Lectionary
readings: Exodus 32:1-14 and Philippians 4:1-9 and Matthew
22:1-14
One
of the things that I love about Jesus’ parables is that they, quite
deliberately, mess with your head. Today’s parable, of the Wedding Banquet, is
a case in point. Jesus says, the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king
who gave a wedding banquet for his son. In other words, we are invited to draw
similarities and differences. There are at least two ways in which this parable
might be viewed, and each will undermine our worldview. Here is a tale of an
unpopular king, egocentric, a megalomaniac who, when slighted, has a city wiped
off the face of the earth. Here is a Herod. Here is a populist ruler, snubbed
by the elites, calling out crowds in support. Here is Donald Trump. And here is
one man who refuses to play the game, and who ends up humiliated and discarded
in the municipal rubbish tip. Here is Jesus.
And
yet, at the same time, here is the heavenly King, planning the wedding banquet
of his Son and the Bride. Here is a foretaste of the union between Christ and
the Church. Here is a familiar response, of people turning away from that
invitation, into themselves, into their own pursuit of a meaningful life,
whether family or place or money, and in some cases prepared to turn to
violence in order to protect their self-interests. Here is a God who gives them
over to the destruction they crave. Here is a man who is set against gratitude,
who has set himself against entering into the joy of a fellow human being, who
makes the unsubtle statement ‘I am here under duress’ and who finds themselves
in the ultimate destination of self-centredness, which is to say bound in
darkness, tormented by the weeping and animal aggression of others in the same beached
boat.
As
I said, the parables mess with our heads. They trick us into thinking of
ourselves as the hero, the plucky under-dog defying all that is wrong in the
world, only to reveal our nakedness, the reality that we are entirely complicit
in the ways of the world. In the kingdom of heaven, the radical new way of life
Jesus invites us into, we see a God who identifies with the victims and
survivors, and who extends forgiveness to the truly penitent. For the truth
that shines on our lives reveals that we are, all, a little bit of each: the
potential for good and evil running through us, and made manifest in our lives,
in various ways, according to the habitual choices we make. We are all saints
and sinners, if not equally so.
In
the reading from Exodus 32, we see creativity, skill, and community
leadership all employed to the bending of people away from the God who has
freed them from slavery. They make the image of a calf from gold, and declare,
‘Here are your gods.’ In the worldview of the Egyptians, who had enslaved this
people for generations, the Apis bull calf was the herald of the local god, and
intermediary between the gods and mortals. With Moses missing in action, they
sought a new intermediary, one that was familiar, and that took them back towards
captivity to forces that sought to destroy them. In this passage we also see
Moses interceding on behalf of the people, acting as a true intermediary, very
much not missing in action. And we see that God takes that deeply
ingrained tendency of human beings to turn towards death and destruction very
seriously; but that his justice is tempered with mercy. Justice and mercy are
rooted in God’s nature and reputation, and it matters that God’s reputation,
whether positive or negative in the eyes of others, should accurately reflect God’s
nature.
Elsewhere,
of course, we see the Israelites turn towards Yahweh, and elsewhere, Moses
entertain their destruction. The potential for good and for evil run through us
all; and God acts with justice and mercy, holding out restitution where
we are sinned against, restoration where we have sinned against others,
and reconciliation between our divided lives—and the challenging
invitation to work these gifts out in the complex reality of our communities,
our congregations.
In
our reading from Philippians, we hear Paul’s closing remarks, his last
words, his advice for building lives that work against self-centredness. Stand
firm in the self-giving love of the Lord Jesus Christ. Be reconciled to one
another, where division has got between us. Rejoice. Really learn what it means
to enter into one another’s joy. Handle one other with care. Instead of
cultivating worry, attend to prayer, cultivating gratitude. Look for, and
meditate on, the good in all things. Keep on going on in this manner.
It
is, of course, a summary list. A reminder of the way of life that Paul himself
had modelled for them, imperfectly but committedly. A series of disciplines
that, like any pursuit, is hard at first but comes with practice. We love
because love has set us free to love. We practice reconciliation because we
have been reconciled to God. We rejoice, because this world, this life is such
a wonderful gift. We seek to embody gentleness, because we know that we are all
wounded, and that we have all wounded others; and because we know that God is
at work to heal our wounds, and to forgive our guilt and cleanse our shame at
wounding others. We learn to say ‘no’ to worry and ‘yes’ to gratitude, because
life is not a competition. We look for God, because all things are made good,
and yet all things have been marred. We keep going, together. We fail, and are
reminded and encouraged, and get up again, one day at a time.
This
week, the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse (IICSA) has published its
Report on the Anglican Church in England and Wales. It makes for salutary
reading. In the Executive Summary, the Inquiry notes (p. vi) ‘As we have said
in other reports, faith organisations such as the Anglican Church are marked
out by their explicit moral purpose, in teaching right from wrong. In the
context of child sexual abuse, the Church’s neglect of the physical, emotional
and spiritual well-being of children and young people in favour of protecting
its reputation was in conflict with its mission of love and care for the
innocent and the vulnerable.’ We have failed the victims and survivors of
abuse, and done so in ways that have multiplied their wounds.
And
this week, we read again the parable of the wedding banquet. A parable first
told to a religious elite, weighing them and finding them wanting. A parable in
which a man at the pinnacle of privilege, and his protegee, court praise and
support; aided and abetted by the troops at their disposal, and the tendency of
others—perhaps deeply genuine people, who desire nothing more than to go about
their business—to make light of the scheming. A parable in which those who are
perceived to have slighted the Establishment are silenced and disposed of; and
a patronage within which good and bad are tightly interwoven. A parable in
which the whistle-blower is humiliated and rejected and excluded, and weeping
and anger are all that is left in the darkness. In the darkness where Jesus is,
with the ostracized. A parable where the heavenly king prepares to celebrate
the wonderful union between his Son and the Church, where those who will
respond are welcome—those who know themselves to be both saints and sinners,
dependent on God for favour and forgiveness—but where those who had previously
known status, and those who resist entering into the king’s joy, are excluded. Where
the golden calves are thrown down, a tragic and salutary episode in the life of
God’s people.
Who,
and where, we find ourselves in the parable is relative, dependant on our
choices and on the actions of others towards us. But the Church is called to
live as if the banquet was already in full swing. Presenting self-conscious victims
and survivors with special garments of honour, and expelling wolves in sheep’s
clothing. Interceding with Moses, exhorting with Paul. May God grant us true
repentance, and the time to amend our lives, so that all may be glad, to the
glory of God. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment