Pentecost 19 A: Limited Vision
Dear Partner in Preaching,
This may just be my least favorite parable in my least favorite Gospel. (And before you say anything, I know a good working preacher doesn’t play favorites. Well, maybe when it comes to parables, but not Gospels.) Regardless, this parable seems just plain nasty. Not so much because it’s difficult to interpret – it is, to some degree, though mostly, I think, because we don’t like what it says. But rather because of the indiscriminate violence in the passage. What are we to make of it? To get at that question, I’m going to try to summarize what seem to me to be the three main interpretive approaches, each which has some profound challenges.
The Historical Approach
I’ve already shown my willingness to play favorites, so I’ll start by saying that this one is, if not my favorite, at least the one that seems most plausible. Here goes. Matthew is writing his Gospel, as we’ve noted before, in order to offer comfort, assurance, guidance, exhortation, and encouragement to a fledgling community of early believers, largely Jewish, who are caught up in a fierce sibling rivalry with their former community members even as they are trying to fit in to the new reality of Roman domination. A decade or so after the destruction of the Temple, both the synagogue and this congregation (that was likely originally part of the synagogue but no longer) are struggling mightily and, in that context, both are making an all-out pitch for the allegiance of their members (and former members). It’s in this context that Matthew describes Jesus as telling a string of parables that more or less depict God’s rejection of those who have not accepted Jesus as the Messiah, even going so far as to describe the destruction of the Temple as God’s righteous judgment.
From this highly allegorical point of view, the original guests are the Jewish religious authorities (and presumably those who follow them), the king’s destruction of the city is the Roman destruction of the Temple, and the invitation of “all” is the spread of the Gospel and the sudden inclusion of Gentiles. And what about the weird wedding garment scene? Harder to tell, but likely a second parable slapped on to the end of this one (see the far less violent parallel in Luke 14:15-24 absent any fashion faux pas), stressing the importance of full reliance on and commitment to Christ – perhaps it’s a baptismal garment? – to be included in the community, and thereby functioning as a warning that you need to be all in and can’t have it both ways.
What speaks in favor of this reading is that it aligns with so much else that is going on in Matthew’s Gospel literarily and corresponds to what we know (or at least guess) was going on in Matthew’s community historically. The problem with this reading is that it feels so vindictive and, to the degree that it functions allegorically, offers an appalling picture of a violent, capricious, punishing God that seems closer to Herod than the God of Israel. So shamed by a lack of attendance that you will destroy cities and murder citizens? Tossing into the “outer darkness” someone who accepted your invitation? This doesn’t feel like a picture of God we can live with. (But, then again, I suppose that once you interpret the Roman destruction of the Temple as God’s judgment, it’s not a far jump to the rest.)
A Lutheran Approach
While ambivalent about claiming an interpretive line for just one tradition (I suspect other traditions mike look at it similarly), I think of this as a “Lutheran” approach because of its relentless insistence on focusing only on the constant and, so these interpreters insist, gracious invitations of the king – first the multiple entreaties to the original guests, then invitations to all. Even the rejection of the guest with improper attire is evidence that one enters the kingdom only by “grace alone” and so one must fully clothe one’s self in Christ’s righteousness freely given and received.
The strength of this approach is that it gives you something positive to proclaim: God will keep inviting, keep entreating, keep drawing people to the banquet whatever the cost. The shortcoming of this reason is that the “cost” – violent destruction – is typically downplayed, if not ignored altogether. (Luke’s telling of the great banquet lends itself to this approach far more readily.) Preachers going in this direction typically engage in a little homiletical sleight of hand to keep folks from focusing on the violence of the text and see, instead, only the graceful entreaties of the otherwise murderous king. (Does the phrase “Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain” ring any bells?)
A Counter-Culture, Inclusive Approach
Noting the violence of the king – and the demoralizing history of Christians justifying the violent treatment of persons from other faith traditions (and especially Jews) based on this and other Matthean parables like it – interpreters from this school of thought challenge the allegorical interpretation from the outset. Why assume the king represents God, they ask, asserting that it may be the capricious violence of a despotic king bound by an honor-shame culture that Jesus is calling into question. Perhaps that’s why the original guests refused to come in the first place, a decision that results in their destruction but is somewhat vindicated when even someone who attends is hauled away for wearing the wrong clothing.
