Dressed for the Occasion

One of the things I love most about Christianity is the food. It’s also one of the reasons Luke is my favorite of the four Gospels. From beginning to end in Luke, Jesus is on his way to a meal, enjoying a meal, or coming from a meal, as one interpreter famously put it.[1] Food abounds as a sign of God’s provision and the joy of gathering. But Luke is not alone in his emphasis on shared meals. The image of the feast is also the thread that runs through today’s readings from Isaiah, Psalms, and Matthew:

On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines, of rich food filled with marrow, of well-aged wines strained clear. And God will destroy on this mountain the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that is spread over all nations; God will swallow up death forever (Isaiah 25).

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil, and my cup is running over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever (Psalm 23).

And finally:

[The king] said to his slaves… ‘Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ [And they] went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests” (Matthew 22).

These scriptures are distinct, yet they cast a similar vision: the finest foods and wines spread before all people regardless of merit; a feast that defies all rivalries, even the rivalry between life and death; God’s goodness on full display at the end of the age. Now, that’s a biblical promise to relish in times of rejoicing and weeping alike.

But the promise is punctuated by troubling details in the text, too, namely in the Gospel. These side dishes don’t pair well with the main, as it were, so we may prefer to leave them off the plate. But declining to engage difficult aspects of scripture won’t make them go away. Eugene Peterson writes of the Bible’s complexity, “Eat this book; it will be sweet as honey in your mouth; but it will also be bitter to your stomach. You can’t reduce [the Bible] to what you can handle; you can’t domesticate [it] to what you are comfortable with.”[2]

Jesus’ parable of the wedding feast is a case in point. In light of the king’s portrayal in the parable, perhaps we shouldn’t draw too close a parallel to God. Is God the kind of king that reacts to a snub with outrageous violence, letting his son’s wedding dinner get cold while he wages war against those who’ve declined to show up? Is God the kind of king that burns his own city to the ground in order to destroy his neighbors? Is God the kind of king that inspects his guests’ attire, expelling anyone who doesn’t meet his high standards, despite the last-minute invitation?

These details are absurd enough to remind us that a story doesn’t mirror the truth so much as it evokes it. To quote one interpreter, “Realism [in this parable] is sacrificed to theological meaning.”[3] That is to say, the king both is and is not God.[4]

As we contend with the king’s shocking violence and strange hospitality, it’s helpful to keep Matthew’s context in mind. Many interpreters believe the parable’s image of a burning city reflects the destruction of Jerusalem by the Roman Empire in the year 70, a devastating event that is in plain view as Matthew writes his Gospel. Moreover, Matthew’s sect of Jewish Jesus-followers is likely alienated from their synagogue– another significant loss.

This speculation implies that there’s fresh trauma here.[5] How does the evangelist make sense of the changing landscape of Judaism at the end of the first century, and his community’s place in it? What does it mean to be invited to God’s great banquet in light of the terror and turmoil all around? What responsibility does discipleship entail?

That last question relates to the parable’s jarring conclusion, the expulsion of the wedding guest on account of improper dress. It’s a bit unjust, isn’t it? Why should this guest have been prepared for a formal event at a moment’s notice? Nevertheless, if the message of the parable trumps its logic,[6] then the imagery of the robe is significant. The apostle Paul writes,

As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.[7]

God’s invitation to the feast implies a commitment: to clothe ourselves with Christ, that is, to put on the garment of baptism as a sign that we’ve undergone a change.[8] God’s love makes us lovers; if God fills our cups to overflowing, then they naturally flow to others.

So come to the banquet, friends. Come at the invitation of the one who is both the host and the meal. But make sure to dress for the occasion! Clothe yourselves with the love of Christ, and receive his life given and poured out for you, a feast of rich food and wine. Then go to the world with the promise of the great feast to come, where all people will gather at God’s invitation, where none will hunger and thirst, where God will wipe away every tear from our eyes and swallow up death forever.

[1] Robert J. Karris, Eating Your Way Through Luke’s Gospel, 14.

[2] Quoted by Jana Riess, in Flunking Sainthood, 39.

[3] M. Eugene Boring, The New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. VIII, 418.

[4] Warren Carter, Matthew and the Margins, 433.

[5] “Sermon Brainwave” #746, www.workingpreacher.org/brainwave.aspx?podcast_id=1302.

[6] Richard E. Spalding, Feasting on the Word, Year A, Vol. 4, 164.

[7] Colossians 3:12-14.

[8] Galatians 3:27; Romans 13:14.