Homily 69 — Matthew 22, verses 1 to 14

“And Jesus answered and spoke again in parables: The kingdom of heaven is like a certain king who gave a wedding feast for his son, and sent out his servants to call those who had been invited to the wedding; and they would not come. Again he sent out other servants, saying, ‘Tell those who are invited, I have prepared my dinner; my oxen and my fattened animals are killed, and everything is ready. Come to the wedding.’ But they made light of it and went their ways, one to his farm, another to his business; and the rest seized his servants, treated them shamefully, and killed them.” [a]

Do you see, both in the earlier parable and in this one, the difference between the Son and the servants? Do you see at once how closely the two parables are related, and how different they are too? This one also shows God’s patience, and his great providential care, and the ingratitude of the Jews. But this parable has something more than the other. It announces in advance both the casting out of the Jews and the calling of the Gentiles, and along with this it shows how strict a life is required, and how great a punishment is appointed for the careless.

And it is well placed after the other. For since he had said, “It will be given to a nation that produces its fruits,” he next declares to what kind of nation. And not only this: he again sets out his care for the Jews, a care beyond words. There he appears before his crucifixion, calling them; but here, even after he has been killed, he still presses them, trying to win them over. And just when they deserved to suffer the most severe punishment, he urges them to the wedding and honors them with the highest honor. See, too, how both there and here he calls not the Gentiles first, but the Jews. And as there, when they would not receive him but even killed him when he came, he then gave the vineyard away, so here too, when they would not come to the wedding, he then called others.

What, then, could be more ungrateful than they are? They are invited to a wedding, and they rush off! Who would not choose to come to a wedding — and a king’s wedding at that, a king giving a wedding feast for his son?

But someone may ask: “And why is it called a wedding?” So that you may learn God’s tender care, his longing for us, and the gladness of all that is there: that there is nothing sorrowful there, nothing sad, but everything is full of spiritual joy. That is why John too calls him a bridegroom, and why Paul again says, “I have betrothed you to one husband,” and, “This is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church.”

Why, then, is the bride not said to be betrothed to him, the King, but to the Son? Because she who is betrothed to the Son is betrothed to the Father. In Scripture it makes no difference whether the one or the other is said, because their substance is one and the same.

By this he also announced the resurrection. Since in what went before he had spoken of his death, he shows that even after the death, then comes the wedding, then the bridegroom.

But not even so do these men become better or gentler — and what could be worse than that? For this is a third charge against them. The first was that they killed the prophets; the next, that they killed the Son; and after that, even when they had killed him, and were invited to the wedding of the one they had killed, and by the very one they had killed, they do not come, but make up excuses: yokes of oxen, and plots of ground, and wives. Now the excuses seem reasonable. But from this we learn that even when the things holding us back are necessary, we must value spiritual things above them all.

And he did not invite them at short notice, but long beforehand. For he says, “Tell those who are invited,” and again, “Call those who were invited” — and this makes the charge against them heavier. And when were they invited? By all the prophets. Again by John, for he kept passing everyone on to Christ, saying, “He must increase, but I must decrease.” Again by the Son himself: “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will refresh you”; and again, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.”

And he invited them not by words only, but also by actions: after his ascension, through Peter and those with him. For it says, “He who worked effectively in Peter for the apostleship to the circumcised was mighty in me also toward the Gentiles.”

For since they were enraged when they saw the Son and killed him, he invites them again through his servants. And to what does he invite them? To labors and hardships and sweat? No — to pleasure. For he says, “My oxen and my fattened animals are killed.” See how complete his banquet is, how great his generosity!

And not even this shamed them. The more patience he showed, the harder they became. For it was not through pressure of business that they did not come, but because they “made light of it.”

“Then how is it that some put forward weddings, and others yokes of oxen? Surely these things come from having no time to spare.” Not at all. When spiritual things call us, no pressure of business has the force of necessity.

And to me they seem, besides, to be using these excuses as a cover for their negligence. Nor is it only this that is grievous, that they did not come. Far more violent and furious is that they even beat those who came, treated them shamefully, and killed them; this is worse than the first. For those others came demanding the produce and the fruits, and were killed; but these came inviting them to the wedding of the one they themselves had killed, and these too are murdered.

What could equal this madness? Paul too was charging them with this when he said, “who killed both the Lord and their own prophets, and have persecuted us.”

Moreover, so that they could not say, “He is an enemy of God, and that is why we do not come,” listen to what those who invite them say: that it is the Father who is giving the wedding, and he who is inviting them.

What, then, did he do after this? Since they would not come, and even killed those who came to them, he burns up their cities, and sent his armies and killed them.

