The Kingdom | The Right Clothes (Matthew 22:1-14)

It's so exciting to receive a special invitation to celebrate.  That's exactly what God's kingdom is - a celebration.  You're invited.  Jesus has personally extended you such an invitation - no matter your past, no matter your history, no matter your status. It's a free invitation from him and it calls for a joyful response.  It calls for preparing ourselves for the party.  It calls us to dress ourselves in grace, mercy, and love, because Jesus has given us the proper attire for this feast - we just get to be those who wear it. Come and enjoy the celebration, having been clothed with Christ.

Transcript

Not all that long ago, I was invited to a dinner party. “Come casual,” they said. So I did. Walmart’s finest dri-fit and khaki shorts combo. What I walked into… was not my definition of casual. Luxury brands I couldn’t pronounce, shoes that looked like they cost more than my car. It was like walking into a ballroom dressed for the beach. And no matter how hard I tried to play it off with a little self-deprecating humor and social awkwardness. I couldn’t shake the sense: I didn’t belong. I was out of place. I wasn’t dressed for this. Now imagine that feeling, but it’s not just a party—it’s the wedding banquet of the Son of the King of heaven and earth. And the question isn’t whether you look underdressed to your host, but whether you can remain in the room at all.

This parable, told by Jesus during Holy Week to religious leaders who were already plotting to kill him, isn’t polite dinner conversation. It is a full-throated monologue of divine judgment and glorious grace. Jesus lays bare the scandal of human indifference to God's invitation, the insanity of rejecting the King, and the stunning mercy of the One who still cries out, “Come to the wedding.” Jesus says, “The kingdom of heaven is like a king who prepared a wedding banquet for his son.” Already we should pause. This isn’t some kingdom where the subjects barely know the ruler. This is a King who wants you to share in his joy. He prepares a banquet, not a courtroom. A wedding, not a war. A celebration for all! The invitation goes out. But those invited refuse to come. This would have shocked Jesus’ audience. You don’t say no to a king. Not twice. Not ever. In fact, the Midrash Rabbah suggests that in Jewish custom, one needed to be invited twice to a banquet—once as a formal announcement, and again when the food was ready. That happens here. And they still say no.

Not only that, they go further. One heads to his farm, another to his business—not urgent matters. Excuses. The third response is worse: they seize the king’s messengers, insult them, and murder them. Jesus isn't pulling this out of thin air. He’s pointing to Israel’s long history of rejecting the prophets, the servants God had sent. Here the law confronts us. Because this isn’t just Israel's history—it’s ours. The King has sent his servants to us. Pastors. Parents. Friends. Children. The ones who invite us to hear again of Christ’s feast. And how often have we responded with indifference? “Let me check my calendar app.” “I have so much going on.” Or with something more sinister? “Don’t talk to me about God. I’m busy. I have better things to do.” Would we ever dare say that? Likely no. Have we thought it? Certainly yes. Can you feel it? The rejection of the King’s Son is not some ancient tragedy. It happens every time we treat the grace of God like an unwanted real estate agent’s flyer in the mailbox. Every time we say, “Later, not now.” Every time we treat the church not as a place of feasting, but as something to be fit in when convenient. And don’t think even as a pastor I’m immune to it. I confess to you that in my life, there are an embarrassing number of moments I don’t stand in total awe of my God, but in grumbling, impatient, and numbing indifference.

But the King is never indifferent. In fact, he becomes enraged. The Greek word here (orgizō) is a righteous, burning fury. He sends his army. He destroys those murderers and burns their city. Some scholars believe Jesus is alluding to what would come in 70 A.D., when Jerusalem would fall to Rome. The temple would be burned. The judgment of rejecting the Son had begun. And still, still, by grace the feast is not canceled.

“The wedding banquet is ready,” says the King. “Go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find.” The Greek word here for street corners (diexodous) literally refers to road intersections—places where the forgotten and wandering might gather. The homeless. The overlooked. The Gentile. The addict. The tax collector. The sinner. You. Me. In other words, if you think you don’t belong, you’re finally beginning to understand grace. No one belongs. No one earns this seat. The guests are gathered not because of their accolades, but because the King insists his hall will be full.

