Sermon: 19th Sunday after
Pentecost
11 October 2020 –
Archdeacon Mark Long
Philippians 4:1-9; Psalm 106:1-6, 20-24; and Matthew 22:1-14; NRSV
Today we again have the opportunity to engage with Scripture, both within the context of our worship and also within the context of our lives. Times of worship give us the opportunity to draw aside from the fullness of life, but not to the exclusion of that fullness; an opportunity to reflect on the priorities God calls us to, and to realign our lives to the imperatives of our faith. Our liturgy provides a framework and a safe space within which this important work can be done, built as it is on the traditions that have nurtured faith and life over millennia. Much of our liturgy is a re-forming of Scripture itself in the prayers and structuring of our communal time together, and the reading and proclamation of specific passages of Scripture are an opportunity to explore God’s ancient Word in the immediacy of the now, in the challenging context of our daily lives. As individuals we gather with a vast variety of differing joys and concerns that exercise our awareness; as a community there are common societal ills that perplex our collective consciousness. We see things differently, we hold differing perspectives, but we are united in our desire to hear God and to have our lives refashioned in the Creator’s hands. Scripture is one of the important instruments in this process.
The parable in Matthew’s Gospel this morning is a difficult one, and begins with the words,”The kingdom of heaven may be compared to …”[1] and goes on to tell a story about the vindictive and excessive violence exercised by a king over his subjects.[2] Our Christian minds all too easily make an automatic and often unconscious link between the word King and the word God, which is often reinforced when we hear the word parable. A traditional interpretation of this parable does exactly that by expounding this story as an allegory of the historical relationship between God and the Jewish people who in refusing to accept Jesus as Messiah opened the door for the Gentiles to be grafted into this historic relationship. However, clearly Jesus didn’t tell parables in order for them to be easily understood; instead he wished his listeners to be challenged to think more deeply about life and faith. An allegorical interpretation of this passage paints a problematic picture of God as vindictive and excessively violent, the Jews as privileged and unaccountable landowners, and the gentiles at best as common labourers and at worst as beggars in the streets. This conflicts on numerous levels with the testimony of wider Scripture and the broader narrative of Matthew’s Gospel, and not least with Jesus’ very powerful proclamation of love as the primary driving force of Divinity. The key to interpreting this parable lies not in the king, nor in the invited guests who reject the invitation, and not even in the bulk of those who do finally attend; it lies in the man who was “… not wearing a wedding robe”[3], and who when challenged “… was speechless”[4] and subsequently bound and thrown out “… into the outer darkness.”[5] Where else do we hear about a man who is bound and remains speechless in Matthew’s Gospel? A good storyteller – and I would suggest that the writer of Matthew is such a storyteller – will always leave clues.
In Matthew 27 we read, “Now Jesus stood before the governor; … But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, “Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?” But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed.”[6] Jesus, too, is subsequently bound and crucified, cast out into the outer darkness. Here is our clue. Using this clue certain pieces of the puzzle, although not all the answers, begin to click into place. The king is the Roman Emperor, and Matthew’s listeners knew the vindictive and excessive violence of Rome; and much of the parable speaks to the manner in which Rome sought to rule its empire, always working where possible with local leadership in imposing the Roman Peace, but responding with excessive violence when this leadership proved fickle and self-serving and incapable of maintaining the subservience of the those conquored. In the parable, although the king has already murdered those who have angered him, the man not wearing a wedding robe becomes the scapegoat for the king’s broader frustration with the people’s indifference to his authority, just as Jesus becomes the scapegoat for Jewish indifference – often outright rebellion – to Rome. If this Gospel had been written a decade or two later, after Rome’s destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70CE, perhaps this parable would have included the massacre of all who attended the wedding dinner as well. In sharing this parable the writer of Matthew is laying the groundwork for Jesus’ arrest, trial and execution, reminding us of the forces at play; warning us that there will be no fairytale ending. If you’re wanting a happy ending, the writer is saying that this parable is the place to put the book aside.
The parable ends with the words, “For many are called, but few are chosen.”[7] Perseverance and courage are required to walk the journey of faith, especially if we are willing to live at the intersection of faith and daily life. The temptation to overlook the the social ills of our time, and find false comfort in our faith is always there. The majority of those who do attend the wedding celebration have done just this: they know the vindictive and violent nature of their host all too well, but for the sake of momentary comfort and seeming peace they put on their wedding clothes. One person is willing to stand their ground, and refuses to wear the costume, refuses to dance to the required tune, and is willing to show up the farce for what it is. All were called to name the evil, only one person does, only one is chosen.
This parable is not a comfortable one. Despite the wedding metaphor there is no joy in it, just the stark reality of life under a brutal regime; and only one individual willing to stare down the oppressor. But it’s not hopeless. One individual is chosen, and finds the courage to call the evil of the day for what it is. In the story of faith one individual is always sufficient: Abraham, Moses, Jeremiah, Jesus, St Francis, Nelson Mandela, Desmond Tutu, Pope Francis. You and me. Yes, you and me … I’m unlikely to ever be a Desmond Tutu, and you’re unlikely to ever be a Nelson Mandela, but we are both called, and we both have within us the inherent gift to be chosen; we may not change the world, but we can make a difference for good and for God where we live, work and worship. We have already made the commitment to be available to God’s purposes; and we affirm this each time we gather in worship; and God is already using us for our greater good and God’s greater glory. To be chosen, we need to become more aware, more fully conscious of our daily participation in God’s activity at the intersection of our faith and daily lives. At this intersectionality of faith and life is our hope, undergirded by the Holy Spirit – the ongoing and unfailing presence of God – and by the regular opportunity to be agents of transformation, equity, and belonging.
Let us pray,
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