Thursday of the Twentieth Week in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 422

The Kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king

who gave a wedding feast for his son.

He dispatched his servants to summon the invited guests to the feast,

but they refused to come.

The most sacred rite of any family is the meal. Children should not remember their first meal; they should remember it was always there. They always had a place at the table; there was always food for everyone. There was always someone who taught them how to use a spoon, fork and knife; how to say please and thank you; how to pass the food around the table; how to listen to and contribute to the conversation; and what topics were not discussed at the table. Everyone had enough food; no one was permitted to take too much. They will remember that we begin our meal with a blessing and finish the meal by bussing the table and washing the dishes. Without the family meal civility and civilization collapse.

Jesus invites his disciples to learn, share and celebrate our faith at the table. Long before his crucifixion and resurrection he was presiding over their repasts, sometimes miraculously providing food and drink where none could be found in the wilderness. When critics complained of his disciples gathering grain on the sabbath he defended their right to eat. No sooner was he raised from the dead than he was eating with them.

We have never missed celebrating the Mass since the Sunday on which he was raised from the dead. We cannot imagine a Christian religion without this Sacred Banquet. Although the holy rite would evolve in many different ways as the Church spread east and west, north and south, and sadly split into Eastern and Western factions, no church was willing to surrender their place at the Lord's Table. We insistently obey his twin commands to "Take and eat! Take and drink!" We could not know the Lord without this rite. Although we like to portray his image in paintings, statuary and film, we meet him face to face during the Mass.

Given that tradition of the Holy Eucharist we hear with great sadness today's gospel and the words, "...they refused to come."

I recently finished a book about a Jewish woman who became a Christian and raised her children in her new belief. Given my respect and affection for the Jewish religion, I felt such sadness about this woman's disappointment in her Jewish family. Her father, a rabbi, was a cruel, crafty, racist and ultimately stupid man. He betrayed his religion and nation and violated his wife and children. As I read of her disenchantment with that great religion, I realized that many Christian children suffer a similar experience. We certainly cannot blame them for despising the very word gospel.  Stories of Jesus, Mary, the saints and the Bible arouse only nausea. Their experience of the family meal is tainted with trauma. The table was never a safe, hospitable place; they were never welcome to bring their hunger and thirst, much less their innocence and ignorance. They wanted only to escape and survive.

Fortunately, we share that experience also. We remember the exodus from Egypt and the astonishing experience of freedom and security in the wilderness. Ordinarily the desert is no place to seek refuge, but it was better than slavery. We remember too that the Lord called us and brought us out of Egypt; he fed us in the wilderness. We cannot live without him.

Whether "Egypt" is that prehistoric place in northeast Africa, or the American south, or twenty-first century substance abuse, sexual violence and racial discrimination, we still gather as refugees to the Sacred Banquet. No one should forget the beautiful customs of their ethnic origins; we can learn prayers and songs of praise in many languages. We can celebrate the kingdom of heaven which will accommodate people from east and west, north and south. We will enjoy that glorious banquet when every tear will be wiped away, and there will be no more sorrow, no more grief. We have greeted the Lord's kingdom from afar and we're on our way.