“Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” Oh my goodness, I get so very worried when Paul or Jesus any of the saints of the church say that. Which almost all of them do, in one way or another. Earlier in this same Gospel, Matthew recorded Jesus saying “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.” From Luke, “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life?”
For many of us, today’s Gospel parable pushes some very specific worry buttons. Have you ever worried about whether you were invited to the party of not? Have you ever worried that you might be wearing the wrong thing? Have you ever worried about being thrown into outer darkness? Well, maybe not so much about the latter, I hope. But here’s what I myself worry about: that I might be worrying too much. And from there it’s just a downward spiral, spiritually-speaking. I worry about worrying about my worries. It’s the besetting sin of people living in an anxious time.
The particulars were different, but Matthew was preaching to a worried people in an anxious time, too. Recall that his was the last Gospel to be written, just after the disastrous destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 70 CE, in a time when persecution of Christians was rising alarmingly. There were very real threats afoot, not unlike the fears we may feel about current conflict between Israel and Hamas, or even about existential threats like climate change. Institutions and environments that people count on were and are under attack. Whatever else we may do, may we in everything—by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving—let our requests be made known to God.
So for context, when Jesus used metaphors of cranky kings and murdered slaves and ill-prepared guests, he was describing things not so far from the reality that Matthew’s hearers lived in. This parable was told not much create worry as to explain it, and to equip his hearers to survive times of danger and opportunity. The message was simple, really. Accept the invitation from the king. Prepare yourself as if it were the best party ever. Because it is. Whether the parable is supposed to point to the eschatological banquet at the end of the time, or to the wedding feast of the lamb of God and his church, this metaphorical party is the culmination of millennia of hope for the people of God. Don’t miss it. Start getting ready right now. Clothe yourself with humility, clothe yourself with generosity, clothe yourself with Christ.
This week marks the launch of our annual pledge drive, which is the way that we pay for our operations and music and clergy, and for this magnificent building that has been home to generations of San Jose Episcopalians. Your gifts make it possible for us to be here, to serve our neighbors, and to preach good news. The pledges you make now enable us to imagine and plan for vital ministries in 2024. The theme you’ll hear repeatedly is “rooted in abundance” and there will be lots of reflections about the strength and resilience of trees over the next few weeks. It’s is a pretty apt metaphor for a church that was built of local lumber 160 years ago, and that has seeded almost all of the other Episcopal congregations in the Santa Clara Valley. We at Trinity are indeed rooted in the abundance of generations past, and we ourselves are the roots of generations of generous Christians.
With this in mind, it would be tempting to say that our ecclesial roots are deep, and that’s not wrong. But lately I’ve been thinking a lot about coastal redwoods, whose roots are actually quite shallow. It’s counterintuitive that some of the tallest trees on the planet have roots no more than 6 feet deep, but their strength and stability actually comes from the breadth of their roots. And more importantly, redwood root systems are not just broad: they are interconnected.
You’ve probably all seen the characteristic fairy rings of redwood trees: they come from circles of tree sprouts that grow around mature ones. The younger trees receive nourishment from the parent until it dies, and strength from intertwining roots with each other as they grow to maturity. Redwoods rings are beautiful and magical, but they are also practical. You might say that they are designed and dressed just right for the party that God invited them to. God even gave them exactly the root structure they needed. And—here’s a pro-tip for you Bible interpreters—that’s not such a far cry from the parable we just heard. It would have been the host’s responsibility to provide the right robe for the wedding guests in any event. So if we’re worrying about the guy with the wrong clothes, know that he was the one who refused the robe.
And this is, I think, the most important lesson to take from Jesus. When you are invited to something special, show up. Wear the clothes—or to borrow an example from trees, send out the roots, reach for the light—that God gives you, in just the ways that God calls you to do so. We can be like the original wedding guests and worry ourselves to distraction over our farms and businesses, or their 21st century equivalents. But the roots that sustain us as people of faith are not actually there. They are in God, and in our connections to the other people God invites to the party. Which in the terms of this parable, is everyone. The good and the bad. Until the hall is filled with guests.
Here at Trinity, we’ve been doing a lot of inviting lately. I’m thinking of Keith’s shameless ministry of greeting, dressed in the socks and swag of the Trinity party. I think of Octavia’s feeding ministry to people in St. James Park; she plates the healthy donated food at Trinity and takes the party to the streets! But in addition to ministries of welcome and service, we’ve also been blessing a lot of homes, and I’m really enjoying those invitations. Last Sunday a small group of us blessed the nearby apartment of a newer Trinity member. We all took off our shoes because that is her practice, but it became a reminder to me that every home is sacred ground. At Sharon Martin’s house, I think that half the Episcopalians in the Valley gathered in her abundant garden. Barbara Snyder, in contrast, has a modest apartment, but we all crowded right in anyway. When it comes to hosting and to pledging, you don’t worry about what you do our don’t have. But do participate, and come prepared to connect more deeply with God and with each other.
So on behalf of our vestry, and along with our stewardship team—Pat, Ned, Shane Patrick, Thom and Debbie—let me invite you to our annual celebration of generosity. We are not worried about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving we are making our request known to you. Whatever you are wearing, whatever you have, it is enough. You are enough, and you are welcome. The only bad choices are not to participate, or to refuse to wear the robes of strength and celebration that God gives you. So clothe yourself with humility, clothe yourself with generosity, clothe yourself with Christ. Let your gifts to Trinity become the intertwined roots of abundance that enables all of our community to thrive.
