INTRO
As we hear this scripture, it is important to know that this
again is a parable Jesus is telling to the Pharisees. So, like last week, Jesus
is laying a story over a story, in this case about a king, God, who is inviting
firstly his guests to wedding party. These guests are those of high
standing in the community, or in this case the pharisees, or religious leaders
of the time. With this background, hear now the Word of the Lord.
SCRIPTURE
Matthew 22.1-14 Common English Bible (CEB)
Jesus responded by speaking again in parables:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a
wedding party for his son.
He sent his servants to call those invited to the
wedding party. But they didn’t want to come.
Again he sent other servants and said to them, ‘Tell those
who have been invited, “Look, the meal is all prepared. I’ve butchered the oxen
and the fattened cattle. Now everything’s ready. Come to the wedding party!”
’ But they paid no attention and went away—some to their fields, others to
their businesses. The rest of them grabbed his servants, abused them, and
killed them.
“The king was angry. He sent his soldiers to destroy those
murderers and set their city on fire. Then he said to his servants, ‘The
wedding party is prepared, but those who were invited weren’t worthy.
Therefore, go to the roads on the edge of town and invite everyone you find to
the wedding party.’ “Then those servants went to the roads and gathered
everyone they found, both evil and good. The wedding party was full of guests.
Now when the king came in and saw the guests, he spotted a
man who wasn’t wearing wedding clothes. He said to him, ‘Friend, how did you
get in here without wedding clothes?’ But he was speechless. Then the king
said to his servants, ‘Tie his hands and feet and throw him out into the
farthest darkness. People there will be weeping and grinding their teeth.’
“Many people are invited, but few people are chosen.”
SERMON (PASTOR)
The roads on the edge of town, I have never thought to be
the best representation of Baker
City, though they are the
first sight any way you enter. Coming in on Highway 30 from the Southeast, the
dirt of high desert greets you with starkness, brown and tumbleweed. It’s
Bridge Street Inn, skirting the road, functions less to welcome traveling
visitors and more to shelter those who have been pushed out of the center,
needing a cheap place to live or an out of the way place to hide.
Haines Highway 30 from the North isn’t much better. After a
lovely drive past farms and ranch-land, a once faded, now dilapidated sign,
seems to mock an unworldly population, “The Primer Rural Living Experience,” it
boasts, as you drive past farm supply equipment, an auto-body shop, dozens of
old tires on a white plastic tarpaulin covering hay, and two goats fighting to
be king of a tree stump. It makes the Primer Rural Living Experience translate
to hard work of the land, broken down cars, frugal aesthetics and the kingship
of goats.
From the highway, Baker’s version of a big box store, like
ByMart and Maverick are flanked by the old Truck Corral, where indigent
travelers with dirtied backpacks and the late night hungry, can be found
waiting for the next smokey greyhound or hitch, or while truckers and teenagers
consume cheap greasy eats before seeking a bed.
My highway exit, I think is the prettiest, the way it curves
around past the kitchy A-Frame RV Park, and the old painted Victorian next to
it and then lines up with the mountains, past the pretty homes of Betty Kuhl,
the Wards, and the Rohner/Ingrams, especially when Kyra puts up that giant
wreath on the barn at Christmas time. But I wonder still, how that entrance
introduces our town, to be greeted by an RV-Park and the unwavering literal
traditionalism of the Nazarene and Morman churches. Though accurately
representative, of a small town midset and a tourist economy it is not the
Baker I seek to enjoy, which is one of an open minded congregation and a locals
access to the wilderness.
Yet, it is to these edges of town, the king, our God, sends
God’s servants to invite everyone they find to the wedding party.
When I imagine it, knocking on the outside facing doors of
the Bridge Street motel rooms and handing over an embossed wedding invitation
to our endowed building, in the center of town, across from the middle school
and the court house, I wonder, how that would feel. That expectation that those
on the outskirts have to come to the center, perhaps to the teachers to whom
they were not the best students, or the court who had seen not their best moments,
or to the fellowship hall, which was grander than any church building they had
entered.
I think about how the invitation might be received by those
who find pride in, “The Primer Rural Living Experience,” it’s cream linen
envelope instantly stained by men with car oiled fingers, or stuffed in the
pocket of a rancher’s Carharts to be hopefully remembered after the chores of
the more pressing things like getting hay or feeding the goats. Though equally
as intelligent, and in many ways more so, would my sermons to the majority
graduate and college educated congregation, be meaningful to those that spend
their days needing to join the knowledge of their brain to the work of their
hands?
From those doing their shopping at the BiMart, lingering
outside the Maverick, or waiting without a shower at the Truck Corral, would it
be nice to be invited to a such thing, to get to eat the oxen and the fatted
calf, instead of fries and a burger, or would it feel like a pity invite,
somewhere where they would never quite fit in, as if we didn’t think of where
they could shower beforehand or what they might wear, so as not to smell, or be
dressed offensively to the king. Would we have invited them but have so many
unknown rituals and traditions that would feel lost navigating communion or
answering the questions during a baptism, or just finding a seat and someone to
talk to during Fellowship time.
What about my exit, I often wonder about all those RVs
parked out by the A-Frame and what they are doing here once the weather turns
cold. Day before yesterday there was a tent set up close to the road, which I
thought looked cold considering the almost snowy drizzle that greyed the skies.
Would a warm place for a few hours be just what they need on their trip, or are
we only catering to people who will come and stay, and bring their family,
instead of retirees or cyclist tourists passing though? Do those that are
headed toward the mountains and find it’s beauty so appealing they want to
stay, know that there are more options than our friends at the Nazarene and
Morman churches, but that there is also a church with just as many from
different places as there are those who were born raised in the valley? Do we,
those who struggle with outright evangelism, have extra invitations in our
pocket that we are scared to hand out just in case they are rejected or feel
over bearing? Do we know how to speak about the Son, whose wedding banquet it
is, in way the invites all into his presence?
Do we know how to speak about the Son, whose wedding banquet
it is, in way the invites all into his presence?
The son, is the one we have come to honor, somehow, someone
gave us an invitation, and I don’t think that invitation was that different
than those welcoming those on the edge of town. You have been given an
invitation, maybe it was our grandparents, maybe our neighbor, our patient, our
teacher, a store owner, a co-cower, a friend. Maybe they invited us first to
help with Mission
at Open Door or Backpack and we found the heart of much of the church and
served alongside them. Maybe they invited us to worship and said they would
pick us up or meet us at the door, and sit with us the whole way through and
introduce us in the fellowship hour. Maybe they talked of their women’s group
and the friendship they found there. Maybe they were our immediately family and
introduced us to a wider version of family of grandparents and parents and
brothers and sisters and grandchildren at church. Maybe we read online
everything we could and showed up hoping we would fit and someone came over and
shook our hand and introduced themselves. Maybe we were going through a rough
time and sat by ourselves in a group of worshipers and found a place of comfort
and hope. These were our invitations which brought us to honor the Son’s
banquet. Those type of invitations are the kind that welcomes, the ones that
are not guided or embossed, but sent with love, welcome with love. That is the
invitation was given to us, and we have enjoyed it’s bounty, but have we
extended it out? How far? Have we gone to the edge of town invitations in
hand?
The Lord has given us more invitations than we could ever
hand out. We are his’ servants. Let us go to the edge of town and invite
everyone we find. Amen.
