Probably when Jesus begins today’s parable—“the kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who gave a wedding feast”—his audience thought they knew what they were going to get. Wedding imagery, nuptial symbolism, marriage references, practically cover the whole of the biblical tradition. Humanity begins in marriage. The promises to Abraham centered on a man and wife becoming the parents of a great nation. In the prophets, God calls Israel his bride, his beloved. In the Song of Songs—what the rabbinic tradition famously calls the “Holy of Holies” of the scriptures—the union of husband and wife represents the renewal of all creation and the consummation of God’s blissful relationship with his people.
So, again, when Jesus begins this parable, surely many people are nodding their heads and saying, Oh, yes, the marriage feast! Of course! And it is this familiarity that makes the actual content of the parable all the more jarring. For this is not how the wedding feast between God and his people is supposed to go. Instead of feasting and joy, we get stupidity, ignorance, and murder. Then, when the original guests show themselves unworthy, the undesirables are invited in. To top it off, one of these people is singled out for the crime of not wearing the right outfit.
The whole story is absurd and hyperbolic, at least in relation to normal wedding practices in first-century Israel. But this is the point. The world was made from the overflowing generosity of God’s goodness; we were made for fellowship with God. But something has gone wrong. At the heart of the human problem is our rejection of God’s invitation. Instead of going up to the wedding banquet, we decided, in the Garden, to take matters into our own hands. Why go to God’s feast when we can just have our feast right here?
The king’s command to gather good and bad from the streets is an indictment of the failures of religious leadership in Jerusalem. These were the men who should have recognized who Jesus was. Those who actually recognize him turn out to be the poor, the outcasts, the unclean, the broken, the foreigners. But those outsiders represent in turn all those who have made themselves outsiders by sin and rebellion. The king’s invitation isn’t some special recognition of status, as if I receive the invitation by virtue of my own superiority or goodness. It really is for everyone, good and bad.
But then we get to the business of the wedding garment. So far, we might find in the parable some version of modern secular inclusivity, or its sad religious equivalent of progressive Christians trying so hard to emphasize that “all are welcome in this place” that they do not remember what the place is for. The parable makes it clear that the universal invitation doesn’t change the nature of the feast. It is still the wedding of the king’s son.
In the biblical tradition of wedding metaphor, it’s quite clear that the wedding garment is holiness or righteousness. Isaiah, for example, speaks of the Lord clothing his people in the “robe of righteousness” (62:10). Revelation refers to the pure white linen of the Bride as the “righteous deeds of the saints” (19:8). So the point is this: we have been called to this party without regard for status, but we cannot stick around if we do not change our behavior in light of where we have now been placed.
Now, lest we think the divine host is being unjust, it seems equally clear that the king has provided us everything we need to participate in the feast. He’s not condemning the unworthy man for being unworthy; he’s condemning him because he has received and rejected the invitation to put on the garments of salvation. As we see in Isaiah today, the Lord will richly provide. He will supply all our needs, as St. Paul says. His righteousness, through the mercy and goodness of the incarnate Son, can become ours. We have, in holy baptism, put off the clothing of sin and death, replacing them with the shining splendor of Christ. Holiness is possible in the New Covenant because God’s grace cleanses and elevates our nature.
So we can say, with Paul, “I can do all things in him who strengthens me.” I can live the life of the kingdom because the king’s son has given me everything I need to do so.
This doesn’t mean that everything is easy, or that the invitation to the kingdom is without cost. Maybe you’ve seen a meme that says, “I can do all things through a verse quoted out of context.” That satirical take hits near the mark. Paul isn’t giving us some kind of generic cheerfulness, where we just use the name of Christ to support whatever thing it is that we happen to want. The Lord gives us strength so that we can live the life of his kingdom, so that we can preserve and care for the “wedding garment” that we received in baptism.
Are there any rags clinging to us from that old life of sin and death? Maybe we’ve picked up some along the way out of nostalgia or just old habit. At every Mass, we take a moment of reflection in the “penitential rite.” This should be not just a rote rehearsal, but an intentional assessment of the state of our wedding garment. Can we approach the throne of the king as we are, or do we need to step back and prepare?
Maybe you’re very holy, but I wonder if you’ve ever realized, even in the midst of Mass, that you are not prepared for Holy Communion. That is the kind of discernment we have to do; it’s a discernment that’s all the more important in this age of casual and frequent Communion. If you’re receiving Holy Communion every week but going to confession only once a year, I’m sorry to say it, but you’re doing it wrong. Being at the feast is only the first step; we also have to keep the garment clean.
Unfortunately, scrubbing your soul isn’t quite as simple as dropping off a load at the dry cleaners. It can hurt. I love the scene in Lewis’s Voyage of the Dawn Treader, when Eustace, having turned into a dragon from greed, has to let Aslan tear off the scales and let the real boy back out. It’s a wonderful description of conversion. But it’s a reminder that sometimes scrubbing off the dirt is hard because we’re so attached to the dirt that we’re almost convinced it’s really a part of us after all.
That’s what the sacrament of penance is for—not just the spiritual E.R., but the spiritual urgent care and the spiritual routine visit. We need help to get ready for the banquet. So go to confession if you haven’t lately; do that examination of conscience. And then let the divine Son clothe you with the robe of his glory.