To begin with, a rhetorical question is a question that has an expected answer. For instance, if I asked, “If I follow the instructions you gave, I will get to where I want to go, right?” Since you gave me the instructions and you know where I want to go, the answer should be yes. The answer is understood by the wording of the question. Or, someone might say, “A fool and his money are soon parted, right?” Or, maybe you might say, “Is the Pope Catholic? Is the sky blue? Do bears do what bears do in the woods? Are flamingos pink?” We might even cry out, “God’s in his heavens; all’s right with the world!” expecting an affirmative response.
We use this rhetorical device as a means of gathering consensus among friends. We don’t always ask the questions in a way that demands a positive answer; sometimes we are eliciting a negative answer, but we are seeking agreement. In the midst of a political discussion, we might say something like, “I didn’t vote for it either, but do you hear me complaining?” You might hear someone say, “Do I have stupid stamped on my forehead? Was I born yesterday? Do I look like your mother? So, you think you are the boss?”
Even when we want to answer these questions in a contradictory way, we know what the expected response is supposed to be. And yet, there are times when we honestly have to answer in that contradictory way. So, when you hear today’s parable, does it make you feel good? Does it make you feel uncomfortable? Does it make you feel like asking questions?
This past week I have been with a lot of pastors at the Bishop’s Convocation (a big title for the Synod’s fall conference). One of the topics of conversation was, “What do you think you’ll do with this text on Sunday?” It turns out, among pastors I talked with, this is one of the most disliked parables in the entire New Testament. It is violent. It is difficult. It challenges the fundamental precepts of what the kingdom of heaven is like.
I have to admit that I, with my colleagues, have always been disturbed by this parable in Matthew. I like the telling of the parable in Luke 14 much better. The way Luke records Jesus telling this parable is much more about welcoming everyone into the wedding banquet after getting rid of those rich people who can’t be bothered with a relationship with God, but Matthew doesn’t let us go there.
As Lutherans, we are committed to the idea that Scripture interprets Scripture. So, this week I started looking at the structure of Matthew’s parables. I was surprised to notice that as these parables have been told, they get more violent. At first, I thought this was in anticipation of the trial, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus. As much as I like that idea, that would say much more about Matthew than it says about what Jesus is doing here. In addition, these later parables are told in rhetorical ways that seem to lead to certain conclusions and behaviors we anticipate, but these conclusions run contrary to what we know God’s activity to be.
I noticed that Jesus keeps engaging the people he is teaching, asking them what they think should happen. Each time, the people answer in a judgmental, violent way that seems to vindicate them as judges and convicts those who are acting badly in the parable. Last week we heard the Pharisees and the people convict the tenants of the vineyard saying, “The landowner should take those wretches and put them to a miserable death.”
In response, since I enjoy mysteries, I would like to present today’s parable with all of its challenges as a mystery for us to solve. I am calling it The Case of the Rhetorical Parable. It does just what the Pharisees and the people who convicted the tenants of the vineyard last week wanted. Jesus incorporates these violent, judgmental statements into today’s parable, integrating that judgment to demonstrate what judgmental actions and violence lead to.
This parable then is like one of those rhetorical statements or questions. This parable assumes an answer, but that answer is incorrect. We know that following directions does not always get you where you want to be. Recently, people in the Roman Catholic Church, sent a letter to the Pope claiming that he was too Lutheran. The sky may be cloudy and gray; flamingos are not always pink. There are times I complain about my elected officials when I haven’t voted for them. And yes, there was a day when my sister made a rubber stamp that said Stupid on it and stamped my forehead.
In a like manner, the kingdom of heaven may, might, could be, compared to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son, but then again this might not be the best kingdom to emulate. With all of the violence and death contained in this parable, we are called upon to consider whether this parable is what we think the kingdom of heaven is. And, whether that is the kingdom that God wants us to live in. Are we seeking a kingdom of devastating burning judgment and expulsion of those who don’t look like us?
Or, as we look to the closing chapters of Matthew, is there a different image of faithful following that can be more helpful, an image like that of the cross and earthshaking tomb of resurrection? Again, we recall Peter’s rebuke of Jesus earlier in the Gospel, and with Peter we are challenged to consider whether our minds are on earthly things and not on divine things.
As I studied this text this week, I have become convinced that the format should be something more like, “Jesus said, ‘There are those WHO WANT TO COMPARE the kingdom of heaven to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son.’” This language lets us know immediately that there might be another way of thinking about these words. It may not be a wedding between a man and a woman, although it is assumed that a man and a woman will be present, but this story may be about a political alliance between the offspring of two rulers. As a political wedding, the behavior of the people in this parable seems to have much more relevance.
