03.11. THE MARRIAGE OF THE KING'S SON

THE MARRIAGE OF THE KING’S SON Matthew 21:45-46; Matthew 22:1-14 This parable is spoken to the same mixed crowd as the parable of the Two Sons and the parable of the Wicked Husbandmen. Sorely hit by the two former parables, the chief priests and Pharisees would fain have put a stop to this kind of teaching, but they feared the people. Public opinion here, as often elsewhere, was healthier than the opinion of the clique which had the official guidance of ecclesiastical and theological affairs. Public opinion was too markedly in favor of Jesus just at this time for the Pharisees to ignore or brave it. They felt they must take it into account, and either wait for a turn in the tide, or compass their end by craft, and secretly. While they hesitate and stand measuring the heartiness of the crowd in Jesus’ favor, and considering how far they may venture, this third parable is launched against them. The object of it is still the same — to set in a vivid light the guilt of the Jewish leaders in rejecting Christ, and the punishment which in consequence was to fall upon them; but to this third parable an appendix is added, which is even more striking than the parable itself — an appendix spoken, as we shall see, rather for the sake of the crowd than as a warning to the Pharisees.

Already in His parables our Lord had compared the kingdom of God to a feast, for the sake of illustrating the rude, discourteous, and mistaken way in which men deal with God’s invitations. There are occasions on which men combine to be happy, meet for the understood purpose of enjoyment, so that anything which interrupts or represses the hilarity of the company is frowned upon as out of place and inopportune. Matters of great importance are postponed, questions requiring much gravity in their discussion are avoided, anything that might irritate or slightly annoy or discompose any single guest is excluded, and, in short, everything is arranged to admit of free, unrestrained mirth. And when such occasions are public, he who refuses to join in the national festivity is looked upon as a traitor, and he who has private griefs is expected to keep them in abeyance, “to anoint his head and wash his face that he appear not unto men to fast.” Disloyalty could scarcely assume a more marked form than if a man being invited to share the festal joy of his king on some such worthy occasion as that here adduced, were either to refuse the invitation, or, accepting it, were to conduct himself with so sullen and rude a demeanor as to show that his feelings were quite out of harmony with his host’s. Such a man would be at once recognized as disaffected and a rebel, and also as a rebel who had chosen a singularly unfortunate and discourteous mode of exhibiting his rebellion. But the specialty of this parable is that the feast to which the king invites His subjects is a marriage feast. Prominence is given to the circumstance that the host is a king, and that the occasion of the feast is the marriage of His Son.

It is obvious how this figure was suggested to the mind of Christ. Long before His time the relation between husband and wife had been used to exhibit the devotedness and fidelity with which God gives Himself to men, as well as the intimacy and loving care to which He admits them. And the close alliance between God and men which was thus expressed, was actually consummated in the person of Jesus Christ. His assumption of humanity into perfect union with His own Divine nature was the actual marriage of God and man. In Him God and man are made one — so truly and perfectly one, that whereas formerly marriage was used to illustrate this union, now this union stands as the ideal to which marriage may aspire, but which it can never reach. It is a union which has the characteristics of marriage. It is the result of love and choice, not of nature; and it implies that the stronger party assume the responsibilities and watch over the interests of the weaker. The marriage is formed that the stronger party may have fuller opportunity to help and serve the weaker. God then might reasonably expect that men should, at least on this occasion, recognize that God and they constituted one kingdom and cause. Well might He expect that now, at least, they should rejoice with Him. It is their nature that is seated on the throne, their rights that are thus secured, their prosperity that is thus guaranteed. And yet, though proclamation had been made of the coming festivities, though due invitation had been given, and though, finally, John had been sent to say that now all things were ready and to herald the bridegroom in visible form through their streets, the people had listened with dead indifference, as if it had been a kingdom in the moon that was spoken of, and as if God had wholly mistaken in supposing that such an event had any bearing at all on them or their interests. This union of God and man that is as natural as love, and as supernatural as God — this union, consummated in Christ, is the foundation of our hope. Apart from this we may find some little help in the hour of temptation, some faint glimmering of hope in the time of trouble, but nothing that can quite satisfy and bring to us a perfect light — nothing that can give us God, the Highest of all, the Eternal, the Almighty, the unfailing Love and Life. Jesus Christ blesses mankind not by His superior moral teaching mainly, nor only by His giving us a clearer knowledge of God than other teachers have done, but by His bringing God into human life, by showing us our God suffering with and for us, by bringing