The trouble with radical inclusion…

ISAIAH 25: 1-9       PSALM 23       PHIL 4:1-9      MATT 22:1-14

On Thursday this week I sat in the amphitheatre, feeling the weight of the things of this week – the referendum, the events in Israel/Palestine, and I was mulling over this difficult parable for today. As I sat there, the dark coloured circle on the ground caught my eye. Have you noticed it? It goes around the edge of the lower section, circling around the cauldron, and it is made of hundreds of tiny stones. Many of you will know this much better than me but I remembered being told that when the east end building project was completed, those black stones were all lose and they were there to represent all the people who would gather in this place, who would come from all over, together, to worship. What an incredible analogy. And then it became clear that this was too tempting a thing – some people were picking up stones and throwing them and damage was being caused and they were becoming trip hazards…so the black stones representing the people gathering to build this worshipping community were securely concreted into place.

Forgive me for any inaccuracies of my retelling of this piece of history, but it reminded me somehow of this morning’s wedding banquet with its questionable guest list, and the risks associated with it.

It’s a remarkably awful story, by all accounts.  In it we meet this king who is so keen to fill the hall for his son’s wedding banquet that he sends his slaves to tempt the guests with descriptions of luxury food. They don’t want to come; instead, they turn on those who invited them and the slaves are killed.  The king is enraged and redoubles his efforts, killing those who killed the slaves and burning the whole place to the ground. And then a new invitation is issued, and suddenly everyone is invited – the good and the bad – as many as it takes to fill the hall in the place where half the population has just been murdered.

And I find myself wondering what the atmosphere would be like, with smoke and the smell of death heavy in the air. I imagine myself there. And I look to my left and see someone I like. And I look to my right, and I see someone who I really don’t want to be beside. But everyone is invited – the good and the bad – all the little black stones, gathered, all in the circle.

And that’s the thing. In the King’s banquet we don’t get to choose who comes. It is all by the King’s invitation. And we don’t get to tidy it up by concreting those stones into place. We don’t get to decide that having everyone – all the stones – is too messy or too dangerous and we don’t get to say when enough is enough. Because the King – or the more perfect version – God, keeps on issuing the invitation, over and over again. And that gets messy and dangerous and uncomfortable but it is also beautiful, because it is steeped in grace and mercy and unconditional abundant welcome and there is no concrete in sight.

And today, following yesterday’s news, it means people who believed with all their hearts that yes was the right outcome are as invited and as welcome to sit at the table as those who believed that no was the best outcome for this country and its people at this time. And we sit at the table together, and we approach this table together. Even though it is painful and hurts.

And considering this past week’s news it means that the victims and perpetrators of war are all invited to sit and eat together because the invitation to the banqueting table, in the Kingdom of Heaven, is an invitation to all.

And if there is still a list of who is in and those who are out then it is not God’s table. If everyone truly is invited then this is much more difficult, much harder work, much less palatable.  

True inclusion is messy stuff and I don’t know what to do because concreting it neatly into place, or closing the doors and saying we’re done here is easier and it feels preferable. But trusting in the grace of God that allows even me to approach this table of mercy means having to extend that same grace and mercy to people don’t agree with and don’t want to be there. And that’s the truth.

Everyone is welcome is great, until it means we approach the true banqueting table alongside those who, like this morning’s story, have murdered our friends and neighbours.

I want to be genuinely delighted that all are welcome – even after having seriously considered and weighed what that truly means. That is where we need to be travelling as a bunch of Jesus followers. And it is costly and big and a life’s work, but it is full of the grace that each of us are utterly dependent upon. Imagine if we could truly model that here. May it be so.

I’m going to end with a poem by Jan Richardson, called, AND THE TABLE WILL BE WIDE

And the table will be wide.

And the welcome will be wide.

And the arms will open wide to gather us in.

And our hearts will open wide to receive.

And we will come as children who trust there is enough.

And we will come unhindered and free.

And our aching will be met with bread.

And our sorrow will be met with wine.

And we will open our hands to the feast without shame.

And we will turn toward each other without fear.

And we will give up our appetite for despair.

And we will taste and know of delight.

And we will become bread for a hungering world.

And we will become drink for those who thirst.

And the blessed will become the blessing.

And everywhere will be the feast.