One of my best experiences in high school was participating in the Honor Concert Band. Some of my classmates were talented musicians; they could play by ear as well as by sight. When they played their instruments, the music came alive. They had a gift. They recognized it, honed it, and shared it. Music—from within their beings—poured out, shaping their lives and enhancing the lives of people in our band, school and community.
I did not seem to have that gift for music. But I took lessons, practiced diligently, studied the selections we played, and listened for how my part fit into the overall piece. Through practice and study, I found myself in the Honor Concert Band where music—from outside of me, began to insinuate itself into my thoughts, my feelings, my time, and my preferences. I was transformed from a music listener into a music lover.
Transformation—a new way of perceiving life, a new way of living life, a new life—transformation—that’s the response God desires from us when we experience Christ’s grace. What? Grace is not just a gift, given so that we have assurance of God’s love and continued presence? What? There’s an appropriate response to grace? The gospel writer, Matthew certainly thinks so. We hear it in today’s scripture.
As Jesus tells it here, this parable is outrageous, for no one would miss a wedding banquet. No one would say “no” to a full stomach. No one subjugated to Roman rule would say “no” to having some fun. No one whose days were filled with labor, would say “no” to the rest a feast offered. No one would miss a wedding banquet—especially not if the king were host. Think about it, if Governor Brownback invited you to a weeklong celebration with the finest food, drink and music, would you refuse? [some congregational responses of “yes.” So I said, All right if Oprah Winfrey invited you to Australia for 8 days of food, drink, and music would you refuse? And one person said loudly. Yes!] The parable, as Jesus tells it, is outrageous. And it grabs his listeners’ attention.
Having found the original guests unworthy—they refused to come—the king now extends his invitation to others—anyone and everyone his servants can find in the streets—the homeless, the runaway, the beggar, the resident alien, the migrant farm-worker, the minimum-wage earner. Anyone and everyone are now invited.
The wedding hall is noisy with laughter and music. People are having a delightful time enjoying the unexpected grace of the king. Then the king sees someone dressed inappropriately. But this is preposterous! Wedding garments for the guests would be hanging right there in the entryway. Who would fail to clean up and don the appropriate (and handy) attire? The king orders this guest to be bound and thrown into the outer darkness “where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” This parable, as Jesus tells it, grabs his listeners’ and our attention.
Listening past the outrageousness, the Pharisees and chief priests—Jesus’ audience—hear him condemning them. For God is choosing to extend his covenant outside of the Jewish people. God is choosing to invite anyone—without regard to Jewish pedigree or impeccable law-abiding resume. God is choosing to invite anyone into God’s covenant—saying, “You will be my people and I will be your God. How preposterous! How outrageous! Jesus indicts the chosen leaders of God’s chosen people and affirms that God will judge their unfaithfulness. He suggests that God will judge them because they are hindering others from experiencing God’s love.
In the same way, Matthew is warning the leaders of his Christian community—
Matthew’s audience—not to take God’s grace for granted. Just as Jesus condemned the chief priests and Pharisees for their casual, indifferent response to God’s invitation of fulfilled covenant in Jesus—Just as Jesus condemned the Jewish religious leaders, so too will he judge the leaders of Matthew’s Christian community. If they just accept the invitation but do not take care how they present themselves at Christ’s banquet table, Jesus will judge them unfit and unfaithful.
And the grounds for this judgment—the missing wedding garment—what exactly is that? For Matthew, it is discipleship. Discipleship is a theme flowing through his gospel. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus teaches his followers how to be disciples. In the Judgment of the Nations—the Son of Man separates the sheep from the goats. Those who have lived their lives as Christ taught are the sheep—destined to inherit the kingdom with the Son of Man. Not because of what they believed, but because of how they lived—showing compassion for others. In Jesus’ final words in Matthew’s gospel, he tells his apostles to make disciples—baptizing them and teaching them to obey everything he has commanded. Discipleship is a constant theme flowing through Matthew’s gospel. In today’s parable, the appropriate dress at the banquet is the garment of discipleship—obedience to Christ.
