“And He Was Speechless”
Matthew 22:1-14
Allen Huff
Jonesborough Presbyterian Church
10/15/17
I’m going to
be honest with you. I don’t like Matthew’s rendering of the parable of the
wedding banquet. I much prefer Luke’s kinder, gentler version. So, before
reading the story, we’re going to spend some time understanding the context. Let’s
back up to the middle of chapter 21.
In Matthew
21:12-17 Jesus drives the moneychangers and merchants out of the temple. Holding
the temple leaders responsible for the spiritual and ecclesiastical defilement
of Israel, we Christians use a loaded word; we call it the “cleansing of the
temple.” Choosing the word cleansing,
opens the door not only to pride among Jesus’ disciples, but also to the
insidious phobia of anti-Semitism.
Jesus takes a profound
risk in chasing these folks out of the temple. And while he’s clearly furious,
it seems to me that his fury is the scream of his heart breaking. I don’t hear
him saying, ‘All of you are bad people!’ I hear him saying, ‘This is not who
you are! You’re better than this, and you know it!’
The people aren’t evil. The problem
is the institution. It has become an organism with a life of its own. It
consumes resources, like a fig tree, maybe – in particular, a fig tree that
doesn’t produce fruit. Existing for itself, the institution no longer carries
out the purpose of blessing that dates back to the call of Abraham.
The morning
after Jesus empties the temple of merchants and moneychangers, he curses a fig
tree that has no fruit. It seems harsh, perhaps, but a figless fig tree is good
for kindling and compost, and not much else. Similarly, a spiritless spiritual
community is nothing but a building and a consumer of resources. It’s no
different than any other social or civic club that collects dues and engages in
a little conspicuous altruism. A spiritless spiritual community has given up on
mystery, holiness, and its for-the-sake-of-others
blessedness. It has also abandoned its prophetic voice.
After cursing the
fig tree, Jesus returns to the temple. Offended, the spiritual leaders confront
Jesus. They question his authority, and Jesus ends up telling them that tax
collectors and prostitutes have higher and holier standing than they do. Then Jesus
tells them the parable of the wicked tenants. In this story, a landowner sends
his servants then his son to collect a harvest. After the workers kill the
servants and the son, the landowner executes all the workers.
“Therefore I tell you,” says Jesus
to the spiritual leaders, “the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and
given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.” (Mt. 21:43)
Do you hear the connection to the story of the fig tree, to the cleansing of
the temple, and to the call of Abraham?
The spiritual leaders want to
arrest Jesus, but they fear the crowds who love Jesus. Enslaved to their power
within the institution, those spiritual leaders say nothing.
Jesus plows straight into his next
parable, today’s text. It’s another strange and difficult story spoken into a rising
tide of anxiety and emotion. Matthew is leading us toward a flashpoint in the
conflict between Jesus and power. It will be called Friday.
Matthew 22:1-14
Once
more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying: 2“The kingdom of
heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. 3He
sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but
they would not come.
4Again
he sent other slaves, saying, ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have
prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and
everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’
5But they made light of it and went
away, one to his farm, another to his business, 6while the rest
seized his slaves, mistreated them, and killed them.
7The
king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned
their city.
8Then
he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not
worthy. 9Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you
find to the wedding banquet.’ 10Those slaves went out into the
streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding
hall was filled with guests.
11“But
when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not
wearing a wedding robe, 12and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you
get in here without a wedding robe?’
And
he was speechless.
13Then
the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into
the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ 14For
many are called, but few are chosen.”
Initially, the conservative Pharisee
in me cringes because these stories are aimed at me. The progressive, 21st
century Christian rankles at the violent image of God. The only side of me that
likes them is that smug, bigoted, first-world religionist who looks for any
reason to fear and judge others for being different from me. For being Muslim, Jewish, Buddhist, atheist, or in any other way
non-Christian (at least relative to me),
or for being un-American (at least relative to me), or for having a skin color darker than mine, or for posing what I
interpret as a threat to everything that I
hold dear. That smug, bigoted, first-world religionist in me always hears Jesus
taking my side in his stories. That
guy always assumes that God is as small, vindictive, and merciless as I can be.
I come face-to-face with that guy
almost daily. Like those who have been invited to the wedding banquet, he makes
light of the invitation. He’s more interested in looking busy in his office
than he is in following Jesus. Like a shark who smells blood, he enters the
feeding frenzy of acrimony and insult where neighbors attack each other with
guns, clubs, automobiles, and most insidiously, with their words – often spoken
through social media, which is
becoming, in many ways, a fiercely anti-social force in our culture.
When I stand before that smug, bigoted,
first-world religionist in me, and in others, when I see the carnage around me,
I tend to lose my voice. I become a speechless wedding-crasher. Why? I tell
myself that I’m just trying, in trying times, to hold together a congregation
of disparate theological and political opinions. That’s not a bad goal – unless
all I’m really trying to do is hold
onto my job, my benefits. Then I choose speechlessness and call it pastoral sensitivity. But whom does a
speechless disciple really serve? Whom do I really love and worship? Whom do I
really trust?
When Jesus faces opposition, he
never chooses speechlessness. At the risk of his life, Jesus speaks. And he
inspires the adage that states, quite accurately, that “all tyranny needs to
gain a foothold is for people of good conscience to remain silent.”1
When
the king in the parable confronts the man who has no robe, the man is
“speechless.” He says nothing about the selfishness of those who ignored the
invitation. He says nothing about the injustices of all that bloody murder and
revenge. He says nothing.
Is
it possible that the words he could have
uttered – words of gratitude and congratulations for the bride and the groom, words
of compassion for all who had been killed, words of solidarity with the guests –
could it be that such words, spoken with conviction and love, weave the wedding
robe?
I’m
not advocating any kind of works righteousness. We don’t earn our invitation to
the banquet. The parable is not about who’s in and who’s out with regard to
salvation. It’s about who accepts the call to live as “chosen” ones, bearers of
visible and audible fruits of prophetic faith, even as Friday looms. It’s about
living as embodied speech, declaring that the wedding banquet has been prepared
and that all are welcome.
Thomas
Merton took a vow of silence. And when he did, he closed his mouth once and for
all. But his spirited life was all about speaking, all about doing justice,
loving kindness, and walking humbly with God.
Our words and actions
are figs. They’re the fruit of our faithfulness. What we say and don’t say are
not the difference between our being accepted and rejected by God. Only a god
made in our image withholds grace. But speechlessness is not an option for
disciples. Speaking truth and justice to power in the institution may get us in
trouble, because power doesn’t want to hear “politics” in church. Power forgets
how consistently political Jesus is. Our speech – our patient, humble, honest, challenging
speech – is both our robe of righteousness to wear and our cross to bear. Our
speech cries out to humankind, “We are better than this, and we know it!”
If
we have said Yes to the question, “Is
Jesus Christ your Lord and Savior,” we have a new voice with which to proclaim our
discipleship and to weave our wedding robes. If all we want is a Savior,
someone to save us from personal sins, we’ll be satisfied with
speechlessness, even in the face of injustice.
If Jesus is our Lord,
however, Lord of our lives, we have spirited words to say and spirited work to
do. Here. Now. Today.
No comments:
Post a Comment