A fearful invitation

“My friend, how is it that you came in here

without a wedding garment?”  --Matthew 22:12

One of the most troubling of parables is the story of the King and the wedding feast, and the “dis-invited” guest.  This vision of the Kingdom of Heaven is frightening at least on one level. And that is the vision of God --allegorically-- as a hard and vengeful king.  Jesus begins this parable saying:

The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared

a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his servants 
to call those he had invited to the banquet, but 
they refused to come. (--Mt. 22: 2-3)

 The king (who seems to clearly stand for God) is preparing a wedding feast for his son (Jesus seems an appropriate reading there).  He invites the guests exhorting them to come, but his invitation is snubbed and his messengers are finally killed. So, the enraged King sends his army to “destroy those murders and burn their town” (cf. Mt 22: 5).  This vengeful or punishing God doesn’t seem like the God who is love (cf. 1 John 4:16). But isn’t that what Jesus is saying? That His father will be enraged if we reject His invitation and abuse (and/or kill) His messengers, and that we better watch out!?  That is perplexing. Troubling. Worth pondering. But I wonder if that is what this parable is really about?  Or is there something else happening here? A different message about the Kingdom of God. A message about how we receive it.

I’ve been thinking about that first vision of the guests who “refused to come,” and that final vision of the guest who gets dis-invited from the banquet.  It seems to me that there is something important going on in this parable dealing with the way we receive God’s invitation. When the guests are first invited they simply don’t go. Perhaps they don’t really listen to the messenger, or perhaps they are distracted by immediate duties or obligations. They just don’t go.  How often are we like that. We probably have an excuse most of the time, but how often do we simply not bother to respond when God calls?  Then the messengers are sent out again to announce that the food has been prepared and the table is set and the frozen margaritas are melting!  But the guests still don’t go. They turn away from the King’s invitation, “one to his field, and another to his business…” (cf. 22: 5) and others take the messengers, abuse them and kill them. I wonder if this isn’t where Christ is calling us to see a vision of the Kingdom of God. Here we see the difficulty of saying YES to God’s call. Some guests are actually busy –going to their fields and their work—and so it might seem reasonable for them to ignore the King’s invitation, or God’s call? How often do we feel too busy to spend time with God? Too busy to go to mass because of weekend obligations or because of some project at work we need to catch up on –maybe inventory or something like that, or maybe it’s the lawn that we’ve been meaning to mow. Wouldn’t it be easier if we didn’t go to church and just stayed home and washed those dishes and folded that laundry and raked those leaves? It’s not that we don’t want to respond to God –it’s just that we are so very busy! 

And that seems to me the crux of this parable. That busy-ness!  After a while of God calling us and us being too busy to respond, we may get a little resentful. We may get tired of feeling like God has us on speed dial! Just like some of those guests in the parable, we may begin to feel an urge to kill the next messenger God sends our way.  The Kingdom of God is like this King who is throwing this party that he really really really wants you to attend... think about how annoying that might seem, if all you wanted to do was stay home, finish the laundry and binge watch Stranger Things. It’s not that the Kingdom of Heaven is like that king or like that wedding feast… the Kingdom of Heaven is like that call! It’s going to interrupt your regular daily duties and desires and hopes and plans and it is going to demand a response.

And when it comes to the response, I think we see something about that in the final image of that guest who has no response when the king asks him: “Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?” (cf. 22: 12) And when the man has no answer, he is bound and thrown out into the darkness “where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth” (cf. 22:13).  I have always been struck by how unfair that feels. The man may have been caught off guard by the king’s question. And, anyway, the guy was forced to come to the party by the king’s servants. Why should he be punished? He didn’t want to go to this stupid old party anyway??  And that is where I think I find the lesson of this man.  What might the wedding garment symbolize? Of course, baptism or the grace of God… something like that. And so the fact that the man isn’t wearing a wedding garment, means he doesn’t really want to be at this party. And God, a God of Love, isn’t about to force anyone to stay at his party if they don’t want to be there.  So he has the guest bound and tossed out into the darkness. It seems to me that this is a very important part of the parable. The king doesn’t kill the guest. He sends him back out into the darkness where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth.  It’s almost like the king is saying, you don’t want to be at the party, then I won’t force you to stay. Go back where you came from: bound by sin, go back out into the darkness of a life of toil and suffering.  Because if we aren’t ready to say yes to God, to hear His call and respond with joy, then we aren’t ready to be in His presence.  And so –in some way—we are still bound to sin, and we are still walking in the darkness.  But that doesn’t mean we are lost. God is still calling. God is still inviting.  The next time he calls you, I challenge you to put those dishes down, drop that laundry, shut off that mower, forget about work and distractions and Stranger Things, and try saying this: Speak Lord, your servant is listening.