This is the heartbeat of the gospel. God doesn’t sit back waiting for the spiritual elite to respond. He sends his messengers to the margins. He clothes the naked. He feeds the starving. He refuses to let rejection win the day. He goes to people like you and me. So unworthy. Always eternally loved. You don’t have to be good enough. Just hungry enough to come. As Irenaeus wrote: “Christ became what we are, that He might bring us to be even what He is Himself.”  This is not a God who asks you to rise up to Him, such a task is impossible. This is the God who descended to clothe you in Himself. And that’s what this gathering—this church—is meant to be. A foretaste of that feast. When you gather here, you are not performing a ritual, checking a box. You are sitting down at the King’s table. Every Sunday is a royal banquet. And Communion? That’s not just bread and wine, it’s the body and blood of the Lamb—that’s the Lamb of God inviting you into the wedding supper of the Lamb. You are surrounded by saints, past and present, joined in one chorus of celebration: “Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!”

But then comes a moment that stops us cold. One man is found not wearing wedding clothes. And the King, speaking face to face, says: “Friend, how did you get in here without wedding clothes?” Do you hear the tenderness in the king’s voice? As if he is standing ready to throw the garment around him. But the man says nothing. Does nothing. Quietly rejecting the invitation. He is speechless. Not because he had no idea. But because he had refused the garment. In the ancient world, it was customary for kings to provide festive robes for banquet guests, especially those brought in from the streets. This man had received the invitation. He had been brought in. But he had refused the garment. He wanted the banquet. Not the King. The food, but not the faith. And here Jesus delivers his final blow. Without the right clothes, you cannot remain in the hall. Without Christ, you are not covered. If only the man had simply let the King put the robes on him. It’s the story we wish had happened. Even more…it’s the story that has happened for you in your life.

The wedding clothes are not good deeds. They are not moral achievements. They are the robes of righteousness provided by Jesus alone. Isaiah 61:10 says, “He has clothed me with garments of salvation and arrayed me in a robe of righteousness.” As Cyprian of Carthage said: “He who has been born by Christ, he who has put on Christ in his baptism, is clothed with the garment of salvation.” Do see yourself in those finest of robes, won for you at the cross?


This robe is not optional. It is everything. Christ is not an accessory to your outfit. He is the clothing. He is your only covering. And it is this clothing—this covering of mercy—that lets you belong. Not because we cleaned up, but because Christ clothed us in himself. And so the man who tried to enter without Christ is bound and cast out.

Here Jesus ends the parable with a phrase that jolts: “Many are invited, but few are chosen.” Now we tread into the deep waters of a biblical teaching called election. Some tremble at the idea. Does this mean God only picks some? Does it mean I might not be chosen? Not if you understand it the way the early church did. Not if you hear it the way the apostles taught. Not if you let Scripture interpret Scripture. Because the doctrine of election, rightly understood, is never meant to drive you to despair. It is meant to drive you to Jesus. Origen, put it this way: “The Savior came to bring back sheep, not to lose them. No one is lost unless he chooses to be lost.” Election is not a locked door that keeps people out. It is the Father throwing open the gates to sinners who would never come on their own. It is comfort for the weary, not terror for the doubting. As Paul says in Ephesians 1, “He chose us in Christ before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.” Not apart from Christ. In Christ. In other words, from start to finish, the Lord holds you. Salvation is all his work, you have no glory in that, and thank the Lord we don’t. Because in his hands is the certainty you seek. So if you fear you aren’t chosen, then listen: you’re hearing the invitation, aren’t you? You’re being called to the feast. Then don’t worry about who’s chosen—cling to Christ. Go to the cross again. He is the evidence that you are.

Let me end here: If you ever doubt whether you belong in God’s kingdom, don’t look at yourself. Look at your clothes. Are you covered by Christ? Have you been baptized into his name? Do you cling to the Word of the One who invited you from the street corner to the sanctuary? Then take heart. You belong. Not because of you. But all because of him. So come to the feast. Take the robe. Take the bread that gives life. Take the wine of the covenant. And rejoice. And until we experience that feast to the full, let us be servants not only sharing forgiveness like we spoke of last week, but inviters! Go to the street corners and intersections in your life, see the people around you the Lord has given you the awesome privilege of inviting, can you imagine the joy that will be on the King’s face when he sees you! Notice, Jesus doesn’t say who the bride is. That’s intentional. His bride is the Church. The one whom he has a fierce, fighting love for is you. You who he died for. The celebration of a connection that cannot be broken. For the King has prepared a wedding for his Son. And he wants you there. Your seat has your name on it. Don’t doubt it for a second. Amen.