In the name of the One, Holy, and Undivided Trinity. Amen.
For the last three weeks, we have walked with Jesus from parable to parable as he describes the kingdom of heaven. The parables are challenging, but their theme is simple: the kingdom of heaven is surprisingly inclusive.
Anyone and everyone who accepts Christ’s offer of salvation will find a home in the kingdom of heaven. Salvation is a matter of faith, not piety. Salvation is a matter of diversity, not uniformity.
Salvation is a matter of God’s generosity, not our entitlement.
My sisters and my brothers: We are God’s chosen.
Consider this week’s episode: A king has planned a wedding banquet for his son, a royal reception worthy of his prince. Only the finest foods have been prepared, and the aroma of savory delicacies wafts through the palace. Anticipation is palpable. Waiters rehearse their grand procession, glasses clink as tables are set, and stray notes languish in the air as instruments are tuned.
Then a servant tells the king that there are no guests.
You can almost hear his response: “No guests? What do you mean there are no guests? We’re having a wedding reception, the food has been prepared, the table is set. How can there be no guests? Not even one?”
Can you imagine the king’s frustration? This is an utter disappointment, a personal insult, a national affront. We almost expect the king to dismiss the staff and throw away the food. But, he does not.
Instead, he sends his servants into the streets with instructions to bring in everyone they find, both good and bad.
Soon, the king’s court is teeming with guests. Think of Bob Cratchit’s house in Dickens’ Christmas Carol after a repentant Ebenezer Scrooge invites all of London over for a holiday meal.
But, unlike Cratchit and Scrooge, the parable’s king probably knew exactly who he would be receiving. The streets to which his servants went were the king’s own streets, and most of the people there would have been his subjects. These people would have included his officials, the merchants who fueled his economy, and the protestors who challenged his policies. The king sent for the people who were entrusted to his care and who were wholly dependent on him. The parallel to God is thinly veiled.

Luke’s gospel ends the story here, with a loving king embracing his subjects. However, Matthew’s theology requires a word about judgment. There is no Tiny Tim, no “God bless us, every one.”
Instead, a man is thrown into the outer darkness for wearing the wrong clothes.
He offers neither excuse nor explanation when the king asks him why he is underdressed. He does not say, “Your majesty, I couldn’t afford a robe.” He does not say, “Your majesty, I didn’t have enough time to go home for my robe.” He does not say, “Your majesty, when I arrived, the closet where everyone else got their robes was empty.” Any of these responses might have provoked sympathy in the generous king. Yet, Jesus tells us that the man is speechless.
He probably isn’t expecting to get caught. He wants to fly under the radar, and march to the beat of his own drummer. But the king takes notice. He takes both notice and great offense. The king’s invitation is gracious, and all he expects in return is a similar level of graciousness. But that graciousness is what he cannot seem to find.
Who is this unfortunate character? If we are God’s chosen people, who is God’s reject? I suspect that with fifteen minutes and a copy of the Washington Post, we could create quite a list of people we think should be left out of the kingdom. My list would be diverse, beginning with the drug dealers who corrupt our youth, and ending with those incessant telephone voices that tell me to press “1” for this and “2” for that. I also suspect that many of us, including me, might end up on someone else’s list.
Fortunately, our lists are not God’s lists. Think about the man in the story. We are not told whether the he is one of the good or one of the bad. We are not told whether his street clothes are clean or tattered. We are not told about his political views, his religious practices, or his occupation. We are not told any of these things because they do not matter. He might as well be one of us. In fact, he is probably one of us.
Jesus reduces this complex human being to a flat, single-dimensional caricature because all that matters is his response to the king’s invitation. The expelled man represents anyone and everyone who says “no” to God.
The parable is actually something of a romance. Person A chooses Person B, hoping against hope that Person B will respond favorably. Sometimes it works, and love yields relationship. Sometimes it doesn’t, and hearts are broken. But rejection does not keep the broken-hearted king from inviting more guests. He wants guests that badly. He loves his people that much.
Perhaps God is a foolish lover, but how lucky we are to be the object of God’s affection. God invites each of us to St. Margaret’s despite our diverse ages, ethnicities, and family structures. Our invitations do not discriminate based on access to education, money, or power. We are hardly the elite patrician assembly that one would expect at a royal banquet. Yet, here we are, together, celebrating with our Lord. Literally coming to God’s table and eating the food that God loves us enough to offer.
It does not matter who we are, how we got here, or where we came from. All that matters is our response to Christ’s invitation. We are God’s chosen, and God is waiting for our response.

God waits to see if we will follow Christ when the world wants us to betray our friends, seek revenge, or say unkind things. God waits to see if we will follow Christ when the world wants us to cheat on our taxes, exploit the poor, and climb the corporate ladder at the expense of others. God waits to see if we will follow Christ when the world wants us to ignore injustice, disregard oppression, and abandon the impoverished.
God waits to see if we will put on our modern-day wedding garments, woven together from the fibers of love, charity and justice.
Yet, God does not force us to cover our sin stained selves with this garment. God chooses these robes for us, and hopes against hope that we will accept them, but the choice is ours. We decide if we are going to yield to the ways of God or not. And that decision is critical. That decision changes us from being called to being chosen. That decision determines our citizenship in the kingdom of heaven.
When someone offers you a wedding robe, put it on. Don’t ask questions or make excuses, just accept God’s invitation. And, when you have the chance, offer robes to others. Gather their wearied weakness in a soft, white cloth, and let our foolish lover of a God embrace them as God as always wanted to do.
Amen.