Sunday Meditation: The Invited and the Chosen

In the Twenty-Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time of Year A, Jesus continues what Dr. Nina Heereman calls the “Temple Discourse.”  I have never heard anyone call this the “Temple Discourse.”  It would amount to when Jesus first enters the Temple in Mt 21:23 through chapter 23.  Jesus leaves the Temple to start chapter 24 which begins the End of Times Discourse.  This makes sense to call this the “Temple Discourse,” but the Gospel of Matthew has been known to be structured around five discourses (Sermon on the Mount, Mt 5 thru 7; Missionary, Mt 10; The Parabolic Discourse, Mt 13; Church Discourse, Mt 18; End of Times, Mt 24 & 25). Despite the logic, no search seems to come up with a Temple Discourse.

Today’s reading is Matthew’s version of the Parable of the Wedding Banquet.  Frankly I have to admit I have never cared for Matthew’s version.  The guest who does not have a wedding garment at the end of the parable is treated unjustly.  He was invited to the banquet and is thrown out because he didn’t wear a wedding garment.  So the casual biblical reader of which I once was one reacts emotionally.  But many parables have a paradoxical moment, a disorienting twist, to make a particular point, and the “unjust” treatment of the guest without a wedding garment is the paradoxical moment.  Don’t think of the guest’s treatment as unjust but that the garment symbolizes something in which the guest needed to have.  What it symbolizes Dr. Heereman points out.  The answer is found in the Book of Revelations, chapter 19.

Then I heard something like the sound of a great multitude or the sound of rushing water or mighty peals of thunder, as they said: “Alleluia!  The Lord has established his reign, [our] God, the almighty.  Let us rejoice and be glad and give him glory.  For the wedding day of the Lamb has come, his bride has made herself ready.  She was allowed to wear a bright, clean linen garment.”  (The linen represents the righteous deeds of the holy ones.) (Rev 19:6-8)

I’m not going to embed Dr. Nina’s exegesis but that is most helpful.  Though you may be invited to the Wedding Banquet, but you have to be spotless and worthy.  Dr. Brant Pitre explains it well from my post on this Gospel passage three years ago, and though he comes to the same conclusion as Dr. Nina, he finds a different allusion to the garment, this from Isaiah.

 

I will rejoice heartily in the LORD, my being exults in my God; for he has clothed me with garments of salvation, and wrapped me in a robe of justice, like a bridegroom adorned with a diadem, as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.  (Is 61:10)

In both allusions what we find is the garment of salvation are your righteous deeds and purity of soul.

 

 

 

Today’s Gospel:

 

Jesus again in reply spoke to the chief priests and elders of the people

in parables, saying,

"The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king

who gave a wedding feast for his son.

He dispatched his servants

to summon the invited guests to the feast,

but they refused to come.

A second time he sent other servants, saying,

'Tell those invited: "Behold, I have prepared my banquet,

my calves and fattened cattle are killed,

and everything is ready; come to the feast."'

Some ignored the invitation and went away,

one to his farm, another to his business.

The rest laid hold of his servants,

mistreated them, and killed them.

The king was enraged and sent his troops,

destroyed those murderers, and burned their city.

Then he said to his servants, 'The feast is ready,

but those who were invited were not worthy to come.

Go out, therefore, into the main roads

and invite to the feast whomever you find.'

The servants went out into the streets

and gathered all they found, bad and good alike,

and the hall was filled with guests.

But when the king came in to meet the guests,

he saw a man there not dressed in a wedding garment.

The king said to him, 'My friend, how is it

that you came in here without a wedding garment?'

But he was reduced to silence.

Then the king said to his attendants, 'Bind his hands and feet,

and cast him into the darkness outside,

where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.'

Many are invited, but few are chosen."

~Mt: 22:1-14

 

For today’s exegetical homily, I want to return to Fr. Geoffrey Plant.  His homilies run long and they disappear off YouTube after a few years.  But he really does a great job, and I will quote the passages that are especially insightful.  I especially found the comparison with Luke’s version very instructive.

 

Fr. Geoffrey:

Today's parable of the wedding banquet has a close parallel in Luke's Gospel.

Comparing the two versions helps us to appreciate the distinctive emphasis of each

evangelist.  So let us now place these two versions of the parable side by side and notice how they differ.

The first difference is the setting. In Matthew, Jesus tells this parable in the

presence of the chief priests and elders in the Temple on the Tuesday of Holy Week.  In Luke, it is told much earlier, while Jesus is still making his way towards

Jerusalem.

