Last month, some parishioners and I attended Bryn Mawr Day, an annual opportunity for local businesses and organizations, including churches, to engage with the local community. Those of us from Good Shepherd had set up a table with several flyers on it, including advertisements for our retreat house as well as our concert series. People would stop by and chat with us or share information about their own organization.
And this is how I came to have a brief conversation with a man associated with another local church who was handing out pamphlets. They were typical stock, evangelical pamphlets, intended to persuade people to accept Jesus into their lives. Maybe you’ve seen some of these before. Some have injunctions to obey Scripture. Others have calls to repentance. The little pamphlet in my hand had a picture of a building going up in flames. The message was clear: turn to the Lord or meet your fate.
The man was obviously excited about sharing these little pamphlets with the hundreds of people present. He asked me, with an earnest glint in his eyes, “You know what that is, right?” I was at first speechless, primarily because I was horrified. “Yes,” I replied, checking my initial urge to express how appalled I was. I nevertheless remained quiet because I was sure that whatever I said wouldn’t deter this man’s zeal. I winced inwardly at the thought of dozens of children enjoying their ice cream and suddenly receiving a pamphlet from that overzealous man.
It made me think, as I often do, about how we Christians can be prone to start at the wrong end of things. For centuries, the Church has led from an evangelical posture that is not dissimilar from the pamphlet-wielding man at Bryn Mawr Day. The threatening prospect of eternal flames has been used to motivate people to find Christ. And, paradoxically, maybe this is why so many people refuse the invitation.
It might also seem that St. Matthew often starts at the wrong end of things. This is the second Sunday in a row that we hear a challenging parable depicting the horrible fate of those who don’t accept Christ into their lives. There’s no obvious hint of forgiveness in the text. Instead, there are clear decision points, and if the wrong decision is made, one is doomed.
This doesn’t sit well with many people. It doesn’t sit well with me. And it’s not because I believe that following Jesus is easy or that judgment doesn’t exist. It’s because I believe that starting at the wrong end of things can distort our image of the One sent in love for the salvation of the world by God, who is love. Starting at the wrong end of things doesn’t mesh well with the constant message of God’s forgiveness and mercy that runs like a stubborn strand throughout the Bible, trampling over human fear of rejection.
When something disturbs me in Scripture, I see it as an invitation to wrestle with it and to probe it until it opens up. And that’s why I think Jesus’s parables, like the one we’re given today, are like autostereograms. If you don’t know what those are, I bet you’ve seen them. They’re two-dimensional images that can become three dimensional when you refocus your eyes. It’s what Elaine’s boss, Mr. Pitt, spent hours trying to figure out on Seinfeld. If you stare long enough at a surface image—often a series of random dots—you will eventually see another image not readily apparent to the eyes.
When we confront the parable of the marriage feast, the most obvious image is not unlike the pamphlet handed to me by that man last month. We see an angry king, who symbolizes an angry God. We see troops sent by that angry king or angry God to destroy those invited to the marriage feast who refuse the invitation and behave abominably. We see their city going up in flames that resemble the ones on the pamphlet given to me last month. We see a speechless, improperly clad guest at the marriage feast thrown into the outer darkness where there’s weeping and gnashing of teeth. All this, despite his having accepted the invitation in the first place.
Is it any wonder, then, that many, upon being given this image or, let’s say, an evangelical pamphlet, then throw away the pamphlet or walk away from the image? This parable seems to start at the wrong end of things to get people to do the right thing, but it might have the effect of enabling exactly what the parable decries. Those invited to the feast disregard the invitation or behave badly in response.
But what if Matthew’s parable is more like an autostereogram? What if we’re only seeing a surface image of flames of fire and wrathful destruction while another truer image lies hidden beneath? What if we could see that truer image by refocusing our eyes? What if that other image contains good news?
If you will, join me in refocusing your eyes on this image. True, you’re seeing a very challenging, even disturbing scene, but what we find revolting has caused us to look more closely at the image because it has now garnered our attention. And we have a hunch that there’s something more that we can’t yet see but are meant to see.
The hints of that new image, which is Christ’s good news, are, in fact, already present in the surface image. With time, we begin to discern a new picture that’s emerging from the flames and scene of destruction. We see a grand banquet hall, with table after table piled high with unending rich food and wine. We see a meal prepared by a king who has spared nothing to put on the best banquet imaginable. We see that uncountable places have been set at these tables, waiting to be filled by those invited. We see that this king has been utterly tenacious in summoning people to the feast. He never gives up. When some decline the invitation, he invites others, until finally, the most unlikely suspects are invited in, both good and bad.
But influenced as we are by human sin, our eyes soon lose their focus on the alternative, truer image, and we see only the faces of those who refuse the invitation. They all refuse for different reasons. Some feel unworthy of being there. Some are told they aren’t good enough to be there. Some never even received an invitation because the deliverers slacked off. Some feel they have better things to do, like putting more hours into the grind of the voracious beast of their jobs. Some are apathetic and uninterested in the invitation. Some have no clue how amazing the banquet will be.
And then, for a minute, our eyes settle on that poor fellow who accepts an invitation to the feast but isn’t properly attired. He’s the one who never passes up an invitation to the feast but whom the feast never changes. He’s the regular churchgoer who can still leave Mass and treat others like garbage. He’s the one who thinks mere attendance will save his soul although he never acts on his faith. He’s the one who has accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior and thinks he has an immediate ticket into heaven. Having lost our focus, we are rightly troubled by the fate of those in this first image because we sense this is not how things are meant to be. And we realize that we are once again at the wrong end of things.
Maybe this is precisely Matthew’s intention. Maybe he has deliberately created an autostereogram for us. He starts at the wrong end to wake us up to the fact that there’s a right end below the surface of what we’re seeing. We can’t deny the impoverished, horrible world we will inhabit if we refuse God’s invitation to the feast and turn inward on ourselves. But that’s not the end of the story nor is it what God desires for us. There’s a right end of things if we refocus our eyes. And if we do, here’s what we’ll see.
We’ll see a king who is not vengeful but infinitely loving, sitting at the head of a vast table with more seats than we can imagine, waiting for them to be filled by us. This banquet hall is, in fact, the only place on earth where no matter how many times through sin we refuse the invitation, we can always accept it again by turning to God for forgiveness. There’s no other place on earth where the food is available, all the time, free of charge. There’s no other place on earth where the food will change our lives forever. There’s no other place on earth where our income, status, or achievements have nothing to do with sitting down at the feast and where the unemployed feast together with the world’s wealthiest people. There’s no better place on earth to be than here.
We are at that feast, right now, although it’s only a taste of the eternal feast to come. Whether you’ve spurned an invitation to the feast before or do on occasion when you succumb to malaise, the invitation is always open. When you realize that you’re not properly clad for the feast, you can always turn to Christ so that he can clothe you in his righteousness. It’s never too late to accept the invitation, with all its costs and sacrifices, because there’s nothing else on earth that can be of more value for us. And once we get a taste of this feast, we will see that it’s an offer we can never refuse again.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost
October 15, 2023