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Along
about 9:00 last night, I gave semi-serious consideration to
wearing my tux for these Ash Wednesday services of worship.
Just as quickly, I discarded the idea, given that it might
be perceived as frivolous. And whatever else Ash Wednesday
is about, it is certainly not frivolous.
At issue
in this morning's text is "wedding attire" (and
what is "appropriate" for such an occasion). I don't
suppose there is anyone here who hasn't been invited to a
wedding ... attended a wedding ... or pondered what to wear
to a wedding. As a veteran of 1600 weddings, I have seen it
all. I've seen weddings where all the guests came formally
attired. And I've seen weddings where everybody stopped one
step short of "beach apparel." As concerns male
options, I've seen men in tuxes ... dark suits ... .sport
coats ... slacks and shirts with open collars ... .khakis
and sweaters ... even cowboy boots and jean jackets. On the
other side of the gender gap, I've seen women in evening dresses
... .glitzy dresses ... cocktail dresses ... party dresses
... shirtwaist dresses ... power suits ... slacks and blouses
... even halters and shorts. No rule governs every occasion.
I've long been told that women who attend a wedding should
never dress in a manner that upstages the bride. If I could
add one additional rule, it would concern the revealing of
too much skin. But that's a personal prejudice.
Most every
location has a dress code. Sometimes the code is written.
Sometimes unwritten. Sometimes the rules are formally stated.
Other times, informally implied. Every one of us has gone
to eat in an establishment that posts: "No Shoes. No
Shirt. No Service." There can be no mistaking where the
management stands. By contrast, I belong to a club where I
can't walk through the lobby without a tie. Were you to ask
where it says that, I couldn't point to a sign. One is just
supposed to know such things.
Actually,
this text about the wedding guest who was inappropriately
clad follows a more familiar story of Jesus, that of the wedding
banquet itself. You remember it. The king sends out a raft
of invitations. But the recipients send their regrets. Each
would appear to have a good reason. But none is willing to
come. Which angers the king. So he asks his messenger to beat
the bushes. "Go get anybody ... from anywhere ... by
any means." So they do. And all of the second wave shows
up.
Which
sounds like the gospel we know.
Round
`em up.
Reel
`em in.
Take
`em all.
One even
pictures Doris Hall in the banquet hall, quietly playing "Just
As I Am."
But suddenly
comes this jarring note. It strikes the ear like the sound
of a dinner fork in the garbage disposal. Walking among the
guests, the king finds a man with no wedding garment on. "How
did you get in here?" the king asks. Whereupon the bouncers
are called and the man is thrown out. Way out. Out of the
hall. Out into the "outer darkness."
What's
this about, anyway? Surely, this is not about ties ... tails
... tuxedos. Surely this is not about protocols ... .proprieties
... performance expectations. After all, if God's grace does
not come in response to good works, surely it can't come in
response to fine dress. This is harsh ... judgmental ... un-Jesus-like.
But it is very Matthew-like. Matthew's gospel presents difficulties
not found elsewhere. Matthew's gospel yields images of judgment
that cannot be found elsewhere. Whenever we hear words like
"weeping," "wailing," "gnashing of
teeth," and "outer darkness," we can assume
that we are reading Matthew.
But back
to the story. The evictee was speechless. Wouldn't you be?
I mean, did you ever get thrown out of any place ... especially
a place where Doris Hall was playing "Just As I Am"
as you walked in the door? How can we make sense of this?
I'm not
entirely sure. But thanks to Richard Hays, I think I have
a clue. Richard Hays teaches ethics at Duke. Five weeks ago,
I sat in his class entitled "Preaching New Testament
Ethics." Discussing this story of the "wedding garment,"
Hays said the following:
While
God's message extends far more widely than any of us think,
guests who accept God's gracious invitation must not assume
that being invited is an invitation to laxity.
But the
story still sounds harsh. Or it did, until I realized that
... as with any good thing ... it is possible to abuse grace.
Which brings me to an old seminary friend from Amery, Wisconsin.
Prior to deciding for the ministry, this friend lived a somewhat
free-and-easy life (if you know what I mean). One night he
got talking about the annual revival that took place in Amery.
Same format every year. Instead of a tent, everybody went
down to the football field. Somewhere out around the 50 yard
line stood the evangelist and the choir. When it came time
for the altar call, people streamed down from the bleachers
and out onto the field. Said my friend:
The
thing I remember most about the revival was that every night
my girlfriend and I would come down from the bleachers to
get saved. Then, when they turned out the lights and everybody
went home, we'd go down under the bleachers and give ourselves
fresh reason to get saved the next night.
If you
think about that long enough, I think you'll agree that it's
possible to abuse grace. Or, as Hays put it: "Guests
who accept God's gracious invitation must not assume that
being invited is an invitation to laxity."
Some years
ago, a group of us were invited to tour one of those Salvation
Army-type shelters in the bowels of an eastern city. You know
the kind of place I'm talking about. They opened the doors
and everybody came in. Whereupon they sobered `em up ... cleaned
`em up ... fed `em up ... and prayed `em up. But they didn't
let just anyone stay the night. You had to cut a deal. You
had to agree (I think, in writing) that you would not spit
... swear ... drink ... fight ... or steal some other guy's
stuff while he slept. And you had to go to the nightly chapel
service.
I remember
someone asking: "Isn't this a little bit harsh?"
And I remember the host answering: "They can come in,
but they've got to follow the rules."
Lent is
a good time to preach such a message. For Lent is not only
about invitations to answer. Lent is about disciplines to
undertake and work to do. Historically, Lent has generated
daily "job descriptions" for Christians. Give up
this. Take on that. I used to minimize that. But I don't anymore.
I think that "doing something" for Lent is exceedingly
important.
Guests
who accept God's gracious invitation must not assume that
being invited is an invitation to laxity.
My friends,
the table is prepared. At which Jesus invites the needy ...
and feeds the hungry. But Jesus gives no encouragement to
the sloppy. At least, not so as I can tell.
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