The banquet itself is also different. In Matthew, it is a wedding banquet given by a

king in honour of his son.  In Luke, it is simply a great banquet hosted by a wealthy man. He is not a king, and the meal is not connected with a wedding.

In both versions servants are sent out to summon those who have already been

invited. In both cases, however, those invited refuse to come.

The excuses are different. In Matthew, one man goes off to his farm and another to

his business.  In Luke, one man has bought five yoke of oxen and is on his way to try them out.  Another has just been married and says that he is unable to come.

At this point the stories begin to diverge more sharply. In Matthew the king sends

out a second group of servants. Perhaps Matthew intends us to see the first group

as the prophets whom God sent to Israel, and the second group as the apostles

whom Jesus sends out. Luke has no second dispatch of servants.

Matthew also introduces a much darker note. Some of those invited seize the

king's servants, mistreat them and kill them.  The king responds by sending his troops, destroying the murderers and burning their city. Nothing comparable appears in Luke's account.  There the householder becomes angry, but he does not retaliate.

Both stories now move in the same direction. Since those originally invited have

refused to come, the invitation is extended to others. In Matthew, the king orders

his servants to go to the crossroads and invite to the wedding everyone they can

find. In Luke, the servant is sent through the streets and alleys of the town to bring

in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.

In Matthew the wedding hall is filled with guests. In Luke, however, there is still

more room. The servant is therefore sent out a second time, this time to the roads

and hedgerows. He is to urge everyone he meets to come in because the

householder wants to make sure that his house is full. That is where Luke's version

ends.

Matthew, however, continues the story. As the king walks among his guests, he

discovers a man who is not wearing a wedding garment.

 

To a modern reader, a wedding banquet may seem simply an attractive

backdrop for a parable. To a first-century Jew, however, it evoked one of the

Old Testament's great images of God's final salvation. Israel looked forward to

the day when God would establish his kingdom, gather his scattered people,

defeat every enemy and restore creation itself. One of the favourite ways of

describing that future hope was as a great banquet prepared by God himself.

The classic passage is today's first reading from the prophet Isaiah, chapter 25:

"On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples

a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wines..."

This is no ordinary meal. It is the celebration of God's final victory. Isaiah continues:

"He will destroy on this mountain

the shroud that is cast over all peoples...

He will swallow up death forever.”

That is an extraordinary statement. The banquet is not simply about

abundance. It is about the defeat of death itself. It is a picture of the new age

when God will wipe away every tear, remove the disgrace of his people and

conquer death forever.

Nor is the banquet reserved for Israel alone. Isaiah speaks of "all peoples".  Centuries before Christ, the prophet already looks forward to a day when the

nations themselves will share in God's salvation.

By the time of Jesus, this vision of the great messianic banquet had become deeply embedded in Jewish hope. The faithful looked forward to the day when they would recline at table with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in God's kingdom.

The kingdom was imagined, not as an abstract idea, but as a joyful banquet celebrating God's definitive triumph over evil and death.

 

Matthew's story now presents us with a difficulty—one that has puzzled readers for

centuries. The first part of the story ends quite naturally. The invited guests refuse

to come. The king therefore sends his servants into the streets to gather everyone

they can find. Matthew even emphasises that they brought in "both bad and good,"

and so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

At that point the story appears complete. In fact, that is exactly where Luke's

version ends. Interestingly, the Church's Lectionary provides the option of ending

the Gospel at this point. The shorter form concludes with the banquet hall filled

with guests and omits the episode of the wedding garment altogether.

Matthew, however, continues. As the king walks through the banquet hall, he

notices one guest who is not wearing a wedding garment. He asks him, "Friend,

how did you get in here without a wedding garment?" The man is speechless.

The king orders him to be bound hand and foot and thrown into the outer darkness.

This is the only biblical passage I can remember my late father discussing with me.

He was struck by what seemed an obvious injustice. The guests had only just been

gathered in from the streets. How could one of them be condemned for not wearing

a wedding garment? It is a question that has stayed with me ever since.

After all, these guests had not planned to attend a royal wedding. They had been

going about their ordinary business when, quite unexpectedly, the king's servants

summoned them to the banquet. Some would have been labourers, others

beggars, others travellers. Was the king really expecting every citizen to carry

around a set of wedding garments on the off chance that they might one day

receive an invitation to a royal wedding?

