By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist
Exodus 20: 1-4, 7-9, 12-20
Matthew 22:1-14
The “unity candle” is before us, on the table where we
shared our common feast last Sunday. Where we came from north and south and
east and west to celebrate a meal of abundant life. Where we came to confess we
are sick with the sin and the suffering and the violence of our world—including
the violence attributed to the king in the Gospel of Matthew. And we want to be
made well, we want to be made whole, we want to be made one with our broken yet
resurrected Christ. We want to be made one with God.
The “unity candle” is before us as a reminder of the values
we share at the core of our covenant with Christ and, in turn, our covenant
with one another. A covenant that is not so very different from the vows two
people make when they stand “before God and these witnesses” to unite their
lives “in plenty and in want; in joy and in sorrow; in sickness and in health;
for as long as we both shall live.” Values of partnership and commitment, of
fidelity and trust, of intimacy and shared purpose, of perseverance and hope. Values
of faith.
The “unity candle” is before us as a reminder of the
covenant union God has already made with us and that we have already made with
God, from a time long before our time, from a mountain in a wilderness most of
us will never see, where our Old Testament lesson this morning takes place. The
covenant vows come from a mountain where a God who has heard the cries of a
suffering people has led them out of bondage. From a mountain where a God who
has a vision for a new life of promise and plenty together with these people
will lead them onward to an old ancestral land. From a mountain where a God who
is just beginning to become re-acquainted with this precious community will
invite them to rest and simply spend some time together before moving forward
with a whole new commitment.
I would go so far as to call it a “holy union,” this
covenant that takes place between God and God’s people at this mountain in the
wilderness of the Exodus. Even the prophets call it a “marriage”: covenant vows
of steadfast love to express the mutual loyalty—the hesed—between God
and God’s people—between God and us--“for as long as we both shall live.”
Which is, of course, forever.
And so the “unity candle” is before us as a reminder of the
promises that were made at Mount Sinai, the covenant vows that were offered in
our name—and yes, I mean our name—these ancient words spoken for you and
for me—which is what the parable of Jesus in the Gospel of Matthew is really trying
to say. That this holy union—this sacred marriage—between God and God’s people is
for us, too—for the Gentiles, too—that this “holy union” with God is for all
who would come to the feast.
And so we gather around the unity candle at the table of
grace as a reminder of our covenant promises—the ones we call “The Ten
Commandments.” To renew our first four vows, which focus our fidelity to a God of
justice and liberation, and to renew our last six vows, which focus our fidelity
to the people with whom we have been bound to God. Because “this holy union”
with God must also require a commitment to God’s community: that we respect one
another’s families; that we respect one another’s property; that we respect one
another’s lives and reputations. That we expect the same respect in return.
We could, of course, paraphrase these Ten Commandments—these
“holy vows”—with one Great Commandment, and a second, which is like it, (which
is what Jesus did, after all): “to love the Holy One, our God, with all our heart,
mind, soul and strength . . . and to love our neighbor as ourself.” And we
could throw rice and blow bubbles and decorate our cars and all live happily
ever after! Right?
Well . . .
The problem is, as everyone who has taken these very human
vows knows, we just can’t seem to get it right. At least not all the time.
Maybe not even most of the time. With God or with one another.
How many of us can honestly say we have forsaken all other
gods, for example? And no, I’m not talking about honoring the wisdom of other world
religions. I’m talking about where we place our loyalty. Where we place our
trust. I’m talking about the stock market. Or the Clinique counter. And no, I’m
not suggesting we divest of our mutual funds or our makeup, I’m just saying we
should be honest about where we find our identity and our security. I’m just
saying we should be honest about the ways we make the God we worship into our
own image, rather than the other way around.
And how many of us can honestly say we have loved our
neighbor as our self? Let’s face it, if you’re like me you covet just about everything
your neighbor has. Even Jimmy Carter “lusted in his heart,” after all! And even
the easy vow—the one about honoring the Sabbath—the one that actually begs
us not to work!—can be the hardest commitment to keep, at least in this
global, integrated, double-recession economy.
The truth is, we are not good at honoring our covenant vows,
with God or with one another. And God knows it. And Jesus knows it. And in his
scathing critique of the chief priests and the Pharisees in Matthew’s Gospel
lesson for this morning, Jesus calls them on it, just as much as he did in the
parable that was before us last week, and the week before, and the week before
that.
And this is a hard parable to swallow, at least on its
surface. A king who is throwing a wedding banquet for his son strikes out in
violent rage at those who refuse the invitation. And then, just when we think
the banquet really is open to everyone, the person who isn’t dressed quite
right gets thrown out on his head, as well. On its surface, this parable shakes
up everything we want to believe about a loving, committed, steadfast God who
will not ever let us go. We could go so far as to wonder if this “holy union”
is even worth it at all.
