As I have suggested recently…

stories are powerful…

so, we need to be careful in the stories that we tell…

and how we tell them.

The media coverage of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict is a good example.

Yes, Hamas’ actions in killing and kidnapping Israeli civilians were appalling.

But the media’s—

and some politicians’— 

labelling of it as “unprovoked” is disingenuous and unhelpful.

It belittles the incessant and unrelenting suffering that the Palestinian people have endured for decades…

and continue to endure:

the destruction of their property and livelihoods;

the indiscriminate arrests and killing—

thirty-four Palestinian children have been killed by Israeli soldiers this year already;

and the increasing number of Israeli settlements in the occupied territories in contravention of international law—

there have been two hundred and seventy-nine such settlements in the past decade.

And Israel has done so with impunity from the International community.

But that’s not the narrative that we hear.

 

And yesterday, of course, we all voted in the referendum.

Another event in which there have been two very different narratives;

two very different stories.

One, desperately hopeful;

the other mendaciously stoking fear…

dog-whistling to the racists…

and trying to deny and whitewash this country’s traumatic history of colonialism…

and its legacy of institutionalised disadvantage and marginalisation.

But so many of us don’t like to be reminded of that…

so that we don’t feel guilty when it’s allowed to continue to fester.

 

We need to be careful in the stories that we tell…

and how we tell them…

because there are real-life consequences.

And that is especially the case with stories that are uncomfortable;

stories that have latent bigotry or prejudice at their core;

and stories that are inherently violent and… 

seemingly…

that hold up violence as, somehow, noble or good.

 

And how do we deal with those sorts of stories when we find them in the Bible?

 

Take for example this morning’s parable from Matthew’s Gospel.

Just stop and think about it.

 

It’s the story of a king who throws a wedding feast.

When he sends out servants to summon the guests…

some of them make excuses;

but others respond violently.

In response, the king sends out his troops…

who slaughter the ungrateful guests…

and burn their whole city to the ground.

He then sends his servants to gather in anyone who would come—

a great mix of people, “both good and bad”—

which, presumably, includes the dregs and riff-raff of society.

But when the king comes… 

and finds that one of the latter is still wearing his scruffy, everyday street clothes…

he has him trussed up like an animal… 

and ruthlessly thrown out in a fit of rage.

It’s an inherently violent story.

And the image of the story’s protagonist—

the king— 

is that of a fickle, brutal, and slightly unhinged Oriental tyrant.

And yet, the author suggests, that is what God is like.

Indeed, he claims that the kingdom of heaven is like this.

I can’t believe that.

I can’t believe that that’s an image that the historical Jesus ever would have used.

I can’t believe that God is like that.

 

So, how do we make sense of this story?

 

One commentator suggests… 

that we ought to see the King of this story as a representative of Herod and his family—

who were brutal dictators—

and the violently evicted guest as an image of Jesus.

As such, the parable would be a warning about the cost of discipleship—

the cost of doing what is right and of God.

But that doesn’t actually make sense of the story.

Sure, given what we know of the Herods…

the brutality and fickleness of this king would be consistent.

But none of the Herods would have invited in the riff-raff of society…

like this king does.

Also, the conclusion of the story doesn’t fit the suggested interpretation.

Moreover, this interpretation distorts the opening of the parable…

where Matthew’s Jesus claims, unambiguously: 
“The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king…”.

 

So, rather than trying to offer a sanitised revision—

and, instead, taking the story at face value—

how do we make sense of it?

 

Well, let’s pause for a moment and have a look at a parable in Luke’s Gospel…

which appears to draw on the same source…

but which is, probably, closer to the original.

In that version…

we have a rich man who throws a banquet—

not a king—

but the guests, upon being summoned, make various excuses not to come.

In response, the man sends his servants out into the dingy laneways of the city…

to bring in “the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame”.

And, when there is still some room, he sends out the servants again…

this time to the highways…

to invite in, by implication, foreigners passing by.

And, presumably, they come.

End of story.

As I said, both authors draw on the same underlying story…

but what a difference!

There’s nothing inherently violent about Luke’s version.

No one is killed.

No cities, along with innocent people, are burned to the ground.

No one is tied up and tossed out.

Instead, it’s a story full of grace and inclusion.

All are welcome.

There are no conditions.

 

For whatever reason…

it seems that the author of Matthew’s Gospel has added these overtly violent overtones.

And, while there may be historical reasons as to why…

they don’t really concern us.

Rather, I’m more interested in what we can learn from this…

as church.

And I have suggested before—

as we have looked at some of these ‘awkward’ parables in Matthew’s Gospel—

that…

really…

what they show us is how hard we find the whole notion of grace;

too often, God’s grace is too radical for us…

and we seek to modify it or add conditions to it.

Is this parable, then, just another example of that?

The author of Matthew’s Gospel can’t quite bring himself to suggest…

that God welcomes and embraces anyone and everyone…

without exception…

including those we might find uncomfortable:

those who are uncultured…

those who are dirty and diseased…

those who are foreign and strange…

those who don’t fit in and who choose not to fit in.

And, perhaps, it’s the last of these that…

so often… 

we find the hardest.

We struggle to welcome and embrace those who are different…

those who are other…

and especially those who choose to remain different or other.

We find it in the Islamophobia sweeping our society…

that, probably, underpins the hostility towards asylum seekers.

And, as yesterday showed, as a society and a culture… 

we continue to struggle with issues of colonialism, racism, and assimilation.

 

But haven’t they also been issues that we have struggled with as church?

We have seen it with white missionaries who—

uncritically— 

saw conversion and Westernisation as two sides of the same coin. 

We have seen it with churches that have expected uniformity of belief and behaviour…

and have been quick to condemn—

often to the imaged fires of Hell—

anyone who disagrees with or rejects their way of seeing or doing things.

 

God loves and welcomes indiscriminately…

and with open arms.

But we…

we want them—

metaphorically—

to get cleaned up first.