Many scholars have suggested that Matthew has stitched together two originally

independent stories, and I find that suggestion persuasive. The first ends quite

naturally with the banquet hall being filled by those gathered from the highways and

byways. Matthew, however, also seems to have known another story about a guest

who attended a wedding banquet without the proper attire. Because both centred

on a banquet, he may have combined them into a single narrative.

 

Matthew would probably say to us, however, "Don't become so preoccupied with

the join that you miss the point of the second story." So what does he want to

teach us? The first thing to notice is that he says remarkably little about the

wedding garment itself. Instead, he draws our attention to the man's response—

or rather, to his lack of response.

"The man was silent." He does not protest that he has been treated unfairly. He

does not explain that he had been summoned from the streets without warning.

He offers no excuse, no defence, no justification.

William Bausch draws attention to this striking detail: "He was silent, notice. He

had not one word to say in his own defence, as surely he would have if he were

unjustly accused... He had nothing to say: no excuse, no explanation, no

protest... His silence branded him as guilty beyond the shadow of a doubt.” That

silence is the key to the story.

Donald Senior suggests that the soiled garment symbolises "a life that has

undergone no basic change, a life that has not produced fruits worthy of

repentance." In other words, the problem is not the clothing itself. The clothing

symbolises a life that has accepted the invitation but has refused to be

transformed by it.

Tom Wright brings the lesson into our own day: "We would prefer to hear a nice

story about God throwing the party open to everyone. We want—as people now

fashionably say—to be 'inclusive', to let everyone in. We don't want to know

about judgment on the wicked, or about demanding standards of holiness, or

about weeping and gnashing of teeth."

That observation strikes at the heart of the parable. We rightly rejoice that God's

invitation is extended to everyone. Matthew himself tells us that the king's

servants gathered "both bad and good." No one earns an invitation to the

banquet. But accepting the invitation is not the end of the story. It is the

beginning of a new way of life. What happens when someone finally stands

before God, looking back over a lifetime?

Now listen to how Fr. Geoffrey ties this with the ending of Graham Greene’s novel, The Power and the Glory.  You can find my posts on Greene’s novel here. 

For the pastoral homily I’m going to turn Fr. Peter Marselek of SOLT.

 

Fr. Peter:

There is a great wedding feast, but one individual arrives without a wedding garment. He is dressed incompatibly with the banquet and is therefore removed.  The wedding banquet represents heaven, communion with the most holy trinity, with God who is love itself.  St. Gregory the Great therefore identifies the wedding garment as charity. To be in God's presence means being able to participate in his love. Both receiving that love and sharing in it. This is why the wedding garment is so important.  Heaven is not simply a place to which we are admitted. [music] It is a life in which we participate. The very life and love of God. God therefore desires to prepare and transform our hearts now for the fullness of his presence in eternity. Today's gospel tells us that God invites everyone to salvation. The servants are sent out to gather everyone they can find, bad and good alike. God's invitation is extraordinarily generous.  But accepting the invitation is only the beginning. We must also allow his grace to transform us. The wedding garment then isn't an arbitrary condition for entering heaven. It represents our capacity to participate in heaven. Faith opens us to God's saving grace, but that grace must bear fruit in charity. Pope Benedict the 16th beautifully describes this garment as being woven on two looms, love of God and love of neighbor.

 

I like both popes identification of the symbolism: Pope St. Gregory’s the garment being charity and Pope Benedict XVI’s woven on the threads of love of God and love of neighbor.  It’s a reminder we should always be wearing this garment.

 

 

 

Sunday Meditation: “Many are invited, but few are chosen."

 

 

 

“Lead Me, Lord is a beautiful hymn for this Sunday.

 

 

Blessed are the poor in spirit, longing for their Lord,

for God’s coming kingdom shall be theirs.

Blessed are the sorrowing, for they shall be consoled,

and the meek shall come to rule the world.

 

Refrain:

 

Lead me, Lord, lead me, Lord,

by the light of truth

to seek and to find the narrow way.

Be my way; be my truth;

be my life, my Lord, and lead me, Lord, today.

 

Blessed are the merciful, for mercy shall be theirs,

and the pure in heart shall see their God.

Blest are they whose hunger only holiness can fill,

for I say they shall be satisfied.

 

Lead me, Lord, by the light of truth!

