The social activities of Jesus time were not so very different from ours; they centered around family ties and seasonal religious festivals. Marriages were celebrated with a wedding feast. The ritual included having the bride brought to the wedding by the groomsmen, while the bridegroom was accompanied to the celebration by the bridesmaids. A steward was placed in charge of the arrangements for the feast, orchestrating the festivities and parceling out the wine and other refreshments. To separate these activities from other gatherings, a special wedding garment was required for admission to the feast.

The wedding guests could be identified by what they were wearing, just as we, too, are often identified by what we are wearing. Some of us wear the uniform of service—a soldier, a fire fighter, a pilot. Others of us advertise who we are through our clothing—t shirts proclaiming the latest rock group, shirts with designer logos, uniforms with one’s name embroidered on the pocket. I taught in a school once that had a strict dress code:

“Young people behave as they are dressed,” said the principal. This belief, of course, lies behind the requirement of school uniforms. I believe that what we wear does, to a certain extent, determine our behavior. When I go to the closet every morning and decide what I will wear for the day, I select my attire according to my mood—dark colors on drab days, bright colors on cheerful days. If I spill coffee on my white blouse early in the day, I may be grumpy because my mood is affected by my appearance.

Jesus invites us to wear a special garment: the garment of faith. And the invitation is for everyone to share in the joyous occasion. In the parable of the wedding guests in today’s gospel, in allegorical terms, is a strong message to the Jews of Jesus’ time that the kingdom of heaven is offered to Gentiles who hear the word, that God’s feast is open to anyone who will listen and come—to all people—to the poor and downtrodden, to the mistreated and disenfranchised, to the wealthy and the privileged, to the healthy and to the sick. This, of course, is the good news of the banquet, the joyful invitation to everyone to be part of the party.

If we accept the invitation to share in the feast and put on the wedding garment, the mantle of faith, then we must act like wedding guests. Our behavior mirrors that of a wedding guest. We come to share the joy, to take pleasure in one another’s company, to partake in the heavenly feast, to love one another as God loves us.

Alice Walker has written a poignant story of an old woman who put on her “Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes: high shoes polished about the tops and toes, a long rusty dress adorned with an old corsage, long withered, and the remnants of an elegant silk scarf as headrag stained with grease from the many oily pigtails underneath.” She walked alone down the long, dusty road to a church she didn’t normally attend, the big white church: “Just herself, an old forgetful woman, nearly blind with age . . . She had walked along the road in a stagger from her house a half mile away.” She was dressed in her garment of faith, and, after entering the church, “she sat on the very first bench from the back, gazing with concentration at the stained-glass window over her head.” The other worshippers stared at her, whispered about her attire and her demeanor; they didn’t recognize her garment of faith. Finally, the ladies did what they believed had to be done. They, who were “leather bagged and shoed, with good calfskin gloves to keep out the cold, (they) looked with contempt at the bloodless gray arthritic hands of the old woman, clenched loosely, restlessly in her lap.” And they picked up the old woman and led her out of the church. Then the ladies of the church returned to their places where they sang and prayed and listened to a sermon that proclaimed God’s love to all people. The old woman, in the meantime, stood outside the church in bewilderment. She stood there for quite awhile. Then she saw someone coming down the highway—from a far distance. She looked and looked, and finally a big grin came upon her face, for the person coming down the road was Jesus: “He was wearing an immaculate white, long dress trimmed in gold around the neck and hem, and a red, a bright red cape. Over his left arm he carried a brilliant blue blanket.” He recognized her garment of faith. And she followed him on his way. “The people in the church never knew what happened to the old woman . . . Most of them heard later that an old woman fell dead along the highway . . . She had been alone.”

Not everyone accepts the invitation to wear the garment of faith. But when we do, we behave as we are dressed. If we believe that God sent His son to live and die for us, then it is for us, clothed in faith, hope and love, to accept God’s will as our own. And God’s will is to love. His will is to love all people at all times. His will is to be clothed in Christ and to attend the banquet of the Lord. If this parable does nothing else, I hope that it reminds us of the great and glorious gift that God offers us through His son if only we will accept it—and accept it with joy and thanksgiving and praise—with singing and shouting and sharing. We are all called to be clothed in Christ, to live in imitation of Christ. Being clothed in Christ means a transformation that allows us to say with Paul, “I have been crucified with Christ and yet I am alive; yet it is no longer I, but Christ living in me” (Galatians 2:20).

As I look out into this congregation, I see a community clothed in faith, hope and love. The garments may look different, but they all come from accepting Christ’s invitation. We are a community that gathers in joy and that gathers in sadness. We have gathered in joy for weddings and baptisms. We have gathered in sorrow at the time of national tragedies and for heartrending funerals. These last few weeks have been a time of sadness, for our leader has left. Many of us are feeling a loss these days, a loss of leadership, of friendship, of pastoral relationship, of trust. In any loss, we find ourselves at different places: disbelief, denial, loneliness, anger, acceptance. As we interact, we must wrap the garment of Christ tightly around us, and we must recognize that others are wearing that garment, too. Let us look closely at one another’s cloak of love, and let us honor each one’s garment, no matter the style or fabric.

If we do don our garment of faith, Paul’s words will have great meaning to us: “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.”