For Matthew, the wedding invitation is God’s generous call to covenant living. It’s an invitation not just to feast at the banquet with Christ when he comes again—when the Kingdom of Heaven is finally, fully realized on earth. Instead it’s an invitation to live for Christ here and now, to be a part of the in-breaking of the kingdom of heaven in bits and pieces here and now. For Matthew, there is a proper response to the banquet invitation—not just coming to the table, but coming to the table clothed in Christ’s righteousness. For Matthew, there is a proper response to Christ’s grace. <pause> It’s discipleship—obedience to Christ—living a transformed life.
When I was growing up, my parents, concerned for my safety taught me to beware of strangers. I internalized that message and carried with me into my adulthood. In Austin, TX, 30 years ago, on a few busy street corners, you were likely to see someone standing with a sign that read, “I’m hungry. I need a job. I need money.” Unfortunately, over the years, this sight grew more common.
Stopped in my car at busy Austin intersections, I saw these people in need. But they were strangers, and I remembered “Beware of strangers.” I did not look them in the eye. I did not roll down my window. I did not offer them anything. I guess I tried to pretend they weren’t even there.
Then, my daughters were born. I shared with them that God loves each and every one of us. I told them Bible stories. I taught them about Jesus—his life, his ministry, his death, and resurrection. And when Mary and Sarah saw the people standing on the street corners holding their signs, they asked, “Mommy, what would Jesus want us to do for them?” And I knew, I could no longer pretend the people weren’t there. I know, even though I did not want to, I had to do something.
So, on summer days, when we drove into Austin to run errands, the girls and I would carry a cooler in our car. Stopped at a light, we would roll down the window and offer a
bottle of cold water to the person standing in the hot sun. At first I was uncomfortable. “Beware of strangers.” I would not look at the person or say anything. At first, I just handed them a water bottle. But, over time, I realized that I needed and wanted to respond to these people as the beloved children of God that they are. I needed and wanted to acknowledge their presence, to look them in the eye, as I offered what I had.
Over the years, our summer water bottle cooler was replaced by year-round homeless bags. We filled paper bags with water & juice, peanuts & crackers, fruit cocktail & Vienna sausages, plastic dinnerware and napkins. We kept a couple of bags in each car. Over time, even when I ran out of the bags, I realized I had something to offer. I waved, I made eye contact, I smiled, I spoke, I offered a blessing. This summer, if I didn’t get stopped at a light, I found myself circling back around. I wanted to make sure I got to share food and drink with the person standing on the corner holding the sign that read, “I’m hungry.”
What had originally been an effort—a forced practice—had become an inward desire from which practice seemed to flow naturally. Over many years, I was being transformed. It began with my daughters’ question: “Mommy, what would Jesus want us to do?” As adults, now they would frame that question: How can we be Christ’s disciples here—in this situation? Originally my response did not well up from deep within me. I had to force myself to move beyond my initial fear, “Beware of strangers.” I started small—a bottle of water, and I practiced. I forgave myself when I failed—when fear took over and I didn’t roll down my window, when I didn’t smile or speak, when I forgot to re-stock.
I forgave myself and persevered. And I studied. I studied the One in whose life we see the fullness of hope and love that God desires for each one of us. I studied Christ.
I do not see people holding “I’m hungry” signs at intersections in Paola. But I know there are hungry people here, so as part of our offering, we bring groceries for PACA food bank. I do not see people with “I’m hungry” signs at intersections in Paola. But I know there are people here who God wants me to feed in some way—to acknowledge, to extend my hand in fellowship, to offer a blessing, to nurture. Here God is leading me into another transformation—different from the one in Austin.
“Mommy, what would Jesus want us to do?” My daughters asked. The question persists—not only for me but for each of us. How can we be Christ’s disciples here?
For Matthew, coming to the wedding banquet dressed appropriately means living a transformed life. How is God calling you to live a transformed life? Sometimes that transformation begins like a spring welling up out of us from the “love of Jesus, love of Jesus down in my heart” And sometimes, it means pushing ourselves out of our comfort zone—practicing doing something that may not come naturally. How is God calling you to live a transformed life?
The good news is—God wants us at the banquet feast. The good news is—Christ offers his righteousness for us to wear. The good news is—the Holy Spirit will dress us—will help us to live the transformed life—of Christ’s disciple. Praise be to the One through whom all things are possible. Praise be to God—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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