All Saints by the Lake
October 15, 2023
A room in Al-Ahli Hospital, a ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Jerusalem, which was bombed on October 15.
The king was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city.
There is a lot of violence in this parable. From the guests torturing and killing slaves for the crime of conveying an invitation, to the appalling escalation inflicted by the king in response, to the closing lines in which a man is bound and thrown into the outer darkness simply because he hasn’t obeyed the dress code, everyone in this story seems to be on a hair trigger, ready to explode at any moment. What on earth are we supposed to conclude about the kingdom of heaven, if this is what it “may be compared” to? (Thank goodness the text doesn’t say “the kingdom of heaven is like” – we have at least a tiny interpretive space to say, actually, if we’re comparing this to the kingdom of heaven, hopefully the latter is different!)
Interpreters have spent two thousand years ignoring or buffing off the very sharp edges of this story, making it a simple allegory about faith, or just focusing on the radical welcome of inviting “all whom they found, both good and bad” to the wedding banquet.
One particular detail stands out – interpreters are extraordinarily consistent about adding an element that’s not in the text and claiming that actually, someone was standing at the door giving out wedding robes, and so the inappropriately-dressed guest had no excuse for not wearing one. I’ve found this everywhere from the recently published First Nations Version of the gospels (where it is, at least, italicized to show that it’s an addition) to my mother’s cartoon drawing of this parable – which was so firmly lodged in my head that when I preached my very first sermon as a seminarian on this text twenty-one years ago this month, I just assumed that that was how it worked, and devoted the sermon to talking about how we should all be working on sewing our wedding robes for the king’s banquet, and making the connection to a display of quilts that had recently been exhibited in the sanctuary.
I don’t feel now that I can approach this text with the same naïveté. Not when the land where our Saviour made his home on earth is riven with escalating violence in the same dynamic described in the parable. A landowner is insulted by an unwelcome message and beats and kills a slave; a king in turn destroys a whole city by fire. And on it goes, never ending, two eyes for a tooth, a life for an eye, a whole city for a life, world without end, amen.
One could argue, I suppose, that the parable does no more than represent the violence that is endemic to our human existence, and in doing so at least is honest. But if all it’s doing is describing what we know happens, what’s the point? Why talk about the kingdom of heaven, if it’s going to be as much of a mess as our current life now on earth?
This parable was written in the aftermath of the destruction of the Second Jerusalem Temple, by a Jewish Christian raging and lamenting both that catastrophe and the refusal, as he saw it, of his fellow Jews to recognize the Messiah in the person of Jesus Christ. It has since been used by Christians to blame and demonize the Jews for that supposed refusal. The echoes of this text, and others like it, lead directly to the terrorism and genocide currently exploding in the Holy Land. It would be tempting to just throw the whole thing out, as doing more harm than good.
But at the core of the parable is a kernel of truth: a banquet to which all are invited, “good and bad”; the only qualification is wanting to be there enough to make an effort. Yes, we should approach with a healthy degree of skepticism the idea that God has anything in common with the rageful, vindictive king in this story. But the feast, if nothing else, has the ring of divine truth. That is, and must remain, our goal: to gather everyone, even those who have been enemies for thousands of years, around one table in peace.
In the Epistle reading, Paul implores his ministry partners to be “of the same mind in the Lord,” exhorting them to rejoice always, and promising the peace of God which surpasses all understanding. In the midst of intractable conflict and threat, we are to focus on what is true, honourable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, and worthy of praise. This passage can seem a bit pie-in-the-sky under ordinary circumstances, but when we are confronted with the worst the world can dish out, it is a reassuring reminder than gentleness, prayer, thanksgiving, and excellence are still there; that we can look for and highlight those brave souls still striving for peace in the face of the most hopeless circumstances.
One of the ways that we can help, in our own small way, is by showing up for those who ask us to do so. There are two requests that I’ve received this week from very different sources, but I commend them both to you.
The first is from a neighbour: Rabbi Lisa Grushcow of Temple Emanu-El Beth Sholom in Westmount. Rabbi Lisa is firmly in support of peace and of the rights of the Palestinian people, but whenever violence flares in Israel, our Jewish siblings feel the ongoing threat of antisemitism more acutely. This past Friday, at Rabbi Lisa’s invitation, Deborah Meister, the Associate Priest at the Cathedral (and, incidentally, a convert from Judaism) and others attended Sabbath services at the temple to show solidarity and the desire for peace. The invitation has been renewed for this coming Friday evening, the 20th, and I plan to be there. If you wish to join me, please let me know so I can be in touch with the temple in advance.
Meanwhile, the Anglican Archbishop in Jerusalem, the Most Rev’d Hosam Naoum, has published a letter calling on Anglicans and other people of goodwill worldwide to join in a day of fasting and prayer on this coming Tuesday, the 17th.
Why fasting? Well, I know that for me, one of the strange and challenging things about a time like this is that my daily life really doesn’t change in any significant way, despite the appalling human suffering occurring on the other side of the globe. There is a long tradition in Christianity of understanding fasting and other ascetic practices as a way of sharing in the experience of those who are suffering; even, in a mystical way, lightening some of their load by taking a tiny portion of it on ourselves. On Tuesday, I will be engaging in the fasting practice that I typically do every Friday, of abstaining from sweets and desserts. And every time I think, “darn it, I would really like some chocolate right now,” it will be a reminder of my fellow humans and children of God – Christians, Muslims, and Jews – who are enduring hunger, thirst, terror, pain, and grief at that very moment, and I will have the opportunity to offer my tiny and inconsequential self-denial to God on their behalf.
Human life is all too often riven with violence and suffering, and far too little about this has changed in the last two thousand years. But there is always hope, and there are always things, however small, that we can do.
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think on these things.
And pray that, no matter what happens on the way there, we shall all one day come to the wedding banquet, to which all are invited, without exception, to gather around the table in peace, with justice.
Amen.
Grace, this manages to be consoling and challenging at the same time. Thank you. It really spoke to me.