You are invited… The world we live in is filled with invitations. This past week I was invited to attend a special lecture by a financial planner; I was invited by the alumni association of my alma mater to a special event; I was invited to refinance my house; I was invited to a preview a showing of an art exhibit; I was invited to a number of fund raising benefits; I was invited to several grand openings of stores and restaurants; and we received a number of invitations to dinner parties and social engagements. I suspect that most of you had a similar week—and like most of your invitations—a number of my invitations were of such a bulk mail mass marketing character that I did not even respond with my regrets let alone any acknowledgment that the invitation had been received. That is not to say that we turn down all invitations—we just weigh them carefully—accepting the ones that fit our calendar or strike a particularly fitting tone in our life and plans.
Our Gospel lesson for today is a parable about invitation—It is perhaps one of the most familiar invitations we receive—that of a wedding party. Such invitations in my mind are not to be taken lightly. Most wedding invitations are extended by the bride and groom or their parents because they feel your presence will be meaningful to the day—as a family member or friend. I am always troubled by the wedding dinners I attend—when I see place cards still sitting on the entry table as the evening is drawing to a close. I always wonder what unforeseen event kept someone from the wedding. I always hope it is nothing serious—More than once I have seen the Bride or her Groom studying the few remaining cards with a troubled or momentarily sober look in the midst of their joyous day. Chris and I do not attend every wedding reception we are invited to—and we are invited to quite a number. Part of the reason for refusing is just logistics and calendar—Saturday night is not one of our better nights to party when we are facing worship services the next morning. So the description of invitations to a wedding party in our gospel for today has a familiar feel to us. The kingdom of heaven compared to a Wedding banquet with invited guests—Some things don’t change all that much even over 2000 years.
There are invitations and then there are invitations. There are the bulk mailed mass invitations and then there are the personally written and hand addressed invitations that clearly say this invitation is for you. An invitation is sent—in the case of our Gospel parable—sent through the personal invitation of slave messengers—hospitality from a royal. A banquet with fine food to celebrate a special moment of joy—a son’s wedding. A king invites—this is no small matter. There are some invitations that carry a certain weight considering their source. Last week the New York Times contained an article about the special literary conferences that have been hosted at the White House by the First Lady Laura Bush.—It seems she has tried to create gatherings that reflect the best of scholarly reflection on selected topics of American literature without regard for the political bias of the academic being invited. The article noted how on numerous occasions the scholar invited did not at first even accept the telephone call from the White House secretary because he or she could not imagine that any invitation could possibly be coming to them from the White House given their particular and not totally secret political position on pressing world events. Some thought at first the invitation to the White House might be a mistake or a joke—but in the end they accepted and were surprised by the quality of the conference. Hospitality does not require uniformity of thinking—but it does require civility. In our parable those invited do not just send their regrets but they make light of the invitation and abuse those sent with the invitations.
We dare not analyze a parable story too closely but we cannot help but wonder at the reason anyone would fail to take a king’s invitation seriously. The great debate of this past week—especially in the U.S. Senate demonstrated once again the formalized rituals of our democracy that allows elected representatives to speak with great passion and conviction to opposing positions on a single great issue. The senators discovered long ago rituals and forms that allow for a diversity of views to be expressed and exist without breaking the wholeness we call government. We witness again and again through history and around the world how the rules of hospitality and custom are broken at great peril to person and society. As much as we may critique and bemoan various institutions of our lives we also know that the role of religious institutions—like that of government and financial institutions—has been through the centuries to provide order and direction to our world. Time and again when the established institutions of our world have not pleased us or seemed to move too slowly or in a direction we would prefer not to go—we have been tempted to decide our own way—build our own idols as the people do in the first lesson for today. This is perhaps the greatest human temptation—to decide for ourselves what is the most important—To do what we think is the most secure and promising course for ourselves—without regard for God or others—to truly go it alone.