The strength of this readings stems from a rejection of violent imagery for God (and those who justify their own violence based on this imagery) and its ability to suggest a different reading that pays more attention to the marginalized, in this case the originally invited and subsequently invited guests. The problem is that while there may be remnants of a parable Jesus told against despotic violence tucked away somewhere in this one – we’ll likely never know – most of the details of the parable as presented by Matthew simply don’t fall into line. There is no rebuke of the king and no calling into question of his rejection and destruction of the original guests, and the parable itself ends with a warning – presumably to those who have come into the fold – that remaining in the kingdom requires total commitment: “many are called, but few are chosen.”
So what’s an honest working preacher to do? I am honestly not sure, although I do think it invites us to be a little more realistic about Matthew and, indeed, all witnesses to the Gospel then and now. I will say again that I find the first (historical) treatment most plausible, if not very preach-able! That is, I think this parable originally helped a marginalized community, stressed by their relationships with their former kinsman, not simply assert their superiority over their Jewish cousins (the internal motivation) but also distinguish themselves from these same cousins to the Romans who have so recently destroyed the Temple (the external motivation).
Similarly, I suspect that the other two interpretative directions I’ve suggested arise mainly from a rejection of the implications of how the parable has been interpreted ever since. And while they help alleviate our discomfort, is there another way, one that doesn’t play fast and loose with the actual details of the parable? That is, I wonder if we can both sympathize with the plight that drove Matthew to retell this parable the way he does while also rejecting it as a valid understanding of God and God’s ways in the world and, further, lament the way it has served Christian supersessionism and violence?
To do this is to admit that Matthew’s view of the God we know in Jesus is limited. To put it another way, can we imagine that while he got so much right – and as the weather turns cooler I’m already thinking about Advent, Christmas, and Matthew’s reemployment of Isaiah’s promise that in Emmanuel, “God is with us” – he also got some things wrong, even terribly wrong. In particular, God being “with us” does not need to imply that God is not with others, let alone against others.
The moment we lament Matthew’s limited vision, however, we need to move forward to confess, lament, and repent of our own. (Yes, we could point to numerous, even tragically and literally countless, examples of the Church’s limited vision across the centuries, but let’s get to our own.) I mean, how often do we limit our imagination about who God will find acceptable? At how many points in our lives have we employed, often quite unconsciously, our theology, community practices, or worship life to exclude others? How often have we been resistant to the possibility that God loves those we do not… and even that God loves them as much as God loves us?
Limited vision, I’m afraid, is part and parcel of being human. And it is one of the things that Christ comes both to point out and to redeem us from. Yes, Matthew doesn’t see everything and his limited vision dramatically shapes a problematic parable that truncates God’s grace. (Again, compare it with Luke’s treatment of a similar parable to see just how far Matthew went to create this one.) And, yes, we also are hampered by, and sometimes harm others because of, a limited vision of God’s grace. And yet Jesus comes for all. For those we reject and for we who are guilty of rejecting. The invitation is still being made, but less by a capricious and violent king and more by a loving and persistent parent who will come bearing the twin and nearly simultaneous truths that we are woefully fallen, and at the same time completely accepted and beloved, children of God.
Sharing this in a sermon, I know, is a daunting task, Dear Partner. Perhaps you’ll find a way to do so, or perhaps you’ll go a whole other route. Either way, know how much I appreciate your commitment to witness to a God of grace, a God who refuses to ignore our shortcomings but also refuses to reject us because of them. This is the God who comes, and comes again, and comes yet again and again, refusing to be deterred by our limited vision, to wrap us in grace and send us out to witness to what we’ve experienced, no matter how imperfect that witness may be. Thank you for your willingness to participate in God’s work, and blessings on your proclamation and life.
Yours in Christ,
David
Post image: Parable of the Great Banquet by Brunswick Monogrammist (circa 1525).
