October 9, 2006: Finishing Up When Things Get Ugly
Matthew 22:1-14; Exodus 32:1-14; Psalm 106:1-6, 29-23
Eileen Parfrey, Springwater Presbyterian Church

How human it is to get impatient and think that The Guy In Charge has forgotten about us and left us to our own devices. We can't kid ourselves. That story in Exodus today is not just about fickle people in ancient times. Today's Christians are just as apt to panic and use idolatrous coping strategies at the apparent absence of God. We might not sing and dance to statues, bribing and appeasing with revelry, as Israel did when Moses was gone too long. We might be more apt to be side-tracked by self-help solutions or look to consultants or addictions instead of trusting an absent God. Anything for a distraction from that fear!

Which reminds me of raising up a puppy-distraction. When human and dog go to puppy school, the human benefits just as much from training. My favorite command was, "Sadie, leave it!" It's a multi-purpose command, not only to halt an immediate behavior, but it's also used in training positive behaviors. "Leave it" can mean, "what you're doing is bad or dangerous and you need to stop instantly." More to the point, "Leave it" means, "Pay attention to me." Sometimes that means "go back to doing what you are supposed to be doing" and sometimes it means "if you pay attention to me, something even more wonderful is going to happen." Full attention is actually a trust-building command.

Sometimes that command is paired with distractions planted by the human, to teach the puppy to focus on the trainer. I'm not saying that's what God does with Israel, keeping Moses up on the mountain to build in a distraction for Israel in order to teach them to pay full attention to God. But while Moses was up on the mountain, Israel had a panic attack. "Hey! All the other nations have gods they can see. How come we don't? How do we even know God is listening? How do we know we'll be safe?" Aaron faces the growing religious panic with a religious solution. Let them worship a tangible god. Who cares, as long as you use the name of God?

Israel isn't the first nor the last nation to want to be safe. We think safety is good. We don't make a Golden Calf. We take the Mastercard approach-buy more guns and bombs and soldiers than the other guy. On a personal level, we act as if buying insurance will keep us safe. Folks living in the Gulf coast states can tell us how much safety insurance affords in the face of hurricanes. For most of us, though, physical safety isn't what we long for. In our day-to-day lives, just being known for who you are is our heart's desire.

Have you ever been in a social situation, meeting someone for the first time, and not known what to talk about? Unless the person making the introduction gives you a hint, conversation flounders until you know something about each other. How do you do that? Often we ask, "What do you do?" but there are some folks who would rather tell you who they are by letting you know how full their calendars are and that they prefer GAP, or they only shop at rummage sales. Maybe they drive a 4-wheel-drive SUV or a slug-bug yellow. It gives them a place to start. Our identity is more than our name.

Whether we intend it or not, who we are is revealed by our actions, by what we do, much more than the name or position labels we give ourselves. Maybe you consider your label, "follower of Jesus." But if you're not acting like you're a follower of Jesus, you may as well be dancing in front of the Golden Calf as far as your identity goes.

Which is why we're reading the Golden Calf story with Jesus' story about the wedding banquet. Matthew begins with Jesus saying, "this is what the kingdom of heaven is like." Man, I hope the kingdom of heaven is not like weeping and gnashing of teeth. An attentive reading reveals that the first part of the story is addressed to early Christians, former religious outcasts, who are apparently overjoyed at being part of the "banquet"-the kingdom of heaven-even if the first-choice guests turned down the invitation. Apparently Matthew saw these very human Christians having a hard time sticking with pure and simple joy, without looking around and saying, "Ha, ha, I'm in, you're not." Not that any of us would do that. Maybe they were being persecuted by the Jewish religious establishment, but that was no excuse for being smug or judgmental toward their persecutors. It's easy to slip into, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but you'll get yours at the Final Judgment."

Jesus' point is, how we respond to God's invitation has consequences-important consequences. Some people respond to the invitation by flatly turning it down. "I've got more important things to do. There's a soccer tournament this weekend. I'm not into organized religion." Or they abuse the messengers. "Christians are all hypocrites. I don't want to be associated with them and their violence. The Crusades were just the beginning." Or they diss the host. "God is dead. If there were a God, where was God when the planes hit the World Trade Towers?"

Others respond to the invitation with initial acceptance. They go to the banquet, but they don't put on the clothes. They don't get around to being disciples. There's no consistency between what they say and how they live. Matthew has spent most of his gospel telling us what the wedding garment looks like. Jesus says it's "doing the will of my Father in heaven" and producing "fruits of the kingdom"-Biblish for "authentic discipleship." Refusing the wedding clothes is doing things like showing up for church each week, but leaving God in the parking lot. Keeping your faith a secret or only going to church when nothing better is going on. It doesn't just hurt you. It hurts the whole faith community. When Sunday School teachers prepare a lesson and students don't come, they get discouraged. When musicians prepare for special Advent or Lenten services and people don't come, the level of commitment (and the quality of the music) goes down.

But how fair is it to throw out the guest without the right clothes? Weeping and gnashing of teeth is serious punishment for someone invited in off the street at the last minute. What if he really didn't have anything to wear or what he had was at the cleaners? What if his Mastercard was maxed out? The guest stonewalls the king, refusing to respond. He doesn't throw himself on the king's mercy. "I didn't have anything in my closet, do you have something I can borrow?" There's no acknowledgment of the truth in what the king says. "I know, I look a mess, I'm not appropriate. Can you help me?" The guest refuses to speak. He refuses help and mercy.

The message here is not (as it was for the first part of the parable), "This is what the kingdom of heaven is like." That message was, "Don't gloat about being a Christian. Judging others isn't in your job description." The message in this part of Jesus' story is, "You can't coast on your label. Just because you say you follow Jesus doesn't mean you don't have to try to be like Jesus." The message, even today is, "Walk the talk, don't just talk a good line."

If only authentic discipleship were like that dog training thing. "Sadie, leave it!" If only we heard a clear voice telling us when we were trusting ourselves or coasting on how nice we are or what we can buy or how important our children are. "Golden Calf danger! Leave it!" Or when we're listening to the Failure Tapes tell us we're not worthy or lovable enough to be part of God's kingdom. "Golden Calf self-deception! Leave it!" Or when we're content with a Sunday-only relationship with God, avoiding a deeper love relationship because we're already so busy. "Golden Calf distraction. Leave it!" Or when we're distracted by worries, sickness, bills, the rush and dailyness of life. "Golden Calf! Pay attention to me! Leave it!" Or when we are so concerned to accomplish church that we forget God. "Golden Calf. Wrong focus! Leave it!"

In authentic discipleship there is a consistency between what we say and what we do. Jesus ends his parable today by saying, "Many are called, but few are chosen." You are called. Chosen-ness comes when our walk and our talk coincide. May this be so.