He says these things to foretell what happened under Vespasian and Titus, and to show that they had provoked the Father as well by not believing in Christ; it is the Father, at any rate, who takes vengeance. And this is why, let me add, the capture did not take place immediately after Christ was killed, but forty years later: so that he might show his patience, after they had killed Stephen, after they had put James to death, after they had treated the apostles shamefully.

Do you see the truth of the event, and how quickly it came? These things happened while John was still alive, and many others of those who had been with Christ, and those who had heard these words were witnesses of the events.

See, then, a care beyond words. He had planted a vineyard; he had done everything and finished it. When his servants had been put to death, he sent other servants; when those had been killed, he sent the Son; and when he was put to death, he invites them to the wedding. They would not come. After this he sends other servants, and they killed these too.

Then at this point he kills them, as incurably diseased. That they were incurably diseased was proved not only by what they did, but also by the fact that they did these things even when prostitutes and tax collectors had believed. So these men are condemned not only by their own crimes, but also by what others were able to do rightly.

But suppose someone says that the Gentiles were not called at that time — I mean, after the apostles had been beaten and had suffered countless things — but immediately after the resurrection, since it was then that he said to them, “Go and make disciples of all nations.” We would answer that both before the crucifixion and after it, they addressed themselves to the Jews first. Before the crucifixion he says to them, “Go to the lost sheep of the house of Israel”; and after the crucifixion, far from forbidding it, he even commanded them to address themselves to the Jews. For though he said, “Make disciples of all nations,” yet when he was about to ascend into heaven he declared that they were to address themselves to the Jews first: “You will receive power,” he says, “after the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be witnesses to me both in Jerusalem and in all Judea, and to the farthest part of the earth.” And Paul again says, “He who worked effectively in Peter for the apostleship to the circumcised was mighty in me also toward the Gentiles.” That is why the apostles too went first to the Jews; and when they had stayed a long time in Jerusalem and then been driven out by them, in this way they were scattered to the Gentiles.

And see his generosity in this too. “As many as you find,” he says, “invite to the wedding.” For before this, as I said, they addressed themselves both to Jews and to Greeks, while staying for the most part in Judea. But since the Jews kept plotting against them, listen to Paul interpreting this parable, when he says: “It was necessary that the word of God should be spoken to you first; but since you judge yourselves unworthy, look, we turn to the Gentiles.” [l]

That is why Christ too says, “The wedding is ready, but those who were invited were not worthy.”

He knew this even before. But so that he might leave them no excuse for a shameless kind of objection, though he knew it, he came to them first and sent to them first, both to stop their mouths and to teach us to do our whole part even if no one gains anything by it.

Since, then, they were not worthy, “Go,” he says, “into the roads, and invite as many as you find” — both the common people and the outcasts. For he had said in every way, “The prostitutes and tax collectors will inherit heaven,” and, “The first will be last, and the last first,” and now he shows that these things come about justly. This, more than anything, stung the Jews and hurt them far more deeply than their overthrow: to see people from the Gentiles brought into their privileges, and into far greater ones than theirs.

Then, so that not even these would put their confidence in their faith alone, he speaks to them too about the judgment to be passed on wicked actions. To those who have not yet believed he speaks of coming to him by faith; to those who have believed, of taking care over their life. For the garment is one’s life and conduct.

And yet the calling was by grace. Why, then, does he demand so strict an account? Because although being called and being cleansed were by grace, once a person has been called and clothed in clean garments, to go on keeping them clean is the work of the diligence of those who are called.

Being called was not by merit but by grace. So it was fitting to make some return for the grace, and not to show such great wickedness after receiving such honor. Someone may say: “But I have not enjoyed as great an advantage as the Jews.” No — you have enjoyed far greater benefits. What was being prepared for them through all their history, you have received all at once, though you were not worthy. That is why Paul also says, “and that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy.” For what was owed to them, you have received.

That is why a great punishment is also appointed for those who have grown careless. For as they insulted him by not coming, so do you by sitting down at the table with a corrupt life. For to come in with filthy garments means this: to depart from here with one’s life impure. That is why he was speechless.

Do you see how, although the fact was so obvious, he does not punish at once, until the man who has sinned passes the sentence himself? For by having nothing to answer he condemned himself, and so he is taken away to torments beyond words.

And when you hear of darkness now, do not suppose his punishment is only this, being sent to a place where there is no light. It is a place where there is also “weeping and gnashing of teeth.” He says this to show how unbearable the pains are.

Listen, all of you who have shared in the mysteries and been present at the wedding, and yet clothe your souls with filthy deeds. Listen to where you were called from. From the roadside! And what were you? Lame and crippled in soul, which is a far more grievous thing than a maimed body. Revere the love of the one who called you. Let no one go on wearing filthy garments, but let each of you take pains over the clothing of your soul.

