October 12, 2008

You may recall that not so long ago, I waxed rhapsodic about my family’s time at the beach.  I spoke about magical memory-making moments where three generations read, play together, wrote blues songs about cleaning shrimp, and played guts monopoly.  The story highlighted affection, harmony, and familial bliss.  My description was accurate, but perhaps abbreviated. In the interest of time or to strengthen my point, I may have edited another consistent detail of our annual vacation: the drive home. 

Every year, the same dynamic unfolds. We begin the day in good spirits.  We pack the cars with sandy clothes and well-used beach boys.  We gather on the walkway over the dunes for the group picture.  We hug the cousins goodbye and hop in the car refreshed and relaxed.  On the four hour trip home, we stop at the very best spot for grilled cheese sandwiches and “baby bear” fries.  They’re not too crispy, not too soft, not too salty, not too bland.  They’re just right.  For three and a half hours, there is laughter and singing and peace in the car.  But, then comes the last 30 minutes.  Every year, almost to the mile, somewhere near the exit to Liberty, North Carolina, from the backseat I hear, “Stop it.”  “Stop what?”  “You know. Stop it.”  “I’m not doing anything.”  “You’re being a jerk.”  “You’re a jerk.”  “You’re jerk infinity cubed.”  “Yeah, well you’re the original jerk who crawled out of the primordial  ooze!”  “All right,” I say over my shoulder, “everybody relax back there.  We’re almost home.” 

A few miles pass.  “Quit it.”  “I’m telling.”  “You’re such a baby.”  And then comes the inevitable shove or tap or sneer.  “Mo-om-om-om-om!  He’s breathing on me!”  “Uh-uh!  She’s taking in all my air!”  What? “She’s sucking up too much oxygen.”  “Have you lost consciousness?”  “Not yet.”  “All right. I’m serious.  No fussing, no touching, no spitting, no eye rolls, no doing anything aggravating.  I mean it.”  A few miles pass.  “I hate you!”  “I hate you more!”  “I double detest you and will dance at your funeral.”  “Do not make me come back there!”

There it is, the universal dreaded reaction.  Do not make me come back there.  These are the words that signal the line’s been crossed.  Good will has dissipated.  Love and mercy are out the window.  Wrath and judgment rain down.  Pushed to the edge, warnings ignored, reasonable expectations trampled over, this is the logical result.  Irritation, frustration, this is the final alert: modify your behavior or prepare for the consequences. 

We know the words, we’re familiar with the tone.  We completely understand the meaning.  They signal judgment.  In the central, most enduring relationships of our lives, there is love, respect, acceptance and accountability.  In the relationships where we find support, encouragement, safety and serenity, there is also responsibility.  The places we go to find our home provide us welcome, but also expectation.  With our families, our closest friends and the communities we join, we find affection and forgiveness.  We are celebrated when we succeed and given second chances when we fail.  We are not expected to be perfect but…in every relationship, there is a basic assumption that a minimum standard of acceptable behavior will be maintained.  Slips and falls notwithstanding, respect and kindness are required.  When we love someone, we will extend much grace and repeated forgiveness.  We allow for errors and selfishness.  We accept apologies and provide for do-overs.  When we love someone, we put up with a lot of nonsense.  Over and over again, we stay connected and engaged with the ones we love, who also let us down and disappoint us.  We do not walk away from imperfect people.  But, but, there are moments, there are circumstances that become make or break.  Our hearts can only stand so much.  Our patience goes only so far.  A constant betrayal, a consistent lack of respect wears us down and we come to that place where we say, “Stop!  Change!  Behave differently.  Treat me better.  This is it.  Seriously.  I’m not kidding around.  Either live up to the covenant between us or I’m walking away.  Either respect and cherish me or I’m done with you.  The choice is yours.  The choice is now.”

We all know this dynamic.  Every one of us has had the experience of a relationship gone awry.  We’ve had a friendship, a partnership, a work situation where those basic expectations of care and respect were ignored too often for too long.  After many chances and many subtle and less subtle warnings, we had to make one final decision.  Have I done all I can to make this work?  Have I given everything I could to make this interaction healthy?   Have I issued the decree?  Was it ignored?  Is this the time for my final judgment?  Did he, did she make this moment inevitable?  Did he, did she make this decision for me? 