Golden calves litter the course of human history. I am haunted by the memory of the events that surround our Old Testament lesson. The promise that was ultimately given the people was that if they followed God’s way they would be blessed—but when they chose their own way to find security and the future their golden calf was ultimately destroyed. It could have been the people who were destroyed but God had compassion for the people—So only the false idol was destroyed—ground into powder and mixed with the water the people drank so it was very bitter. No rich full bodied wine for the party—but the bitter taste in their mouths for a long time reminding them that God’s way was blessing and peace—but the idols of our way leads to suffering, death and bitterness. So the invitations were sent—but those invited ignored—abused—destroyed the invitation. And the king was angered—hospitality not just rejected but perverted into out right rebellion. So the king turned his back on those he first invited—put an end to them and sent out new invitations—an open invitation to all who would come—good and bad—we are told.
An open invitation—there is one problem with an invitation that is open to everyone and that is that it seems now days such an invitation is viewed as no invitation at all. If we post a notice in the newsletter or bulletin inviting members to a certain activity or to volunteer for a certain task, we know from experience that most everyone will assume that that invitation was not for them but for their neighbor or the person in the next pew. Of course the computer generated mail merged letter is hardly anymore personal but there is something about our names—We like to be named. I always remind the confirmands that Jesus never did a generic miracle and Jesus never issued a generic invitation. He healed with a personal touch or a directed commanding word. He invited each disciple to follow him. So we baptize each person by name—God invites each of us to enter the kingdom by name—our Christian name. And the promise of that invitation echoes through our parable today in that we are washed in the waters of baptism to be received at the welcome table. The wedding robe given to each invited guest was a sign that the hospitality did not depend on the guest’s preparations but the grace of the king who invites. But one guest could not get the rules of hospitality straight. When the king sees him without a wedding robe he asks, “Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?” And the guest was speechless—no excuses—he just hadn’t made use of the gift that was given to him.
We remind our young people that their calling during their student and young adult years is to discern their gifts—come to know your gifts, talents, resources. Gifts are intended to be opened and used. A beautifully wrapped gift left on the shelf is a gift denied. Our lives are gifted by God—and the joy of the welcome feast offered to us each week at this table of grace is intended to be a celebration of gifts discovered. Jesus said the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. From the very beginning we have known that our God had expectations and limits for his creation—there was fruit to be eaten and fruit not to eat—there were rules of physics, chemistry, biology—gravity, strong and weak forces—there were principles and ideals—moral and ethical categories—truth and beauty—justice and order—and glimpses of eternal transcendents—hope, joy, love and glimpses of peace. Some of those invited simply did not understand that there are limits even to God’s hospitality—Put on the robe. But the speechless guest was surprised to be so confronted.
Each year as September arrives we offer a parent orientation to our confirmation program outlining the expectations of this program to help our young people learn, grow and serve. Almost every year we have at least one parent come to us afterwards and say they simply can’t have their young person participate because it would require that the family change their way of life too much.—More than once I have been told that there were enough demands on their life from school, sports, work and family. They didn’t need any from the church. A religion without demands or expectations—Sunday worship is about putting on our robe—getting ready for the party. The parable quite simply reminds us that even God’s grace has it limits—its shape—its form. The picture of one dying on a cross. Put on your robe. That basically means being ready at any time to meet God. How do we do that? The first century Rabbi Eliezer said: "Repent one day before your death." His scholars asked him, “How can one know when they will die?” He answered them, "Since you may die tomorrow it is all the more necessary to repent today.” Put on the robe. In the ancient church the newly baptized were given a new robe to wear—a symbol of being cleansed of all sin—a new beginning. We are among those who were invited at the end of the parable—from all the corners of the kingdom—some of us good and some not so good—but invited just the same. No more excuses—even the calendar conflicts are set aside—this invitation has only one requirement—put on the robe. Come to the party—put on your robe—open your gifts.
Amen.