Who doesn't love a wedding?

 

It’s so consoling to think of heaven as a wedding feast. I think that Jesus must have loved wedding feasts and found them to be the closest analogy He could find to give us a peek into what God has prepared for us. “The Kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son." (Matthew 22:1-14)

The drama builds when the people first invited simply don't respond.  The king's response to them in the story replays the whole history of God's working with the Chosen People and Jesus' listeners knew it immediately.  Now comes the really good news: "Go out, therefore, into the main roads and invite to the feast whomever you find."  All along it was God's plan to offer salvation and the joys of the Kingdom of heaven, not only to a chosen few, but to everyone!  The victory Jesus will win over sin and death is universal.  It’s for all people.

Then, like most great parables, the story takes a surprising twist.  One of the invited guests doesn't have a wedding garment.  (It seems apparent that the person is without a wedding garment out of ingratitude and lack of serious respect for the king.  It’s not that the guest couldn't afford one.)  While the invitation is universal; that is, it’s free and unmerited, there’s also a universal call to holiness.  We’re called to receive the gifted invitation by living our lives as grateful guests.  We’re invited to be with Jesus by being like Him.  We’re called to come to the banquet ready to celebrate because we’ve been ready and open to giving our lives in imitation of the one who invited us.

How often it seems that we who have been invited to be part of the kingdom of heaven, simply take it for granted, as if all this gifted relationship with Jesus is about is our salvation.  We seem quite satisfied to know that we’re saved.  We can unconsciously act as though, "Well if I don't do anything seriously wrong, I'm in.  What more do I need to worry about?"

I think this parable makes it clear that our holiness has to "surpass that of the scribes and pharisees." (Matthew 5:20)   Jesus wants us to know that “it is mercy that I desire, not sacrifice." (Matthew 9:13) One of His final parables will tell us that our judgement—the decision about whether we ultimately will enter the Kingdom of heaven—depends upon whether we care for the "least of my brothers and sisters"—feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, caring for the sick and the imprisoned. (Matthew 25)

In our prayers, we should ask for the grace to receive the invitation worthily, then respond more and more fully to Jesus' invitation to love as we have been loved.  Let’s see, feel, and act upon the invitation to eternal life by dying to ourselves a bit more every day, particularly in each of our relationships.  Let's forget about our own wounds and become healers of others' wounds.  Let’s open our hearts to hear the cries of all those who are poor and on the margins of our societies.  Let’s ask ourselves how we can respond, what role we can take, and how we can make a difference.  Let's put on a wedding garment, committing ourselves, and witnessing to everyone, that we’re definitely ready for the banquet of heaven.

A perfect love

 

My reflection today is about the wealthy landowner who at the end of the day paid everyone the same daily wage, even though some only spent an hour laboring. (Matthew 20:1-16) Perhaps we can better understand the point Jesus is making if we think of it in terms of parenthood. A loving parent cares about each of his and her children equally.  Although each gives more attention to those who need it more, they love the last born no less than the first born, even if they have a large household.

God the Father is like a vineyard owner who gives equally to all, regardless of how long anyone has worked in his service. Since we can’t earn our way into heaven, equal benefits are not an injustice to those who labored for His kingdom all of their lives.

Rather, God’s been giving us complete and perfect love since the moment of our conception in our mother’s womb.  Although we’ve become aware of His goodness a lot sooner than those who only discover a relationship with Him at the last minute (and this is a benefit we enjoy, but they lack), He's been loving them since the moment of their conception, too. He can do no less.

Early in life, we learned that we we'd probably get more approval from Mom or Dad if we got more A’s on the report card or more trophies in sports than our siblings. Such competition affects us after we grow up. When God blesses us, we think: “I earned it!”

And when we feel unblessed because bad things happen to us, we think: “I’m not sure God loves me as much as He loves others.  Why?  Because I have to earn God’s approval and no matter how hard I try, I’m just not good enough.” Or: “My prayer hasn’t been answered yet because I haven’t said enough Rosaries.”

But none of that is necessary with God.  God is so generous in His love that we don’t have to do anything to receive blessings from Him. Well, actually, there is one thing we do have to do: We have to approach the vineyard owner with our hands open.