God to work among us and in our place, and thus to lift humanity, by a power Divine, to its highest level. It is by bringing thus a new thing into the world, the fulness of God into human life, that He has done that which no one but He could do, and which merits the gratitude of every man. He has thus become the true Bridegroom of men, the joy and help of us all. That was a memorable expression of Napoleon’s when he said, “Jesus Christ has succeeded in making of every human soul an appendage to His own.” He has made Himself the indispensable person to us all — the indispensable “fellow-worker with each man in the realization of his supreme destiny.” The earnest sincerity of God in seeking our good in this matter is illustrated in the parable by one or two unmistakable traits — first, by the king’s willing observance of every form of courtesy. Among ourselves there are certain forms, an etiquette, which a host who is anxious to please his guests is careful to conform to. There are ways of putting an invitation which make it almost impossible even for the reluctant to withhold acceptance. In the East one of these forms is the sending of a second messenger to announce the actual readiness of the feast. In countries where no memoranda are written, and where no fixed hours are observed or appointed, such a final and second invitation is almost necessary; or, if not necessary, does at least pleasantly display the cordiality of the host. To this form God condescended. He not only sent invitations by the prophets, bidding the Jews expect this festivity, but when it was ready He sent John to remind them and to bring them. So it is always. Because God is so true in His purpose to bless you, therefore is He most careful of all your feelings, picking each smallest stone out of your path that might cause you to stumble and take offense, leaving the reluctant without apology. God does not invite you to what has no existence, nor to what is not worth going so far to get, nor on terms it is impossible to fulfil, nor in such a manner that no man who respects himself can accept it. On the contrary, what God offers you is that in which He Himself rejoices. He offers you fellowship with His own Son, He offers you righteousness and love, and He offers this to you with the observance of every form that could prove consideration of your feelings, and in a way which involves that every one who really wishes to be blessed will receive all the help he requires in striving to be so. Another proof of the earnestness of God in His invitation is His wrath against the murderers who had refused it. You are not much offended at one who refuses an invitation you have given in jest, or for form’s sake, half hoping it would not be accepted. God is angry because you have treated in jest and made light of what has been most earnest to Him; because you have crossed Him in the sincerest purpose to bless you; because after He has at the greatest expense, not only of wealth and exertion, but of life, provided what He knows you need, you act towards Him as if He had done nothing that deserves the least consideration. This acceptance or rejection of God’s offers that we come and talk over, often as if the whole matter were in our hands and we might deal with it as we arrange for a journey or an evening’s amusement, is to God the most earnest matter. If God is in earnest about anything, it is about this; if the whole force of His nature concentrates on any one matter it is on this; if anywhere the amplitude and intensity of Divine earnestness, to which the most impassioned human earnestness is as the idle vacant sighing of the summer air, if these are anywhere in action, it is the tenderness and sincerity with which He invites you to Himself. There may be nothing so trivial as to be powerless to turn you from God’s message, but nothing is so important as to turn Him from seeing how you receive it. You may think His invitation the least interesting of all subjects, you may In point of fact scarcely ever seriously consider whether it is to be accepted or not, whether it is an invitation, whether you might act upon it, and why you do not — the whole matter of God’s offer to you may be unreal, but your answer is matter of God’s consideration, and nothing can so occupy Him as to turn His observation from you. No glad tidings from any other part of His government can so fill His ear as to drown your sullen refusal of His grace. To save sinners from destruction is His grand purpose, and success in other parts of His government does not repay Him for failure here. And to make light of such an earnestness as this, an earnestness so wise, so called for, so loving, pure, and long suffering, so Divine, is terrible indeed. To have been the object of such earnest love, to have had all the Divine attributes and resources set in motion to secure my eternal bliss, and to know myself capable of making light (making light!) of such earnestness as this, this surely is to be in the most forlorn and abject condition that any creature can reach. The last scene in this parable comes upon us unexpectedly, and forms indeed an appendix introducing a new lesson, and directed to a special section in the audience. No doubt our Lord perceived that parables such as He had been uttering were open to misconstruction. Ill-living and godless persons, coarse, covetous, and malicious men might be led to fancy that it mattered very little how they had lived, or what they were. They saw that the gates of the kingdom were thrown open, that all indiscriminately were invited to enter, that God made no distinction, saying