Journey's Weekly Homilies

October 6th (28th Sunday, Ordinary Tine)
(Is.25:6-10, Phil.4:12-14,19-20, Mt.22:1-10)
Homily by Laurie

We have just heard the third of three reign of God stories.  Three weeks ago we again told the parable of the workers in the vineyard and how the last hires received the same amount of pay given the first on the job.  Tom illustrated it for us as a story of the steadfastness of God, that when we turn towards the holy, God is waiting always for us, and the grace given the very latest to turn, is as full as the grace given those who have long walked and worked in the vineyard of God. God is generous.

 Last week, Jim told us of another vineyard, owned by an absent landlord, perhaps an agribusiness conglomerate. The workers abuse and kill the servants the landlord sends to collect the rent. They also kill his son, thinking the owner is dead and now perhaps this land will return to these workers whose families have worked it, before it was lost in debt, to the distant landowner. Jim spoke to us of the importance of community, of knowing, caring and acting as if one has a stake in how and if the work of building the reign of God is brought to light and life in all the communities of which we are a part.  That is neighborhood, workplace, schools, church, friends, families and even those we name as other. God may be even more translucent and visible to us in what we name other. It takes knowing who it is we name as other, to then remind ourselves that they too, are our community, our neighbor.

Jim also gently reminded us of the barb in the parable of the absent landlord. Jesus is talking to the religious elite of the temple, not so subtly, accusing them of keeping what belongs to God and all God’s people for themselves.  He also describes their punishment, when the time comes.  “Therefore, I tell you, the reign of God will be taken away from you and given to a nation producing the fruits of it.”  Some Christians claim the United States is that nation. God save us.  An indictment of the religious elite in one age might be an accusation of western greed and elitism in another. Our hope lies in that we might yet turn towards the vineyard to do the work we have been given.

Then, will God wipe away all of our tears, and the reproach of God will be taken away from all the earth. So be it.

Our gospel tonight, this parable of feast and appropriate dress is terrifying.  The likes of this story are in part what drove me to take a sabbatical from preaching.  The initial part of our story is good news for us. It is a tale of elite society invited to a party, but not liking the particulars.  They initially accept the invitation but then find out the right people aren’t going to be there, and the seating arrangements weren’t quite to their liking.  When the time comes for the celebration they beg off, citing lame excuses. The king then breaks ranks with these losers and sends his servants to the streets to invite everyone to the feast.

Two things have happened.  The king has definitely removed himself from the A list of social stratification.  More importantly, table fellowship, a clear sign of ones social standing in Jesus’ time is turned from elite and exclusive to a meal to which everyone is invited. An elite table is hard for us to imagine. Pliny, a philosopher of ancient times, tells a story of such a feast.  A friend of his threw a party.  On the table were three pitchers of wine; one contained a fine vintage, one a lesser vintage, and one an everyday table wine.  The fine wine was served to Pliny and his friend. The lesser vintage was poured for other friends at table, (“for you must know Pliny tells us, he measures out his friendship according to quality”.) and the common wine was given to the freed-men who also had been invited. One of the guests asked Pliny if he approved of this elitism.  He replied, ‘No that he did not’. The guest then asked, ‘what then did he do?’  Pliny answered him saying, ‘I give all my company the same fare, for when I make an invitation; it is to sup, not to be censoring.’ 

In this place we know an inclusive table, where all are fed equally. Beyond these walls, where we live as invitation to the reign of God, is our invite to all who would sup at the table of God, or only to those deemed appropriately dressed in our eyes? And that my friends, at least for me, is the more easily  swallowed part of this gospel. Remember the tag at the end; the poor human being who is cast out, because he didn’t put on the wedding clothes set out for all the guests?

This poor fool, may have come to the wedding feast directly from work, covered in dust, sweat and manure and yet been welcomed whole-heartedly, except for a minor detail.  He or she, has not lived as one invited to the feast.  No acts of justice, humility, of compassion or forgiveness, are draped like fine linen around the shoulders of this one. In this brief aside of woe, this one from the roads and byways finds himself outside with the elite, where there is wailing and the gnashing of teeth, as it is when people are separated from God. I don/t know about you, but my wardrobe is full of inappropriate clothing. There is no shopping extravaganza, no fifteen hour sale bargains, no half–yearly hope for my closet. The garment needed for the feast cannot be purchased. We were given the garment with our baptism, in our first coming to know God.  It is all so for us to  weave it, larger and finer, ourselves from our abundance and from our want.  Paul says, he has learned to live well with both.  That possibility of living with abundance and lack is my hope.

What is needed is not more, maybe less, but definitely more examined.  What is it we weave of our lives? Is it coarse burlap, rough and of little use, the weave so haphazardly woven, that it can not even hold grain as a sack?  Is it a lumpy homespun, softened by years of use and worn thin, yet touched by the memory of past love poured out, of justice lived once but no more? Are we weaving the fine linen of those invited to the feast; linen woven of imperfection, of emptiness, of failures to be, woven also of hope shared, justice lived, meals shared with those others, those drug addicts, those welfare recipients, those migrant farm workers, those hawks, those doves, those conservatives, those liberals, those fundamentalists? Is compassion the weft of our handiwork? Is it the river of justice where we take this garment to wash it on the rocks of prejudice, war, greed and poverty?  Does it dry in the sun then like stone washed jeans washed repeatedly with abravsives in a commercial machine, or does it dry dazzling white, light as air and deep as breath, recognized by God and people?