But if we pay close attention to the context of the parable,
we will see that all of the parables of judgment against the chief priests and
Pharisees between Palm Sunday and Easter ultimately culminate in that famous
passage from Matthew 25 about what really matters in the end: that we feed the
hungry; welcome the stranger; clothe the naked; care for the sick; visit the
prisoner. Each of these acts is a pro-active approach to honoring the
commandment to love our neighbor as our self. Which is the same as honoring the
last six vows of the Ten Commandments. Which is what it means to live in holy
union with God and one another in the first place.
What Jesus is trying to do in this parable is shake up the
people who think they have already done just fine by God and by God’s people,
thank you very much. Who think they don’t need to be shaken up. Who think they
have no need of grace. Who don’t care all that much about the hungry, lonely,
naked, or sick. Who really, in the end, don’t care all that much about God. They
just want to crash the wedding for a free meal. And if we, too, are shaken up
by the parable, shall we confess that maybe, perhaps, we might just need to be?
The apostle Paul puts it a bit more gently: “God has chosen
you and made you holy people,” he says to the Colossians, he says to us. “So
you should always clothe yourselves with mercy, kindness, humility, gentleness,
and patience. Bear with each other, and forgive each other. . . . Even more
than all this, clothe yourself in love. Love is what holds you all together in
perfect unity” (Col
3:12-14). These are the clothes that are fit for a wedding, after all. These
are the clothes we would wear to renew the vows of our holy union. And, in the
wedding traditions of the ancient near east, the king would have made sure
every one of us was given these clothes if we could not afford them ourselves.
So does our God. We just have to decide we want to wear this cloak of grace we
have been given at the door. Because let’s face it, every one of us needs it.
In our communion last week, we were reminded that the table
is open to Judas and Peter and all who fail utterly to live our covenant
promises completely. “The great wedding feast,” which the Lord’s Supper is
sometimes called, invites us to renew the commitment again and again and again.
We just have to decide to say yes.
Right here, right now, God offers the same invitation: I
love you; even now. I still want to be your God. Do you still want to be my
people? And we get to say, I do.
Pastor: You shall have no other gods before
me.
Leader: Do you take me as your God, the one on whom you will fully depend, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live?
Congregation: I do.
Leader: Do you really take me as your God, the one on whom you will fully depend, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live?
Congregation: I do.
Pastor: You shall not make wrongful use of
the name of the Holy One, who is your God.
Leader: Do you promise to honor me? Who I really am? Because I Am Who I Am, and I Will Be Who I Will Be, and I cannot just be whoever you want me to be in the moment? Do you take me as I am, and not who you think I should be?
Congregation: I do.
Leader: Do you promise to spend time with me? To stop working so hard for just a few hours . . . just one day a week . . . and get to know me again? To hear me speak to you again? To sing together again? To share our joys and sorrows again? To forgive what needs to be forgiven . . . to stop worrying so much about the future and just enjoy the time we have? To remember how very much we love each other? Do you promise to take time to be with me and our people?
Congregation: I do!
Leader: With God’s help, do you promise to express gratitude for the family of God that gives you life? For the family that supports you and takes you in when you are hurting? For the family of this church that celebrates who you really are, that claims you as one of its children? Do you promise to honor your family?
Congregation: I do!
Pastor: You shall not murder.
Leader: With God’s help, do you promise to cherish this precious life we have been given? To celebrate life in all its fullness around us? To preserve and protect the image of God in all of creation? Do you promise to love life?
Congregation: I do!
Pastor: You shall not commit adultery.
Leader: With
God’s help, do you promise to honor the commitments that others have made to one
another? To support the families
in our midst who have made covenant promises to one another? Do you promise to
honor your own covenant commitments?
Congregation: I do!
Pastor: You shall not steal.
Leader: With
God’s help, do you promise to accept what is rightfully yours, and no more? To
be grateful for whatever abundance God has
granted you? To share from that abundance with others? To receive the gifts
that others offer in your time of need? To ask for help when you need it?
Congregation: I do!
Pastor: You shall not bear false witness
against your neighbor.
Leader: With God’s help, do you promise to speak only the truth as you know it? To refrain from gossip or rumors or suspicion without genuine cause? Do you promise to listen carefully to what others have said, seeking to understand as much as to be understood, praying for God’s wisdom to clarify good intentions when misunderstandings lead to difficult feelings? Do you promise to speak only the truth as you know it?
Congregation: I do!
Pastor: You shall not covet anything that
belongs to your neighbor.
Leader: With God’s help, do you really promise to accept what is rightfully yours, and no more? To be grateful for whatever abundance God has granted you? To share from that abundance with others? To receive the gifts that others offer in your time of need? To ask for help when you need it?
Congregation: I do!
May we be united in renewed commitment to God and one
another on this day and forevermore.
Amen.
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