This moment of truth is the story of our gospel passage.  “Once more, Jesus spoke to the people in parables.”  The kingdom of heaven is like a sumptuous banquet.  God is like the king.  The king calls his subjects to come to the lavish feast he has prepared for them.  They ignore his call.  The king sends more messengers to issue the call.  The king’s first slaves and his other slaves are like God’s prophets.  God sent word to his people to come to his kingdom.  He sent the law by Moses to give directions to the party.  He sent Isaiah and Micah and Elijah and Hosea.  He sent Jeremiah and Amos and more messengers, kings and judges, David and Solomon and Eli and John.  But the people would not listen and they did not come.  Like the king, God said enough!  Forget my favored subjects, go call in anyone.  Everyone is included.  God said, my kingdom in heaven is opened to anyone who wants a seat inside.  So, all are welcome, the good and the bad, the strong and weak, the high and mighty, the poor and lowly.  All are welcome.  There is celebration and plenty, goodness and blessing in the kingdom of heaven.  And God, like the king at the wedding banquet, surveys the scene and is satisfied.

But wait.  In the parable Jesus tells, there is a problem.  Something’s amiss.  The king notices in the banquet hall there is a guest out of place.  Someone has arrived completely unprepared.  He is not wearing a wedding robe.  The king asked, “Friend, how did you get here so unprepared?”  The man was speechless.  He had no answer.  So the king has the man thrown out of the hall, out of the palace, off the land, out of the kingdom, out of the region, into the terrors and desolation outside of the king’s protection.

My goodness.  This seems exceedingly harsh.  The man was invited to a party.  He comes.  He isn’t wearing the right fancy clothes and the next thing he know, he’s cast out into darkness, danger and despair.   The king appears demanding and ruthless.  The king represents our God?  This is scary news for us.  What does this mean for our future?  Do we need to invest in some Sunday ties and white gloves?  Like all of Jesus’ parables, the meaning is clear, but below the surface.  The issue is not about what the man was wearing, but about his attitude.  In the context of the day, the clothes the man wore to the banquet signaled his level of respect and commitment.  He wanders into the feast with little care or regard.  Everything about his demeanor suggests, “whatever.”  When the king summons you to a banquet, when the king says be in attendance on this day, at this time, the response is not “whatever.”  When the king addresses you face-to-face and demands “Friend, explain yourself, what’s with the attitude,” the answer had better be something more than nothing!  No response, a lack of explanation, the absence of a compelling excuse is not acceptable.

The king provided his subject land and food, protection and security.  He allowed him choice and freedom. In return, he expected loyalty and respect.  There was a covenant between them, an understanding of acceptable behavior and relationship.  The king honored his commitment and ultimately he held his guest, his subject accountable for his part of the relationship.  The king, like God, said, come to the feast, come to the banquet, come into the hall.  The choice is yours.  The time to decide is now.  The man thought he had more time.  He thought he had another opportunity, another and another and another chance to get ready.  He thought the king would wait forever.  He thought he could act any way he wanted for as long as he wanted and the king would endure.  He thought wrong. 

In every relationship, there is a moment. In every relationship, there is expectation and accountability.  The king said, enough. “Once more Jesus spoke to the people in parables.”  God has expectations.  God holds us accountable.  There will come a moment.  We will see God face-to-face.  When God says, “Friend, how did you get in here so unprepared,” will we have our answer?  Will our explanation satisfy?  Do we know where we are lacking?  Are we aware of God’s judgment against us?  Will we be caught off guard w hen he says, “What were you thinking when you did this over and over and over again?”  Where is our place of neglect and disrespect?

Friends, there will come a moment.  There will be a time of no more chances.  There has been plenty, plenty of mercy, plenty of blessings, plenty of second chances and patience.  But there will be a final reckoning.  This is the nature of all relationships.  Stop.  Change.  Behave better.  Treat me better.  Honor what we have between us or prepare for the consequences.  This is all God requires.  Are we ready?  If the moment comes today, do we have answers that will serve?  Does our life reflect our love and our respect for our king?

May all our responses please our king.  May God’s response be “Friend, so glad to see you.  Welcome.  Come in.