A kind of confession, a kind of revelation

 (this is a scene from a story I am working on)

“I know. I know, my boy.  So it seems. Hopeless.  But think of this. When Abraham was about to lose everything, God sent an angel to comfort him and stop his hand. When Moses was cast into the desert, a burning bush appeared to him and when Job was utterly lost and without hope –even from his friends—what happened?”

“What?”

“God answered him.  Not in words, not in reasons, but by revelation. God revealed Himself to Job. That was His answer. Job was a good man who suffered unjustly –we would say—suffered not because he had done anything wrong, but simply because bad things happened to him.  And what was the result, my dear?”

“Yes.”

“What was the result?”

“Yes.” Henry felt his chest begin to tremble. The sense of emotion and anxiety and dread and a sudden euphoric joy overwhelmed him. His voice broke as he repeated, “Yes.”

“Oh dear. Yes. You’re right. It was something beyond. A vision of God’s splendor. You’ve heard people speak of the transcendent, haven’t you?  Yes. Dear me. I know you have. You’re not a fool. I know that.  But, do you understand? God didn’t answer Job in human terms. Not in the way that Job and his friend were thinking of an answer. No. They were all good men, so to speak. Don’t you imagine? They all had good intentions. But God said to Job: Gird up your loins, and then as… well, by way of… yes, well, then He… what does God do? He… well, He challenges Job. But, you understand. Don’t you, my dear? You understand God wasn’t being mean. He wasn’t belittling Job.  No. No. Dear me. God doesn’t work that way. He was simply, and transcendently –yes. Yes. Very transcendentally… revealing Himself in all His splendor… all His glory.  Think about those images: the storehouse of the snow, the pedestals of the earth, the great and terrible behemoth –Who can put a hook in his nose?—and the birthing of the gentle mountain goat… the womb of the seas, telling the water it may come this far and no more… Do you understand? It’s all so amazing and wonderful. It’s all so awesome in the actual sense of that word. Not like the kids would say: an awesome movie! You know? But awesome in the sense of, well… awe inspiring. Truly awe inspiring. And what happens? What does Job do?”

“He places his hand over his mouth…”

“Yes. Yes. That’s right and he says though I spoke before I will not speak again. He is truly and utterly…”

“Yes…” Henry whispered.

“Yes. Yes. That’s it.  People often think this is because Job realized he shouldn’t challenge God. He shouldn’t ask God to defend Himself.  But that’s all wrong. People often mistakenly say that the answer Job gets is that things are too big for people, even someone as great as Job, to understand. As if God were chastising Job and putting him in his place.  As if God were saying to Job: what right have you to question me?  But Job isn’t a book about an inscrutable God and His unfathomable ways.  It is a book about suffering –though ultimately, you see, not about misery—No. No.  It’s about the power of suffering. The –what does Peter call it? …the refiner’s fire. Job endures the refiner’s fire. Unjust sufferings, seemingly endless miseries, and never learns why… and yet in the end what happens?”

Henry simply stared, unable to speak.

“He gets a glimpse of the truth; of God’s glory.  Don’t you see?”

“Yes.” He whispered.

“Is it possible? Is it possible, my dear friend, that God reveals Himself through His cross? Through the cross we come to understand God. Through our own part in that cross we come to understand Him; not intellectually. I don’t mean that. But to –in a way—taste a moment of His –what? Glory? I think taste might be a better word because we don’t really think of understanding a cheeseburger, but when we taste it we know what it is and we even know something of its splendor. If it’s a good one, of course. I have to say I do like a good cheeseburger. Yes. Ruby Red. Oh, the peanuts. Yes. Oh dear. Oh dear. I miss Ruby Reds.”