Listen, you women; listen, you men. We do not need these garments spangled with gold, which adorn our outside, but those others, which adorn the inside. While we have the first, it is hard to put on the second. It is not possible to adorn soul and body at the same time. It is not possible at the same time both to serve mammon and to obey Christ as we ought.

So let us throw off this cruel tyranny. If someone decorated your house by hanging it with golden curtains, and then made you sit there in rags and naked, you would not bear it gently. Yet look: this is what you are doing to yourself now. You deck out the house of your soul — I mean the body — with countless curtains, and leave the soul itself to sit in rags. Don’t you know that the king ought to be adorned more than the city? So while hangings of linen are prepared for the city, for the king there is a purple robe and a diadem. Do the same: wrap the body in much plainer clothing, but clothe the mind in purple, put a crown on it, and set it on a high chariot where everyone can see it. As it is, you are doing the opposite: decorating the city in all sorts of ways, while letting the king, the mind, be dragged along in chains behind the brute passions. Do you not remember that you are invited to a wedding, and to God’s wedding? Do you not consider how the soul that is invited ought to enter that bridal chamber, clothed and adorned “with fringes of gold”?

Would you like me to show you people clothed this way, people who have on a wedding garment? [s]

Call to mind those holy men I spoke to you about recently, who wear clothes of hair and live in the deserts. These above all are the ones who wear the garments of that wedding. This is clear from the fact that however many purple robes you offered them, they would not choose to accept them. Just as a king would loathe the clothing if someone took a beggar’s rags and urged him to put them on, so these men would loathe his purple robe. And they feel this way for no other reason than that they know the beauty of their own clothing. That is why they spurn even that purple robe like a spider’s web. Their sackcloth has taught them this; for they are indeed far more exalted and more glorious than the very king on the throne. If you could open the doors of the mind and look upon their soul and all their adornment within, you would surely fall to the ground, unable to bear the glory of their beauty, the splendor of those garments, and the lightning brightness of their conscience.

We could also tell of men of old, great and admirable. But since examples one can see move the more earthbound souls more strongly, I am sending you to the tents of these holy men. There is nothing sorrowful about them. As though they had pitched their tents in heaven, so they are encamped far from the wearisome things of this present life, on campaign against the demons; and they make war on the devil as though they were a choir. That is why, I say, they have pitched tents and fled from cities and marketplaces and houses. A man at war cannot sit in a house. He must make his dwelling temporary, like one about to move on at any moment, and live that way. All those men are like this, the opposite of us. For we do not live as in a camp, but as in a city at peace.

Who in a camp ever lays a foundation and builds himself a house that he is soon to leave? No one. And if anyone tried it, he would be put to death as a traitor. Who in a camp buys acres of land and takes up trades? No one — and very reasonably. For they would say: “You came here to fight, not to do business. Why, then, do you trouble yourself over a place you will leave in a little while? When we have gone home to our own country, do these things.”

I say the same to you now. When we have moved to the city above, do these things. Or rather, you will have no need of labors there: after that, the King will do everything for you. But here it is enough just to dig a ditch around and set up a fence of stakes; there is no need to build houses.

Listen to how the Scythians lived: they lived in their wagons, and such, they say, are the ways of the shepherd peoples. This is how Christians ought to live: going about the world, making war on the devil, rescuing the captives he holds in subjection, and free from all worldly things. Why are you preparing a house, man, to bind yourself all the more? Why do you bury treasure and invite the enemy against yourself? Why do you surround yourself with walls and make a prison for yourself? But if these things seem hard to you, let us go away to the tents of those men, so that we may learn from what they do how easy it is. They put up huts, and if they must leave them, they leave like soldiers breaking camp in peacetime. For they are encamped in just that way — or rather, far more beautifully.

It is more pleasant to look on a desert with the huts of monks one after another than on soldiers in a camp stretching out their canvas, planting their spears, and hanging saffron garments from the spear points; a crowd of men with bronze on their heads; the bosses of the shields gleaming brightly; men armed all over in steel; royal quarters put up in haste; ground leveled far and wide; men dining and playing pipes. Not even that sight is as delightful as the one I am speaking of now.

For if we went away into the wilderness and looked at the tents of Christ’s soldiers, we would see no stretched canvas, no spear points, no golden garments making a royal pavilion. It would be as if someone had stretched out many heavens over an earth far larger than this one — endless, even: a strange and awe-inspiring sight he would show. That is what one may see there.

For their dwellings are in no way inferior to the heavens, since the angels lodge with them, and the Lord of the angels. If the angels came to Abraham, a man who had a wife and was raising children, because they saw that he was hospitable, then when they find a far more abundant virtue — a man set free from the body, who in the flesh disregards the flesh — they stay there all the more and celebrate the choral festival that becomes them. For they have a table there too, pure of all greed and full of self-denial.

