Sermon for Sunday, October 15, 2023 | Pentecost 20
Isaiah 25:1-9; Psalm 23; Philippians 4:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14
The news these days is ripe with stories of dictators and political leaders who aspire to dictatorial practices, troubling stories of extreme groups that have more in common with fascism than democracy. I mean who could imagine that liberal and easy-going Sweden would now harbor a vigorous political party with neo-Nazi and white nationalist sympathies, a party eager to expel people of color. Or our own nation, where some political leaders openly mock the very democratic institutions to which they have been elected and have more interest in creating chaos than serving the American people; where some political leaders imagine that threatening with violence those who disagree with them is a viable form of governance.
No doubt they would have much in common with the king who appears in today’s gospel reading: a ruler so angry at those who fail to show up for his banquet that he orders his troops to murder them and then burn their city to the ground. I mean, think about it: you passed up a dry chicken breast with limp broccoli at a catered wedding banquet – and now your threatened with death by the father of the groom? Would we not think that a bit of an over-reaction? I wonder: in telling this parable, was Jesus thinking of the Roman emperor or Herod, the ruthless and vindictive ruler of Jesus’ homeland, the Galilee? And then I wonder about those Christian preachers, so prominent in our national landscape, who are eager to portray God as the judge who is quick to separate the supposedly good from the supposedly evil. Such sad preaching makes for a world divided into black and white, the colors of diversity and nuance and exceptions simply washed away.
But, then, there is the poor fellow who becomes a guest at the banquet and, in his poverty, has no wedding robe, no proper attire. The king calls him “friend,” yet he is no friend to the king but rather someone supposedly unfit for the banquet. He is speechless when confronted with his apparent mistake. And once again, we encounter an angry and vindictive political leader who orders this poor man bound and thrown outside the banquet hall to suffer in isolation. Is it possible, then, that Matthew, the author of this gospel, wants us to see the great difference between the two: the angry and violent political leader and the poor man shocked into silence and forcibly removed from the wedding table?
What you and I need to remember is that in Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus tells this parable when he is already in Jerusalem. And in a few days, he will stand speechless before Pontius Pilate, the political power. And then he will be humiliated and bound hand and foot to the cross where he will suffer in isolation. And so I wonder: does Jesus tell this parable so that we might know what the Reign of God, the Kingdom of God is like? Is he intent on turning us away from any leader – corporate, financial, military, political, or religious – who uses anger, discrimination, and threats of violence? And is he intent on turning us toward the unarmed, speechless guest who becomes an outcast? In other words, is Jesus saying, “If you want to know what it’s like to live in the Reign of God, the Kingdom of God, look at me and learn from me”?
You see, I think this parable invites us to see Jesus as the one who dared to defy tyrants great and small, the political leader as well as the divisive religious leader; who rejected rage, violence, and the use of threats to get his way, and because of that he was singled out, exposed, and abused. And if we accept this invitation to see Jesus as the one who lived courageously with compassion for the outcast, perhaps we just might begin to see the courageous people in our world who resist the bully and resist with non-violence and with love. We just might begin to see the people in our world who are singled out, exposed, and abused.
At this moment I am thinking of Narges Mohammadi, the Iranian activist who, in prison, is the 2023 recipient of the Nobel Peace Prize for “her fight against the oppression of women in Iran and her struggle to promote human rights and freedom for all.” I am thinking of those people in our nation who are singled out and mistreated because they don’t wear the supposedly “right” clothes, or have the “right” skin, or the “right” papers, or the “right” spouse or partner. But I am also thinking of you, friends. I am thinking of you who have been made to feel that you somehow don’t measure up to someone else’s standard, who have been made to feel that you are on the margins. I am thinking of you who have experienced emotional, physical, or intellectual abuse or discrimination simply because of who you are. For if that has been or is your experience, let me say that you have come to the right place, to this community that is gathered around the cross with the one who knows your anxiety, your pain, or what may be your sense of living on the outside. You have come to the right place, to this community gathered around this altar where each is welcome regardless of what you wear, who you love, where you work, or who your ancestors were. For here, there is a banquet for us; not the banquet of the rage-filled king but rather the banquet of the Good Shepherd; the banquet of Jesus who both stands up to bullies and is gentle and humble of heart – not one without the other. And so I say, come to this table, come just as you are and then, and then expect your heart to grow in courage and compassion.
Amen.