As a political ruler, the reaction of the king seems more understandable (not necessarily more appropriate, but understandable). The behavior of the people who have been invited is not a social snub. Rather it is a political statement of their support or lack thereof. Finding no support among the wealthy, the king acts to eliminate any opposition to his rule. He destroys and burns the cities of rebellion (those who will not come to the wedding feast).
Left with no guests for the banquet, the king decides to flood the wedding banquet hall with the people from the streets. The king wants to look good in front of the soon-to-be allied family. Now he enters into the banquet hall and sees someone who doesn’t belong there. It might be one of the people whom he invited earlier, or it may be a potential assassin; it may be an evil person. It may even be a person of righteousness in the midst of a vulgar society.
What we know is that this person is not dressed like the others. He is not wearing a wedding garment. He is not wearing the right clothes. This wearing the wrong clothes becomes the reason for arresting him; for binding him foot and hand; and, for the fourth time in the book of Matthew, someone is cast out into the darkness where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. We will hear this judgment of condemnation again before we leave this Gospel.
OR, is it a place of renewal, that place of darkness from which God creates the goodness of the world, where repentance can happen, that place to get right with God and become righteous? What we hear is that from this place of outer darkness, God’s voice is still heard: “For many are called, but few are chosen.”
In this outside place, God continues to be in relationship with the people and offers possibility of being restored to the community God gives. This gift of community is a gift meant for everybody. Indeed, everybody is called to be in relationship with God and one another. Beyond that, there are a few that are chosen—chosen to be examples for the world. The invitation is open to us always, but are we the many or are we the chosen? Is it possible that we are neither, or both?
As I was preparing this, I was wondering how a more modern telling of this parable might be told, and I couldn’t help thinking of our modern political setting and how that might lend itself to what Jesus was trying to say. This is what I came up with.
There are those who might want to compare the kingdom of heaven to a president who was elected by the people and then prepared an inauguration ball and banquet for the nation. He collected more money for the banquet than any other president because this was to be the inauguration ball and banquet of all time.
He invited all of the important people to come, but they did not come. He prepared the food and the entertainment, and the important people continued to find excuses for not coming. On the day of the inauguration, the president had the pictures cropped so that it looked like there were many more people than there were. He did this because it was embarrassing, and it shamed him, to have such a low turnout. For some reason, the people just did not come. They ignored him.
The president was angry, and he worked at destroying the reputations of the people who did not come. He had his staff burn the bridges of cooperation between people claiming that anything the unworthy people said was fake news and not worth listening to.…
I’m not really sure where I want to go from there, but I do think that there is a parallel statement that can be made about our time based on what Jesus was saying to the people of his time for this parable is not about what God is doing nor is it about healthy relationships with the people. This parable is much more about what happens when we forget that the world is not about us. We are not the ones who are in charge of what the kingdom of heaven is like. We get to tell others what the kingdom of God is like, but we don’t determine what the kingdom of God is like.
The king in this parable says, “I have prepared my banquet. I have slaughtered my oxen and my fat calves.” This is not a banquet for his son and wife, nor is it for the people. It is a banquet for the king himself. It is so much about the king that when the people do come, he acts badly.
The rhetorical statement of this parable is, “The kingdom of heaven is like,” but the question is, “Do we want the kingdom of heaven to look like this? Is this the only way the kingdom of heaven can be? Is there a kingdom of heaven we can proclaim that will de-escalate the violence of the world? Is there a kingdom of heaven that we can proclaim that is more inclusive than exclusive? Is it possible that the image of the cross and the earth-shaking, empty tomb of Easter is a better marriage than that of a king’s son and an undesignated wife to be named afterwards?
Is it possible that there are better metaphors than the political systems of the world, either the Roman empire or even our own government and time? If so, what might that metaphor be? If we are going to stay with the metaphor of a wedding, who do we want to invite? Whose banquet are we going to prepare?
In the midst of the violence of his time, Jesus continues to journey forward to the cross calling us to be in relationship, to continue to walk with him, exploring all of the corners of the kingdom so that we might be prepared to go out and proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ to all that we meet. We are reminded by Paul that Christ died once for all.
The invitation to Christ’s table is, “Come for all has been made ready. This is the body and blood that is given and shed for you. Come and receive the gifts which are given for the forgiveness of sin for ALL people; where the darkness of the cross of death leads to the empty tomb of resurrection and new life.”
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