Henry chuckled. “Yes, Father. Me too.”

“I just… oh dear, me.  But. Do you understand what I am trying to say? I am trying to say that perhaps the story of Job isn’t about the suffering itself but about the experience; and in the end --do you see?—it’s about what comes of it.  Is it possible, dear dear Henry. I know I’m not supposed to know who you are, but you know I do. I’m sorry.  I do.  Is it possible that what you are going through, and of course it is a kind of crucible, I know that. I know. Yes. I know.  Oh dear… But is it possible that God is trying to reveal Himself to you? through this? Through your wife’s suffering. Through your job? Through your struggle? Even and maybe especially through your brother. Oh, dear Henry. You are Job.  If ever I knew one, you...  I pray for you often. Daily. I do. But, am I just like one of Job’s friends? Am I just a foolish old priest making pompous statements about things I don’t understand? Oh, Henry. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Don’t listen to me. What do I know about wives and sufferings. I was an only child and now I’m an old priest. And you, you my son… I think you are a saint. In the making, at least. Oh dear. Dear. Dear, me. I’m sorry. Sometimes I just say things. I don’t know why.  Do you pray to Joseph? Pray to Saint Joseph. If anyone will understand your troubles, it will be him. Pray to him now. As your act of contrition. Please. Let us do this together. Both of us.”

The stone the builders rejected

“Why have you broken down the walls,

so that all who pass may pluck its fruit?”  --Psalm 80: 13

One of my favorite psalms is Psalm 80 with that great image of the vine brought out of Egypt. As the psalmist tells it, the vine grows and thrives and begins to tower over the trees and spread to the sea, even casting its shadow over the mountains.  Under God’s care, that vine is doing pretty darned well.  Then there is that abrupt change, as the psalmist cries out:  Why then have you broken down its walls? Now, everyone who passes by can pluck its fruit! By golly, even the beasts of the fields and the boars of the forest eat its fruit and ravage the vine, Oh Lord!  Why would you do this, God?  Why would you build something up and then just pull away Your protection and let it be ravaged and torn down and even despised and rejected?  Why?

And with this past Sunday’s reading from Matthew we hear a possible answer.

“Have you never read in the scriptures: the stone that

the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was

the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes.” (Mt. 21:42)

Yes. It is amazing in our eyes. We who long for success and smooth sailing and promotion after promotion as confirmation of our actual value –we who lick the earth (to paraphrase another psalm), we who cannot imagine success without some kind of pleasure –at least as our reward.  It is amazing to us that the one rejected could possibly become anything, let alone the cornerstone. Truly amazing. Yet, it is the Lord’s doing. And perhaps we should remember –often it seems to be a singular mark of how He works.  The one who is rejected, who is denied, who is ridiculed –that one becomes the cornerstone.

And so we look again at the vine from the psalm.  It is ravaged and plucked by any and all who pass.  Why would God let such a thing happen?  Is it possible that the answer is to make cornerstones?  Think of Christ on the cross: He is dying a failure and a ridiculous fool to those with any power.  They laugh and taunt Him. Even one of those dying with Him cannot resist the desire to pluck at what remains of His early dignity:

If you really are the Messiah, save yourself and us! (cf LK 23:39)

But that isn’t how God works.  God makes His cornerstones out of the stones the builders reject, and to prove that –Jesus must feel the utter rejection of feeling abandoned even by God.

“Why have you broken down the walls?”

“So that all those who pass by may pluck and ravage My vine…”

It seems to me that Jesus is teaching us something about recognizing God’s amazing hand in what looks to us (and the world) like failure.  When we feel plucked and ravaged and rejected, perhaps we should take heart and trust that God is working on us. He is forming us and shaping us and turning us into cornerstones. That may not make the rejection feel any less painful, but it may be some consolation to know that perhaps this is how He builds His kingdom.

But now I wonder –does that mean any time I fail, I am being formed into a cornerstone?  Possibly… but when I lean over to kiss my wife and she says, “Honey, please! Not right now…”  What kind of cornerstone does that make me? One with garlic breath?