The Licensing of Liv Lazarus

9th October 2005, Parish Communion

Matthew 22. 1-14

The parable we have just heard is one of the most difficult in the New Testament. Scholars have argued incessantly over the centuries about what it might mean to say that ‘many are called but few are chosen’?Why on earth was the poor man thrown out just for wearing the wrong garment? It’s not easy to see this as good news. Which of us can be confident that we are worthy? It would be convenient to interpret the parable ‘politically’, as many have done, and see it as concerned exclusively with the Jewish community of the time not accepting the message of Jesus. But this man had accepted the invitation. What is the right garment to be wearing? It’s not being good, that’s for sure. The new community in Matthew's view is a mixed body, both wheat and tares (13:24-30), good fish and bad (13:48), obedient and disobedient sons (21:28-32), sheep and goats (25:31-46). As Matthew pondered the strange make-up of the new community, he saw the grace of God in its odd assortment of people. God has acted with a marvellous disdain for all the old rules, all the old definitions of worthiness or acceptability and has filled the banquet all to the rafters. Matthew loves to celebrate the surpassing depth and splendour of that grace.

If it’s not about good and bad some have said that the garment, as in Isaiah 24, is conforming one’s life to the way of Christ. As one commentator puts it, ‘to come into the church in response to the gracious, altogether unmerited invitation of Christ and then not conform one's life to that mercy is to demonstrate spiritual narcissism so profound that one cannot tell the difference between the wedding feast of the Lamb of God and happy hour in a bus station bar.’

But doesn’t that smack a little too much of justification by works? The most original and moving interpretation of this parable I have comes across is not to be found in any biblical commentary but in a poem entitled The parable of the wedding garment by Charles Williams, a lesser known member of the group called ‘The Inklings’ to which C.S. Lewis and Tolkein belonged. It’s no good me trying to paraphrase it, I’m going to read it to you.

Before I do so let me say a word about Liv, whom I am delighted to license as a licensed lay minister in this parish. This is not a ministry to which you are unaccustomed, benefitting, as you do, Jan Payne’s considerable gifts. Liv brings with her a great deal of life experience. Having been brought up as a Christian, as a teenager I she became unhappy with discrepancies between what she describes as ‘the message and observed behaviour of congregation’ And spent twenty years looking for philosophy/lifestyle that were congruent. Tried out everything from political activism to pagan ritual via meditation, travel, psychotherapy, self-sufficient farming, 'magic'.. all that the 'sex,drugs and rock'n'roll' culture of the 60's 70's and early 80's had to offer. Then, in 1986, she found news life – as anyone with a name like Lazarus should. She was born again. The congregation at St Philips in Mill Road Cambridge had been praying that passers by would be stopped and brought into Christ's Kingdom and she was. She gave her life over to God which turned out to be, as she puts it, the best decision of her life. She trained as a Reader at Carlisle and Blackburn Diocesan Institute and was licensed at Chichester Cathedral in 2001 to serve in Crawley before coming to Cambridge three years ago. She rejoices, as she says ‘in the knowledge of a constant companion to share the joys and sorrows with wisdom and humour that no other person can offer, my Lord, Saviour and Friend, Jesus Christ.’

May that be true of all of you here and may you, Liv, and all of us here take to heart Charles Williams’ meditation on the scripture sp that we may rely entirely upon God’s grace in our life and ministry and not upon anything of our own.

The Parable of the Wedding Garment:

The Prince Immanuel gave a ball:
Cards, adequately sent to all
Who by the smallest kind of claim
Were known to royalty by name,
Held, red on white, the neat express
Instruction printed: Fancy Dress.
Within Earth's town there chanced to be
A gentleman of quality,
Whose table, delicately decked,
Centred at times the Court's elect;
There Under-Secretaries dined,
Gold Sticks in Waiting spoke their mind,
Or through the smoke of their cigars
Discussed the taxes and the wars,
And ran administrations down,
But always blessed the Triune Crown.
The ball drew near; the evening came.
Our lordling, conscious of his name,
Retained particular distaste
For dressing-up, and half-effaced,
By a subjective sleight of eye
Objectionable objectivity
The card's direction. "I long since
Have been familiar with the Prince
At public meetings and bazaars,
And even ridden in his cars,"
He thought; "his Highness will excuse
A freedom, knowing that I use
Always my motto to obey
Egomet semper: I alway."
Neatly and shiningly achieved
In evening dress, his car received
His figure, masked but otherwise
Completely in his usual guise.
Behold, the Palace; and the guest
Approached the Door among the rest.
The Great Hall opened: at his side
A voice breathed: "Pardon, sir." He spied,
Half turned, a footman. "Sir, your card
Dare I request? This Door is barred
To all if not in fancy dress."
"Nonsense." "Your card, sir!" "I confess
I have not strictly . . . an old friend . . .
His Highness . . .come, let me ascend.
My family has always been
In its own exquisite habit seen.
 What, argue?" Dropping rays of light
The footman uttered: "Sir, tonight
Is strictly kept as strictly given;
The fair equivalents of heaven
Exhibit at our lord's desire
Their other selves, and all require
Virtues and beauties not their own
Ere genuflecting at the Throne.
Sir, by your leave.!" "But - " "Look and see."
The footman's blazing livery
In half-withdrawal left the throng
Clear to his eyes. He saw along
The Great Hall and the Heavenly Stair
One blaze of glorious changes there.
Cloaks, brooches, decorations, swords,
Jewels - every virtue that affords
(By dispensation of the Throne)
Beauty to wearers not their own.
This guest his brother's courage wore
That, his wife's zeal, while, just before,
She in his steady patience shone;
There a young lover had put on
The fine integrity of sense
His mistress used; magnificence
A father borrowed of his son,
Who was not there ashamed to don
His father's wise economy.
No he or she was he or she
Merely: no single being dared,
Except the Angels of the Guard,
Come without other kind of dress
Than his poor life had to profess,
And yet those very robes were shown,
When from preserval as his own
Into another's glory given,
Bright ambiguities of heaven.
Below, each change was manifest;
Above, the Prince received each guest,
Smiling. Our lordling gazed; in vain
He at the footman glanced again.
He had his own; his own was all
But that permitted at the Ball.
The darkness creeping down the street
Received his virtuous shining feet;
And, courteous as such beings are,
The Angels bowed him to his car.