Pentecost 19A/Proper 23
Exodus 32:1-14
Psalm 106:1-6, 19-23
Philippians 4:1-9
Matthew 22:1-14
Gracious God, take our minds and think through them; take our hands and work through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen.
If there was an award for best hyperbole then Jesus might just win it for this parable. Everything about it seems over the top, from the response of those invited to a royal wedding, to the invasion of the army, down to the final drama with the guest without a robe thrown into the outer darkness. One commentary described it aptly in this way: “Jesus is painting with a broad madcap brush, as if creating a grand caricature or a daring work of graffiti.”[1]
Jesus as a rogue graffiti artist is an image that fits, considering what he’s been up to. Remember that just yesterday he rode triumphantly into the Jerusalem to shouts of Hosanna before going straight to the Temple and throwing a ruckus as he overturned the moneychangers tables and drove out those who were buying and selling.
On this second day in the Temple he further riled up the establishment, going back and forth with the chief priest and scribes, and eventually the Pharisees and the Sadducees. Today’s parable is the last over the top story he told before their final combative conversations and his denunciation of them.
So perhaps it isn’t surprising as Jesus is making his final stand, as it were and proclaiming his message to the very powers that be, that the heart of this parable is about the grace God extends to us and the expectation of transformation as a response to that grace – the very renewal he’s been calling for throughout his ministry. Because for all its violence and threats, today’s parable extends good news and hope to those who will listen.
The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son.
It begins simply enough, provoking an image of extravagance and love – but also perhaps of exclusion – after all, how many of us would expect to be invited to a royal wedding feast?
And yet we are told that those who were invited not only refused to attend, but turned to violence, mistreating and killing those who came bearing the invitation. The king responded in kind, decimating their city, before then expanding the invitation and welcoming all.
This parable reads less like a morality tale more like a highly stylized allegory. It is here that I must, in good conscience, warn against an anti-Semitic reading of this passage. It is too easy to read it as God extending the covenant to the Jews, who rejected God’s son Jesus, and so it was that the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, after which Jesus’ message was extended to the Gentiles who accepted it and replaced the Jews as God’s chosen. Reading the parable in such a way has throughout the centuries been a justification for prejudice and violence, and it has no place in our theology.
I once heard New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine, who is herself Jewish, speak. She told the story of taking her young son with her to class at Vanderbilt Divinity School and standing him at the front of the lecture hall beside her. She told her students to never say anything from the pulpit that would lead someone to want to hurt him because he is a Jew.
This is a passage that can do just that. And while those allegorical connections may be made, that’s not the only way to understand what the Gospel is up to. Here’s a more nuanced unfolding of the parable.
The king is God, and Jesus is the king’s son. The invited guests represent insiders who fail to listen to God and let themselves be distracted by worldly idols. The messengers likely represent the historical Hebrew prophets, many of whom were ignored, mistreated, or killed (most recently John the Baptist). The destroyed city refers to the Roman destruction of Jerusalem. The “open invitation” evokes the opening up of the Christian community to include Gentiles and well as Jews, and the servants that bring them in are missionaries who bring everyone, good and bad, to the church.[2]
Reading the parable in this way solves the problem of using it as a weapon against Judaism, but it doesn’t make sense of the final violent interaction between the king and the guest without a robe. What are we to make of that?
When the king sent out his servants the second time to gather guests, he gave them instructions to invite everyone they found in the main streets.
We then read that the king noticed a guest not wearing a wedding robe. After being questioned as to why, and giving no reason for his sartorial faux pas, he was bound and thrown into the outer darkness.
Why, we ask, if the king invited everyone from the town – presumably including those who are poor and who would not have the means for a special robe – why did he get angry?
The missing piece of information here – one that those who originally heard this story would have known – is that it was the custom of the time, especially for the wealthy and royalty, for the father of the groom to have wedding robes that were given to all the guests to wear when they arrived.
What does it mean, then, that the man was given the robe and chose not to put it on? It is nothing short of a rejection.
That changes the story, yes? It points us toward an understanding of personal responsibility, perhaps even obligation. And it adds a depth to that final line – for many are called, but few are chosen – that would otherwise not be there.
God’s grace and love are extended to all – that is, we are all invited to join the feast. And yet we are not allowed to be passive in receiving these gifts, we must put on the robe and accept our place at the table. Accepting them means we also accept that our lives must change because of them.
This is the heart of this final parable Jesus told the religious authorities as he was staring down the looming cross ahead of him. This is a parable that God is still telling us today.
Beware becoming like those who are invited but refuse to the call because they have made idols out of the ways of the world. Beware becoming like the one who answered the call, but couldn’t accept that the invitation included a change of heart and life. For many are called, but few are chosen.
Becoming a Christian and living faithfully comes with a price. We can’t earn our salvation, but neither are we free to live as if nothing has changed. Following in the footsteps of Jesus necessitates that metaphorical change of garments, which is in reality a transformation of our hearts, souls, minds, and strength – it is to live lives that embody the Great Commandment to love God and to love your neighbor as yourself.
In these days of division and fear and uncertainty, when every decision and action seems loaded – from the conversations we have, to the things we post and share on social media, to the way we vote – let this question be your guide: what is the most loving thing I can do? And then do it. Amen.
[1] SaltProject Lectionary Commentary for the Nineteenth Week After Pentecost.
[2] SaltProject Lectionary Commentary for the Nineteenth Week After Pentecost, and, Feasting on the Word, Year A Volume 4, Exegetical Perspective.