Tag Archives: matthew 22:1-14

Love is stronger

The prophet makes clear that there are things that must give way, or be transformed, if the kingdom of heaven is to be built. Systems of oppression and exclusion cannot stand if the table of love is to be set. And it will be set, Isaiah insists. God’s love will conquer all. Here is the good news. Continue reading →

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Tomorrow’s sermon today: World Day Against the Death Penalty

On World Day Against the Death Penalty, and in light of this week’s news headlines, an extract from tomorrow’s sermon:
When we get stuck on narratives of vengeance and violence, when we get stuck on who is deserving to attend the feast to which God, not we, issues the invitation, well, then we get stuck. 
And here we are, reduced to a nation threatening to stream its gun violence, state-sanctioned and sanitized as justice, to the world. … Continue reading →

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Dressed for a wedding or a war

A sermon for 15 October 2023, on Year A Proper 23 readings Matthew 22:1-14, Philippians 4:1-9, Exodus 32:1-14, at the Church of the Epiphany, Euclid, Ohio Paul writes, Beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, … Continue reading →

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Burned

This week’s #preparingforSundaywithpoetry is informed not only by the Gospel and its parable of rejection, revenge, celebration, and their cycle, but inevitably by the images it calls up of contemporary violence, war, and burning cities; God save the innocents. After … Continue reading →

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The wedding parable

What if this wedding were not about the king and his slaves, the guests and their clothing, the invited and the uninvited and the smited?
What if this parable were about the bridegroom and his beloved? Continue reading →

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Year A Proper 23: come to the feast

There have been two weddings in this church in the past ten days, and three within three months. Each was its own blend of nervousness, family friendship, family friction, love, hope, and joy. Each of them was noticeable, in the … Continue reading →

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The wedding robe

White lace cut down to a christening robe. Later, a doll with curly blonde hair wore my mother’s leftover wedding weeds, a moulded Miss Haversham preserved in plastic, dressed for the feast, rosebud lips perpetually parted for love.

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