to one, “I cannot forget your former neglect,” to another, “I do not wish your presence,” to a third, “You are too far gone in sin, I do not invite you.” It had been made quite clear to them by these parables that they themselves were as free to enter the kingdom as those religious men they had been accustomed to consider so much more in God’s favor than they were. This perception of the absolute unconditioned freedom of entrance, this sense borne in upon their mind that they were the objects of God’s love and invitation, might possibly lead them to overlook the great moral change requisite in all who enter God’s presence and propose to hold intercourse with Him. It is to disabuse them of the idea that the acceptance of God’s invitation entails no alteration in their habits and spirit, that this appendix is added. This object is gained by setting before them an instance in which one who accepted the invitation was convicted of a contempt of the host even greater than that which was involved in rejecting his invitation. He entered the banqueting hall without a wedding garment, appeared at the King’s table in just the dress in which he had been found in the streets by the servants. But had he any means of obtaining a dress more in keeping with the occasion? Was he not perhaps a man so poor that he could afford no preparation of any kind? Had this been so, it would have been pleaded in excuse. But no doubt the parable supposes that the not unusual custom of providing for the guests the needed garment had been adopted; a provision which this guest had despised and refused; he had pushed past the officious servants who would have clothed him. It is this that constituted the man’s audacity and guilt. Similar audacity in entering the king’s presence without putting on the robe sent by the king for that purpose, has been known to cost a prime minister his life. A traveler who was invited, with the ambassadors he accompanied, to the table of the Persian king, says: — “We were told by the officer that we, according to their usage, must hang the splendid vests that were sent us from the king over our dresses, and so appear in his presence. The ambassadors at first refused, but the officer urged it so earnestly, alleging, as also did others, that the omission would greatly displease the king, since all other envoys observed such a custom, that at last they consented, and hanged, as did we also, the splendid vests over their shoulders.” So at this marriage, dresses had been provided by the king. The guests who had been picked off the streets were not told to go home and do the best they could for their dress, but in the palace, in the vestibule of the banquet hall each man was arrayed in the dress the king wished to see worn. — Possibly this man who declined the offered garment had a dress of his own he grudged to cover. Possibly he thought he was as well dressed as need be. He would stroll in superciliously as a patron or spectator, thinking it very fit for those poor, coarse-clothed and dirty people to make use of the king’s wardrobe, but conscious of no speck nor uncleanliness in his own raiment that should cause him to make any alteration of it.

Neither is this a formal and artificial custom representing a formal and artificial method of judging men. In point of fact this rejection of the marriage-dress is proof of alienation of spirit, disaffection, want of sympathy with the feelings of the king. The man who could refuse the festive dress on such an occasion must lack the festive spirit, and is therefore a “spot in the feast.” It is a real and internal, not a merely formal and external distinction that exists between him and the rest of the guests. He sits there out of harmony with the spirit of the occasion, despising the exultation and mirth of his neighbors, and disloyal to his king. Therefore is his punishment swift and severe. The eye of the king that travels round the tables and carries welcome and hearty recognition, gladdening all his loyal subjects, is suddenly arrested upon this unseemly, audacious, unjustifiable intruder. As every guest turns to see the cause of the changed expression in the face that lights up the whole feast, there with head that would, but cannot, hang, with horror-stricken eye riveted upon the face of the king, stands the despiser of the wedding-garment — speechless — all his guilt and easy confidence gone, fearful misgivings sliding into his heart, quailing and fainting beneath that just and pitiful eye that empties him of all self-deceit, of all self-confidence, of all untruth. He welcomes the attendants who hurry him from the gaze of the assembled guests and the brilliant lights of the hall; but not the outer darkness of an Eastern street, not the pitchy blackness in which he lies unseen and helpless, can hide him from that gaze of His Lord which he feels to be imprinted on his conscience for evermore. It is that which pursues him, that which makes him outcast from all consolation and all hope, that he has alienated his Lord, has been branded by his king, has forfeited the approval and favor of Him whose recognition and fellowship carry with them all joy, and hope, and blessing. Does this man’s conduct signify anything to ourselves? Does his doom cover any great truth that concerns ourselves? How idle it seems to ask the question. Is there any commoner way of dealing with God’s invitation than that which this man adopted? He had no deep love for his king, no grateful and humbling sense of his kindness, no perception of what was due to him, but with the blundering stupidity of godlessness, thought selfishness