 

Sunday Meditation: Splagchnizomai

For the Eighteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time, Year A, we have concluded Matthew’s Discourse of the Parables, and now we continue on with Jesus’s Galilean ministry.  Today we are presented with Matthew’s version of the Feeding of the Five Thousand.  This passage has a lot more depth than a simple miracle that Jesus performs.  The homilies I will embed go into them in depth but let me point out a few details and thoughts that are either too briefly touched on or not touched on at all.

As we see, Jesus’ multiplication of the loaves alludes to a number of other feasts, both before Jesus on that deserted hill or after.  Let me just numerically list a few.  I don’t think this is comprehensive but it’s probably more than pointed out in any homily.

1.     The offering of bread and wine by Melchizedek upon Abraham’s victory following the Battle of Siddim.

2.     The manna in the desert during the Exodus.

3.     All the Jewish feasts of the Old Testament: Passover, Unleavened Bread, First Fruits, Rosh Hashanah, Pentecost, Atonement, Sukkot.

4.     Elijah’s miracle of the unending supply of flour and oil for the widow of Zarephath.

5.     The banquet of Herod where he decapitates John the Baptist.  (Notice that this precedes Jesus’s feeding in Matthew’s Gospel and is in stark contrast.  Herod’s is the banquet leading to death, Jesus’s leading to life.

6.     The Wedding Feast at Cana.

7.     The Last Supper and the Institution of the Eucharist.

8.     The heavenly Marriage of the Supper of the Lamb in Revelations 19.

9.     The Eschatological Banquet, prophesied in Isaiah 25:6-8, and described in Luke 14 (Parable of the Great Banquet), Matthew 22 (the Parable of the Marriage Feast), and elsewhere.

We can see the connections of Jesus’s feeding as it echoes across the scriptures.  You will hear both homilists today connect this passage with compassion, and I don’t think that can be emphasized enough.  Jesus is moved in His Sacred Heart to pity.  Consider, He has just heard the news of His cousin’s death.  He goes away to meditate and pray.  The first thing He does when He sees the multitude is have pity.  He heals, and then He wants to feed them.

 

 

 

Today’s Gospel:

 

 

When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist,

he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself.

The crowds heard of this and followed him on foot from their towns.

When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd,

his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick.

When it was evening, the disciples approached him and said,

“This is a deserted place and it is already late;

dismiss the crowds so that they can go to the villages

and buy food for themselves.”

Jesus said to them, “There is no need for them to go away;

give them some food yourselves.”

But they said to him,

“Five loaves and two fish are all we have here.”

Then he said, “Bring them here to me,”

and he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass.

Taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven,

he said the blessing, broke the loaves,

and gave them to the disciples,

who in turn gave them to the crowds.

They all ate and were satisfied,

and they picked up the fragments left over—

twelve wicker baskets full.

Those who ate were about five thousand men,

not counting women and children.

~Mt: 14:13-21

 

Both homilies today could serve as both exegetical and pastoral homilies.  I wasn’t sure which I should put in which slot, but I go with that of Archbishop of Detroit, Edward J. Weisenburger for the exegetical.

 

Archbishop Weisenburger:

Brothers and sisters, this is Archbishop Weisenburger, and this weekend is the 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time. And our Gospel passage is the miracle of the multiplication of loaves and fishes. You may not know it, but it's the only miracle in all four gospels.  That's how intensely embedded it was in the minds and hearts of the faithful.   Now, to break open the inner meaning of this text, my remarks today are in two parts, which are simply: the context then and the context now.  First, the context then. The Gospel says that Jesus had just learned of the beheading of St. John the Baptist, which was no doubt a great blow to him.  He likewise was exhausted and trying to escape the crowds for a little rest and renewal. And even though it's late in the day, the crowds follow him. His disciples note that due to the late hour and the fact the crowds are hungry and without food, they urge Jesus to just send them away.  But instead, as we all know the story, Jesus multiplies those loaves and fishes, more like little crackers and some sardines for a child's lunch. And with what little he has, she creates a banquet. But please stop to think, the beheading of John the Baptist also took place at a banquet, Herod's banquet. The "feeding of the 5000" is meant to be seen in stark contrast to the banquet of Herod. Herod's feast was a celebration of arrogance, conspiracy, and murder.  Jesus' banquet was a celebration of healing, faithful obedience, and caring for others through the sharing of food and compassion. Moreover, Jesus' banquet is foreshadowing of the Eucharistic banquet. In  this way, it reveals that the celebration of   the Mass is always meant to be a countercultural sign of the Kingdom of God dawning in our midst.