In God’s vineyard, the last is put first, because the one who is last is the one who’s not competing with others to earn first position.  This is the person who knows that God’s love is always available simply because God is love. We don’t have to climb any ladder of heavenly success; we’re instantly on the top rung the moment we discover that God already loves us fully.  The only reason we serve Him and work hard for Him, giving Him our best, unwilling to be mediocre, is simply because we love Him so very much.

 

What happens next is so awesome; it’s saintly. We lose the selfishness that has kept us from putting others first. We find joy in helping our brothers and sisters receive the Father’s assistance ahead of us, happily praying for them more than we pray for ourselves. And we get excited when the “lazy bums” in the family, the ones who’ve been rebelling against God all their lives, finally join the Christian workforce and benefit from God’s love as much as we do.

 

The Gospel at Mass today is one of my favorites (Luke 2:22-40).  The account of Jesus’ Presentation to God in the Temple reminds me of encounters I’ve had with “Simeons” and “Annas” in my own faith life during daily Masses, back when I was in the habit of attending them (pre-retirement).  

There is at least one—or sometimes both—in every parish, it seems.

At Saint Anne’s in Lodi, he’s there every night for the 5:30p.m. Mass.  He’s the guy you go out of your way to cross the street to avoid; unshaven, always the same wrinkled clothes, and cheap sandals on his feet.  But he slips into the chapel every night at about 5:29 to listen to the Word of God and share in the Eucharist.  He never kneels, never sits.  He only stands with his hands folded and his eyes on the crucifix.  He is always the last in line to receive Our Lord, both the Host and the Precious Blood.  When Mass is over, he feels obligated to open the door for everyone to leave and to give them a smile.

At Saint Helen’s church in Fresno, she’s the elderly Filipino lady who knows the words to every hymn, but obviously not the notes.  She wears a head covering and the rosary beads in her hands keep count as she says her Hail Marys under her breath throughout the Mass and her face glows when she receives the Eucharist.  She is always last in line to receive both the Host and the Precious Blood.

At St. Mary’s of the Ascension in Downtown Stockton, it’s the 3 ladies who arrive at 11am for the noon Mass to pray the Divine Mercy Chaplet and a Rosary beforehand.  Quite often it’s just the 3 of them.  But they still lug out the microphone and pass it between them as they lead the different parts of the prayers.  Since Confessions are heard from 11:30 until noon, it sometimes makes it hard to listen to the priest as I’m confessing my sins.  Still, I can’t complain.  They could very well be praying for me!

In Bakersfield, he's there at Saint Joseph’s, the old Mexican man with his harmonica, his arthritis-gnarled hands, and his hunched back.  His quirks are a little different from a lot of other people, but they’re servitude in nature.  He will grab a bunch of bulletins, or missalettes, or whatever else is in the church to read then tap everyone on the shoulder and offer it to whoever wants it.  During Mass, he's the unofficial "music minister".  He knows about 5 tunes on his harmonica; "Holy God, We Praise Your Name", "The Battle Hymn of the Republic", "Taps" and "The Halls of Montezuma".  Unfortunately, they all sound eerily similar.  He yawns loudly, though involuntarily, throughout the Mass except during the prayer of Consecration and when he receives the Eucharist; always the last in line to receive the Host and the Precious Blood, even though he sits in the front pew, center.

At the Cathedral in Stockton, he’s the guy who sits in the very last pew during daily Mass when there are only about 20 people in total in attendance.  But you hear him respond when he's supposed to, in that booming, unmistakable voice.  Again, he's the last to receive, and under both Species.

And then there was my mother who, after becoming so infirm she couldn’t leave the house to attend Mass, arranged to have the Eucharist brought to her as often as possible.  For a couple of years, this was my privilege.  She, like Anna, also prayed persistently not only for her needs, but for the needs of others.

All of these people remind me of the parable of the persistent woman of prayer in Luke 18.  At the conclusion of the parable, Jesus asks His disciples, “But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?" (Luke 18:8)

I have confidence that He will.  I strive to be like the "one in every parish" one day in a simple, fervent, and humble faith.