The Gospel is full of stories that are interesting to me. The reading of the Banquet and the guests who come from the street (Matthew 22:1-14) leaves me puzzling over it, year after year, and don’t know what I think of it. You have a king who’s determined to fill his wedding hall with guests, so he’ll let anyone in – invited or not, good or bad. The translation reads that many are called, but the word isn’t many; it’s literally and originally a term that means all.

All of the people are called to attend the wedding banquet, this celebration of the king’s son. All the world is invited to witness the reconciliation, the union, of Christ and creation, of heaven and earth. There is no more chasm to span, no more distance between God and you and me, no more reason to feel shame just for being what we are, beloved children of God. It’s a party I want to go to.

But then one person shows up to the wedding and has neglected to put on his wedding robes, and he’s removed from the party. Who is that person? Is it one of you? Is it me? I’m worried because I don’t know what a wedding robe is. Where can I get one?

In Jesus’ time a wedding robe could have been one of several things. Some scholars think that robes were handed by kings to their guests at the door. So, this person who was not in a wedding robe may be understood to have snuck into the banquet somehow, even though he had been invited. But another theory suggests that a wedding robe just meant your best suit, your clean, formal attire, in which to dress so as to honor the king.

And that makes sense to me, that the king who was gracious to call many, even all, to the banquet, is worthy of honor and praise, gratitude and glory. That makes sense to me, because of the caliber of God’s love, which isn’t like the love that you and I have, which invariably runs out at the worst possible time, and we let our family down, and we become isolated from our closest friends, and our inspiration to work hard for the good of others just dries up.

But God’s love is different; God never gives up, and the span between heaven and earth is bridged, and we are reconciled to God by God. And God’s love is the kind that never gives up but patiently bears all things, holding families together, reuniting friends after time apart, and reigniting the hope we need to stick our neck out for a neighbor, to stand up for what’s right in our communities, and to do what we can to help out those in need.

God’s love is the only thing that brings all people together to the banquet.

That means something for me. I have spent the past decade pursuing a calling by God to serve as a pastor to all people. In seminary, I considered whether God was calling me to serve as a Deacon (to serve maybe as an advocate in a non-profit, charitable organization), or as an Elder in parish ministry (to be your pastor, for example), or as an Elder in extension ministry (to serve maybe as a chaplain or a counselor). I remember back to that first year, while I studied the Old Testament. I worked with women and children experiencing homelessness. All were African-American, none had a college degree, and all were destitute. The year at that shelter was fulfilling, and each week I knew my time was spent doing something concrete and good for the world.

In my second year, while I studied the New Testament, I worked at a college campus ministry with students from eighteen- to twenty-four-years-old, mainly white or Asian-American, whose futures appeared promising and stable, full of possibility. That year was also fun and fulfilling, and I had fruitful conversations and experiences with a wonderful group of people who were my peers, with whom I’m still in touch.

But something bothered me. Though the Church was ministering to people in both circumstances, to people who were both poor and privileged, I never saw the separate groups ever meet each other. They never worked together, and they never learned from one another.

A third internship experience in seminary helped me to identify the most important part of the Church for me – our unity and our “catholicity,” our openness to and inclusion of everyone. I was honored to serve as a pastoral intern at Asbury UMC in Washington, DC. Asbury is a thriving, proud, and historically African-American congregation at the corner of 11th Street and K Street, NW. Walking in my first Sunday, I immediately realized that I stood out as one of a handful of white people in the church.

Today, I am glad to have experienced that feeling of difference from the congregation, a feeling which eventually became less pronounced as I developed relationships with congregants. I remember the moment in a Lenten study when a church member whom I had not met before joined our group. As the evening progressed, I could feel the typical distance between two strangers actually melt away.

I was glad to have gotten to know this person and for this person to feel a little more at ease me, despite our differing backgrounds. He was an older African-American man, and I was a younger white man.

What I learned from that third experience is that my calling is to bring people together, from every walk of life. With regularity over the years, I have preached on “hospitality.” I have intentionally welcomed newcomers who by their appearance or demeanor may not immediately feel that they “belong” in the Church.

In past congregations I have had to put at ease ushers who were concerned about visitors who did not dress in “nice enough” clothing.  

And perhaps you’ve noticed that when I invite the congregation to stand in worship, I use the words, “let us rise in spirit or in posture,” so that even those in wheelchairs or who have a hard time with mobility are included. It’s because I firmly believe that the Church is a witness to Christ’s work of reconciliation, bringing together people of every background to worship and serve the one God who made us all.

But we don’t always look for that kind of thing when we go to church. A lot of the time, the memories I can recall of my church experiences are just of happy times with other people like me. And as I reflect on it, I recognize that making happy memories is important; they are fodder for stories and legends recalled years later; they’re touchstones in a long and beautiful life of a family or of an individual, as that life waxes and wanes through tension and emotion.

Happy memories can even help push us through rough patches. But if we see our time at church as just a time for happy memories, then I’m not sure that we will understand what Jesus is saying to us when he proclaims that we’re all invited to God’s banquet – all, not many, not to the exclusion of those we would rather pretend don’t exist, all of us, the good and the bad.

That can be good news, if you’ve ever suspected you might be more like the bad than the good. How often does the feeling of shame keep you locked up inside? When you are overwhelmed, when you need a friend to talk to, or when you are worried how things will turn out, how often do you actually turn to our neighbor and ask for help? It can be a prison, making sure we are liked and accepted, hoping we will surely be the ones invited to the banquet.

Thankfully, God wants you just as you are. The king invites all to the banquet, not just the ones who feel good enough to attend. We don’t have to posture, to front, to present an appearance of tranquility, to come off as having everything together and not needing any help from anyone.

Because that just leaves everyone feeling inadequate.

And no one knows that they can rely on their neighbor for support.

And everyone just comes to church to sit stone-still, all alone in a pew.

So this week, may you be reminded by this story of God’s hospitality that you are invited, just as you are. God spans the gaps we think exist between us and the beautiful, the sacred, the holy. God invites all into the banquet, even you and me.

And you and I are accepted no matter who we are, no matter what we have done or have left undone, no matter who we have loved or failed to love.

And as we are invited to stand before this great King of love, I am certain that each one of us would be glad to show God praise and thanksgiving in any way we can.

I invite your response.

Amen.