would carry him through, and ran right upon his doom. What is commoner than this self-complacency, this utter blindness to the fact that God is holy, and that holiness must therefore be the rule everywhere; what is commoner than the feeling that we are well enough, that we shall somehow pass muster, that as we mean to take our places among the heavenly guests we shall surely not be ejected? How hard it is for any of us fully to grasp the radical nature of the inward change that is required if we are to be meet for the inheritance of the saints in light. Conformity to God, ability to rejoice with God and in God, humble and devoted reverence, a real willingness to do honor to the King’s Son, these are great attainments; but these constitute our wedding-garment, without which we cannot remain in His presence nor abide His searching gaze. It will come to be a matter between each one of you singly and Him, and it is the heart you bear towards Him that will determine your destiny. No mere appearance of accepting His invitation, no associating of yourself with those who love Him, no outward entrance into His presence, no making use of the right language is anything to the purpose. What is wanted is a profound sympathy with God, a real delight in what is holy, a radical acceptance of His will,— in other words, and as the most untutored conscience might see, what is wanted is a state of mind-in you which God can delight in, and approve of, and hold fellowship with. To His table, to His everlasting company, to Himself and His love He invites you, and in order to accept this, the only invitation He gives (for there are no degrees, no outer and inner circles, no servants made of those who will not be friends) — in order to accept this invitation, or in the acceptance of it, acceptance of God, of His spirit, character, and ways is necessary. There is no real acceptance of the invitation, no abiding entrance into God’s favor | where there is no growing likeness to God; without this it is mere word and self-deception. “Know ye not that the unjust shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners shall inherit the kingdom of God.” For “many are called, but few chosen.” To all of us the invitation comes; there is no man whom God does not desire to see enjoying His bounty. There is no question about the invitation — you have it — good and bad alike are invited, and yet even among those who seem to accept it, there is sometimes lacking that which can alone give them a permanent place in His presence and favor. There is no real sympathy with God, no pleasure in those matters which He deems important, no similarity of spirit — in a word, no real goodness. This is a state of spirit which will one day develop into a consciousness that we have nothing in common with God.

But, in conclusion, there is abundant encouragement in this parable to all who are willing and desirous to put on the Lord Jesus. As the poor people picked up by the servants of the king would have felt very awkward about their dress, and could not in decency have accepted the invitation had they not been assured that a suitable dress would be given them; so should we feel very awkward indeed, if, when summoned into God’s presence, there should remain in us anything to make us feel out of place, uneasy, fearful. But the invitation itself guarantees the provision of all that follows it. It is the first business of every host to make his guest feel at home, and therefore does God provide us not only with great outward blessings, but with all that can make us feel easy and glad in His presence. Fellowship with Him is indeed reverential, for He is our King: but being our Father there will be in it also more of the exuberant delight of a family gathering than of the stiffness of a formal state banquet throughout which we long for the termination, or are hindered from all enjoyment through fear of doing something out of place.

Though, therefore, there are many called but few chosen, there is no reason why you should not be among the few. For God not only offers enjoyment, but also power to enjoy. If you could not be easy in God’s presence without great alterations in your character, these alterations will be made. The bona fide invitation is your guarantee that they will be made. If you could not be easy in God’s presence without knowing that He was fully aware of all you had thought and done against Him, and forgave it you; if you could not eat at the table of one against whom you harbored ill-will; if you could not enjoy anything in company thoroughly uncongenial, whose conversation was all of subjects quite uninteresting to you; if you are conscious that in order to enjoy any entertainment the prime requisite is that you have a genuine admiration and love for the host — then this will all be communicated to you on your acceptance of God’s invitation. Do you always feel that God’s holiness is too high and distant for fellowship? But consider how Christ drew men and women to Him. No one ever created such a passion of devoted love as He. Consider Him and you will at length learn to think more wisely of holiness. Are you conscious that your habitual leanings and likings are earthly, that as yet you are more at home in other companics than in God’s? Does your unfitness even more than your unworthiness deter you — does your want of ability to find your joy in God alarm you more than your guilt? Still you see here that God invites you as you are, and those whom He casts out are only those who have so fond a confidence in themselves as to think they are fit enough for His presence as they stand.