Dr. Lose,
As always your insights are much appreciated. No two ways about it, this is a very difficult parable and preaching it is fraught with traps. Yesterday, though, Debi Thomas had a surprising idea in her weekly lectionary essay https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay. Since we’re going to allegorize this, what if the God character is the guest without a wedding garment? What if Jesus is the guest who won’t wear the garment of conformity? I’ve been rolling that idea around since I first read her essay yesterday, then this morning I read Pope Francis’ new encyclical, Fratelli Tutti, and as I was reading I kept thinking of her proposition: what if Jesus is the one who won’t play the game. I think she might be on to something here.
Thanks for your note, Steve. That interpretation is definitely more preach-able, and, while still allegorical lines up with what I described as a more inclusive approach that looks to the characters on the margins. And there is absolutely no reason that we can’t take our overall theology about Jesus and use it to re-read a parable. In this light, this is a very insightful and I suspect fruitful line of interpretation. That doesn’t necessarily mean this specific text supports that reading, but rather that we re-interpret it in light of the larger Gospel. It’s hard to remember, but Matthew’s community was marginalized, they were the afflicted, and Matthew’s rendering of Jesus’ parables — which is of course somewhat different from Jesus’ actual parables — reflects that. Most of the communities to which I have preach are not marginalized. So what this parable originally meant does not have to limit what it might mean in our contexts. Which is crucial to remember. I think it’s also helpful to remember that we can critique this portion of Matthew on the basis of the rest of Matthew and the rest of the Gospel. There are plenty of parts of the Bible that I think offer a very limited, even constricted if not warped picture of God. But the witness of the whole of Scripture is the lens and measure by which to read these various passages. (For example, as far as a monstrous pictures of God, the whole deuteronomistic theology reflected in major portions or the OT — where God is the one punishing Israel to comfort the people and remind them that the God strong enough to punish is also strong enough to save — reflects a theology similar to what I think Matthew employs to comfort his afflicted community.) None of this means you or I can’t follow the very engaging interpretive line Debie suggests, but let’s own that it’s our interpretation, based on a theology of God derived from the larger witness. What I found most compelling about Debie’s essay — which was so well written (thanks for recommending it!) — is her opening recognition that at times we’re called to regret, repentance, and re-orientation. I don’t think that changes the parable, or Matthew, but it does change what we do with it. Thanks, again, for thinking along with me on this and for referencing Debie’s wonderful essay!
There is an interesting translation issue at verse 10. I believe the phrase there: “both good and bad” is elsewhere in Matthew translated as “good and evil” in every instance where it refers to people. Why here translated as “good and bad”?
Could it be that grace without limits is too offensive for ‘good’ Christians to stomach?
I am looking at this a little bit differently this week. Recognizing – and accepting – that Matthew’s community was in the bitter battle between two religious groups that you talked about so well, I’m relating their conflict to the current divisive battles between Christians today. Do we really want the story of Christianity in this time and place to go down in history in a similar fashion to Matthew’s violent telling? Is that how we want to be remembered: as Christians who fought with one another while God’s children suffered through viruses, political conflict, financial troubles, etc, etc. etc…? I think not. If we don’t want to be remembered this way, then we need to tone down the rhetoric – and the actions – that divide us. Just like with Matthew’s parable, it is a struggle today to find and hear the gospel of Jesus Christ and his great love for us within our current conflicts with one another. I’m hoping that by seeing their problematic example, we will find an encouragement to find a better way.
I do love getting a different slant on the Parables of Jesus. I love having to pint my thinking cap on and ponder that might be a possibility. You never cease to amaze me, thank you for your insight .
Linda Riley
Most everyone seems to read the last part of this story like this: King sees man without wedding garment and throws him out into the darkness. What is usually overlooked (and which tempers my opinion of this king) is that the King approaches him, CALLS HIM “FRIEND”, and asks why he is not appropriately garbed. The man is silent. It is only after the man does not answer him that the King has the bouncers throw him out. The King’s anger seems to have been provoked by the man’s silence, his refusal to speak to the host, not by the lack of wedding garb. Perhaps an invitation to the feast is not enough; more is expected of the guests, in particular a willingness to acknowledge and relate to the host, not just to come in and enjoy the party.