And He Was Speechless (Sermon)

 “And He Was Speechless”

Genesis 12:1-4a and Matthew 22:1-14

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

10/22/23

 

The Lord said to Abram, “Leave your land, your family, and your father’s household for the land that I will show you. ² I will make of you a great nation and will bless you. I will make your name respected, and you will be a blessing.

³ I will bless those who bless you,
    those who curse you I will curse;
        all the families of the earth
            will be blessed because of you.”

⁴ Abram left just as the Lord told him.   (CEB)

 

I don’t really like Matthew’s rendering of the parable of the wedding banquet. I much prefer the kinder, gentler version in Luke 14. It helps, though, to understand two things about Matthew’s context. First is the wider context. Matthew is often called the gospel to the Jews, so one can imagine Matthew as a kind of updated version of the call to Abraham. God is telling Israel, Go, to new land! I’ll let you know when you get there. Second is the immediate context.

In Matthew 21, Jesus drives moneychangers and merchants out of the temple. Now, the people aren’t evil, but they have traded faithfulness to God for membership in an institution which has begun to exist for its own sake. That institution cannot fully carry out its call to be a blessing, a call that dates back to the call of Abraham. So, while Jesus is brimming with passion, he’s not motivated by anger or vengeance. His heart is breaking. And rather than saying, All you bad people get out, he’s saying, This is not who we are! We’re better than this!

         The morning after Jesus clears the temple, he curses a fig-less fig tree. That seems harsh, but a fig tree without figs is good only for shade, then maybe kindling and compost. Similarly, a spiritless spiritual community is nothing but a consumer of resources. Having abandoned its spiritual center and its prophetic voice, such a community has given up on mystery, holiness, and its for-the-sake-of-othersblessedness. 

         After cursing the fig tree, Jesus returns to the temple. Still upset, the leaders confront Jesus. They question his authority. And he tells them that tax collectors and prostitutes have a higher standing in God’s realm of grace than those who sell themselves to power by making temple finances more important than the people and their ministry. Then Jesus tells a parable in which a landowner sends his servants, and later his son to collect a harvest. After the workers murder the servants and the son, the landowner obliterates all the workers.

“Therefore,” says Jesus to the leaders of Israel, “I tell you that God’s kingdom will be taken away from you and will be given to a people who produce its fruit.” (Mt. 21:43)

The leaders want to arrest Jesus, but they fear the crowds who love him. Enslaved to their institutional power and privilege, they are speechless. Into that troubled silence, Jesus tells his next parable:

 

Jesus responded by speaking again in parables: ² “The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a wedding party for his son. ³ He sent his servants to call those invited to the wedding party. But they didn’t want to come. ⁴ Again he sent other servants and said to them, ‘Tell those who have been invited, “Look, the meal is all prepared. I’ve butchered the oxen and the fattened cattle. Now everything’s ready. Come to the wedding party!”’ ⁵ But they paid no attention and went away—some to their fields, others to their businesses. ⁶ The rest of them grabbed his servants, abused them, and killed them.

⁷ “The king was angry. He sent his soldiers to destroy those murderers and set their city on fire. ⁸ Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding party is prepared, but those who were invited weren’t worthy. ⁹ Therefore, go to the roads on the edge of town and invite everyone you find to the wedding party.’

¹⁰ “Then those servants went to the roads and gathered everyone they found, both evil and good. The wedding party was full of guests. ¹¹ Now when the king came in and saw the guests, he spotted a man who wasn’t wearing wedding clothes. ¹² He said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without wedding clothes?’ But he was speechless. ¹³ Then the king said to his servants, ‘Tie his hands and feet and throw him out into the farthest darkness. People there will be weeping and grinding their teeth.’

¹⁴ “Many people are invited, but few people are chosen.” (CEB)

 

This parable and the stories preceding it unsettle me. And isn’t that the intent? The Pharisee within me cringes because the stories expose my own pettiness, self-righteousness, and laziness. The 21^st-century Christian in me rankles at all of that violence. The only part of me that tolerates these stories is that smug, first-world religionist within me who allows political and religious institutions to create in me suspicion, fear, and judgment of people I don’t understand and don’t want to understand.

I deal with that guy every day. He always hears Jesus agreeing with him. He assumes that God is as small, vindictive, and merciless as I can be. Like those who were invited to the wedding banquet, he makes light of the invitation. He’s more interested in looking busy in an office than he is in following Jesus in the world. Like a shark smelling blood, he enters the feeding frenzy of acrimony and insult where neighbors attack each other with weapons and with words—resentful, polarizing, Christ-crucifying words.

In the presence of that spiritless religionist, I lose my voice, and become a speechless wedding-crasher. Even when aware of the brokenness around me, I tell myself that I’m just trying, in trying times, to hold together a congregation of varied theological and political viewpoints. And that’s not a bad goal—unless all I’m really trying to do is hold onto affirming comments and an income. So, I spin my speechlessness as pastoral sensitivity. But whom does a speechless disciple really trust, worship, and serve?

The only time Jesus is speechless is when Pilate asks him if he’s the King of the Jews. Jesus says nothing because he’s already spoken with the Creation-transforming voice of his life.

         When the king in the parable confronts the man who has no robe, the man is “speechless.” He says nothing of gratitude to the king, no congratulations to the bride and groom. He says nothing to lament the short-sightedness of those who ignored the invitation. He says nothing about the injustice of all that God-denying revenge and murder. And no word of solidarity with the other guests.

Could it be that our wedding clothes are woven of words of prophetic, welcoming, and reconciling grace?

         Now listen, I’m not advocating for works righteousness. We do not have to earn our place at the banquet. The parable is about responding to the call to live as ones chosen and equipped to bear the tangible and audible fruits of a truth-telling faith. It’s about living as embodied speech.

         As a Trappist monk, Thomas Merton took a vow of silence, but his spirited life was all about speaking, all about doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with God. Out of his silence he rendered such fruitful speech, both lived and written, that his life and words continue to challenge and nurture people of faith today.

Whatever one’s particular gifts, and whatever the situation, speechlessness is not an option for disciples. Our words and actions are our figs, the fruit of our faithfulness. We claim our voice and speak not in order to receive God’s grace, but in bold and grateful response to having already received and experienced it. Speaking truth and justice to power is not easy, because power does not tolerate opposition, especially from prophetic voices driven by the love incarnated in Jesus.

Christ speech—patient, humble, honest, truth-telling, and yes, challenging speech—is both our robe of righteousness to wear and our cross to bear. As the late John Lewis said, it lands us in “good trouble.” Faithful disciples cry out to humankind, We are better than this. Let’s live our better selves!

         If all we want is a personal savior to get us into heaven, we’ll be satisfied with speechlessness, even in the face of injustice. And we’ll do far more to protect our comfortable religious institutions than to love the holy Mystery that is God. If Jesus is truly Lord of our lives and of our living, then we are more than an institution, more than this building. We are the living body of the living Christ.

Daily concerns and challenges can wear us down, but they’re also opportunities to remember that our true calling is among a humanity who has forgotten that we live in a good and beautiful Creation which is made real and lively by an inviting and welcoming Creator.

As followers of Jesus, our call is to go to “the roads on the edge of town” and invite everyone to God’s banquet, that great celebration where we find our true voice—a voice of gratitude, generosity, and justice-seeking love.