There are no streams of blood among them, no carving of meat, no heaviness of head, no fancy cooking. There are no unpleasant smells of meat among them, no disagreeable smoke, no running about and uproar and commotion and tiresome shouting; only bread and water, the water from a pure spring, the bread from honest labor. And if at some time they want to feast more lavishly, their luxury consists of fruit, and the pleasure there is greater than at royal tables. There is no fear there, no trembling. No ruler accuses, no wife provokes, no child brings sorrow, no disorderly laughter scatters the mind, no crowd of flatterers puffs anyone up. The table is an angel’s table, free from all such turmoil.

For a couch they have only grass beneath them, just as Christ did when he gave a dinner in the wilderness. And many of them do this without even a shelter over them: for a roof they have the sky, and the moon instead of the light of a lamp, a moon that needs no oil and no one to tend it. On them alone does it shine from on high in a way worthy of it.

Even the angels, looking down from heaven on this table, are delighted and pleased. If they rejoice over one sinner who repents, what will they not do over so many righteous men who imitate them? There is no master and slave there. All are slaves, and all are free. And do not think this saying is a riddle: they really are slaves of one another and masters of one another. They have no cause for gloom when evening overtakes them, as many people feel, turning over the anxious thoughts that spring from the day’s troubles. They have no need after supper to worry about robbers, to shut the doors and put the bars across them, or to dread the other evils many people fear, putting out their lamps with the strictest care in case a spark somewhere should set the house on fire. [v]

Nor is their conversation full of the things we talk about, which are nothing to us: so-and-so has been made governor, so-and-so is governor no longer; so-and-so has died, and someone else has come into the inheritance; and all such things. No, they always speak about the things to come and seek wisdom. As though they lived in another world, as though they had moved to heaven itself and were living there, all their conversation is about the things there: about Abraham’s bosom, about the crowns of the saints, about singing in the choir with Christ. Of present things they have no memory or thought at all. Just as we would not stoop to talk about what the ants do in their holes and cracks, so they do not talk about what we do. They talk about the King above, about the war they are fighting, about the devil’s tricks, about the good deeds the saints have done.

In what, then, are we different from ants, when we are compared with them? Like them, we care for the things of the body — and I wish it were for these alone! But as it is, it is for things far worse. We do not care only for necessary things, as they do, but for superfluous ones too. Those insects go about a business free of all blame; but we pursue every kind of greed. We do not even imitate the ways of ants, but the ways of wolves, the ways of leopards — or rather, we are even worse than these. For nature has assigned them to be fed this way; but God has honored us with speech and a sense of what is fair, and we have become worse than the wild beasts.

And while we are worse than the brutes, those men are equal to the angels, being strangers and pilgrims as far as the things here are concerned. Everything about them is different from us: clothing, food, house, shoes, speech. If anyone heard them talking and heard us, he would know perfectly well that they are citizens of heaven, while we are not worthy even of the earth.

So when anyone of rank comes to them, all his swollen pride is shown up as utterly empty. For the laborer there, the man with no experience of worldly affairs, sits on the grass, on a poor cushion, beside a commander of troops who prides himself on his authority. There is no one there to praise him, no one to puff him up. And the same thing happens as when someone goes to a goldsmith’s or to a rose garden: he takes on some of the brightness of the gold and of the roses. So these visitors too, gaining a little from the splendor of those men, are freed from their former arrogance. And just as a man who goes up onto a high place looks tall, however short he is, so these too, when they come to those lofty minds, seem like them as long as they stay there; but when they go away, they are brought low again as they come down from that height.

A king is nothing among them, a governor is nothing. Just as we laugh when children play at these things, so they utterly scorn the swollen pride of those who strut about outside. This is clear from the fact that if anyone offered them a kingdom to hold in perfect security, they would never take it. They would take it only if their thoughts were not on something greater, and if they did not count the thing as lasting only for a season.

What, then? Shall we not cross over to so great a blessedness? Shall we not come to these angels? Shall we not receive clean garments and join in the celebrations of this wedding feast? Or shall we go on begging, no better off than the poor in the streets — or rather, in a far worse and more wretched state? For those who are rich in evil ways are much worse off than these. It is better to beg than to plunder: the one has an excuse, the other brings punishment. The beggar does not offend God at all; the other offends both men and God. He goes through all the labor of plunder, and other people often reap all the enjoyment of it.

Knowing these things, then, let us lay aside all greed and be greedy instead for the things above, “taking the kingdom by force” with great earnestness. For it cannot be, it cannot be, that anyone who is careless should enter it. May God grant that we all become earnest and watchful and attain it, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and might forever and ever. Amen.