destroyed. But if the King’s own subjects won’t come to a banquet in honor of
his Son, then he tells his servants to invite everyone and anyone else—the good
and the bad. Let’ em all come!
To
many this invitation to Christ's banquet comes as a very welcome surprise, so they come in the spirit of celebration just as we might go to a friend’s
wedding. There’s a sense of joy because this invitation is just so darn good.
It’s an invitation to fellowship, forgiveness, meaning, and eternal life. That’s
worth a haircut and a shoeshine, don’t you think?
There
are, however, a few like the poor soul in the parable who treat it like it’s
Casual Friday. They won’t refuse the invitation, but they won’t make a fuss
over it either. They know they’ve been invited so they’ll be happy to snack on
the lobster croquettes and drink at the open bar, but they show up in shorts
and flip-flops. They’ve confessed Jesus, so they’re good to go. Church on
Christmas and Easter or at weddings and funerals if necessary.
They’re
still invited, of course. The church has no dress code. We have no rules about
mandatory attendance or the amount of your offering or participation. There’s
no threat of excommunication if you’re leading a life which is less than honest,
kind, or generous. If you cheat on your spouse or cheat your employees or if
you’re a racist or a homophobe we still offer you forgiveness.
But,
as the old saying goes, that which is cheaply bought is cheaply esteemed. Our
salvation is always a free invitation, but discipleship comes with a cover
charge. We will benefit from our Christian life by what we are willing to
invest in it.
Our
wedding garment is our response to God’s invitation. Saint Paul wrote, “As many
of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.[i]” In Romans he tells us to “put
on the armor of light” and to “put on Jesus Christ[ii].” As a clergy person I,
of course, have the benefit of wearing my Christian “uniform.” People see me in
my vestments or my black clothes and clergy collar and assume I am a follower
of Jesus. But, when I take them off, how can I wear Christ? I have to ask
myself, “Am I clothed in righteousness?” is my life daily one of gratitude,
love, kindness, generosity, and hunger for greater knowledge of my faith? Do I
strengthen myself through an active time of prayer? Do I see the wonders of God
all around me and live a life of appreciation in response?
Can
you think of anyone in your life whom you knew to be clothed in Christ? I
thought recently of Marlene Miller, a long-time saint of my congregation who
passed away several years ago. She had been born with a condition which threatened
to take her life before she’d be old enough to graduate from high school. In
spite of this, she lived into her fifties but spent much of her adult life in
hospitals and died from a massive brain bleed. The last time I saw her she was
in a nursing home. She was bedridden, losing her eyesight and her memory, and was
bruised terribly from IV needles. The last words she ever spoke to me—spoken honestly
without sarcasm, rancor, or self-pity—were, “God sure is good, isn’t he?”
I
feel for the casual Christian who finds themselves confronted by a family catastrophe
or a devastating diagnosis and asks, “Why is God doing this to me?” but has no
spiritual practice or theology or faith community from which to draw strength.
For that person there will be darkness and wailing and gnashing of teeth.
God
invites us to the wedding feast. Let’s come dressed in Christ Jesus, dressed in
our best selves. And let’s come to party.
God
bless you, my friend.
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