 

Okay, that was the context then. But the words  from today's Gospel that haunt me are Jesus' rebuke to his own followers who want to send the hungry, weary crowds away. It's Jesus line, "No, you give them something to eat!"  It's that line that gets me every time…. Brothers and sisters, I would be the first to tell you, yes, the Church needs your financial commitment. I'm  not against anyone's support. But what both Jesus and a crotchety, but perhaps holy priest teach us is that there's something sacred, something life-changing, something humanizing, and something that helps fashion us into the divine when we encounter in a direct, immediate way our Christ in the poor.  No one in the end really can do it for me.  And in the end, you really shouldn't try   to do it for anyone else. It's a redemptive experience, an experience each of us needs, and an experience that can make all the difference in our own faith journey.

The ellipsis leaves off the story the Archbishop tells about the retired priest who feeds the homeless.  It would make the quote too long, but make sure you listen to it.  Feeding the hungry in person instead of just writing a check is a “redemptive experience” each of us needs.

Here is another new find as a homilist, this time from The Catholic University of the Philippines, the University of Santo Tomas run by friars of the Dominican Order.  Here is Fr. Christian Dale Dakila offering an insightful homily.

 

Fr. Christian:

One of the most beautiful lines in today's gospel is not the multiplication of the loaves. It is not even the miracle itself. The most beautiful line comes before the miracle. When Jesus disembarked and saw the vast crowd, his heart was moved with pity for them.  Before Jesus fed the crowd, he first saw them. Before he performed a miracle, he first noticed their suffering. Before he gave them bread, he first gave them attention.  The miracle of the loaves began not with power but with compassion.  The gospel tells us that Jesus had withdrawn to a deserted place. He himself was grieving the death of John the Baptist. He wanted solitude and silence. Yet when he saw the people, he did not see an interruption.  He saw wounded sheep longing for a shepherd. His heart was moved with pity.  Splagchnizomai (σπλαγχνίζομαι).  The original gospel word speaks of a compassion so deep that it comes from the very depths of one's being. It was literally moved to the gut.  And it is not simply feeling sorry for someone but it is allowing another person's pain to enter your own heart and perhaps that is what many people hunger for today. Not only bread or only money but only success. Many people are hungry for someone who will truly listen. 

Splagchnizomai is a movement of compassion inside the very core of our beings.  Today We might consider Splagchnizomai as being in the Sacred Heart of Jesus.  But you can see that the Gospel is referring to more than just a simple pity.

Fr. Christian:

The hunger of the human heart is deeper than physical hunger. This is why today's gospel remains relevant. The crowd was hungry for bread. But before Jesus multiplied the loaves, he spent the day healing them, teaching them, and accompanying them. He listened to their deeds, to their pain, to their hopes. The miracle started because Jesus paid attention.  Brothers and sisters, listening is becoming a lost art. Today we have more ways of communicating than ever before. Yet many people feel more unheard than ever before. We send messages instantly.  We can contact anyone in seconds. We can speak to thousands through social media. Yet many cannot find one person willing to listen deeply. Sometimes we are physically present but emotionally absent. We hear words but do not hear hearts.  We listen only long enough to prepare our reply. But Jesus teaches us another way. The Lord listens first and he acts. Perhaps this is why he tells his disciples something surprising.  The disciples say, "Send them away." Jesus says, "Give them some food yourselves." The disciples only see the problem.  Jesus sees the possibility. The disciples see scarcity. Jesus sees generosity.  The disciples count five loaves and two fish. Jesus counts willing hearts. And perhaps that command remains for us today. Give them some food yourselves.  Feed those who are hungry, lonely, grieving, confused. Feed those who are losing hope. And sometimes the first food we can offer is not advice. It is our listening. Sometimes people do not need answers, they need presence.

It’s not just physical hunger we are called to heal.  Listening is a form of care taking, especially for those lonely, those grieving, and those losing hope.  Lord, make me an instrument of your peace; where there is despair, let me bring hope.

 

 

 

Sunday Meditation: When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd,

his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick.

 

 

I love this hymn, “Come to the Water.” 

 

 

O let all who thirst,

 let them come to the water.

 And let all who have nothing,

 let them come to the Lord:

 without money, without price.

 Why should you pay the price,

 except for the Lord?

 

 And let all who seek,

 let them come to the water.

 And let all who have nothing,

 let them come to the Lord:

 without money, without strife.

 Why should you spend your life,

 except for the Lord?

 

Let all who have nothing, let them come to the Lord, without price.