There are plenty of things I wish I had never said. I bet there are things you wish you had never said. Unfortunately, there are also things I wish Jesus had never said.

They are the so-called "Difficult Sayings of Jesus" - you know the ones: The poor you have with you always. To him who has will more be given, from him who has not, even that little will be taken away. All sins can be forgiven, except the sin against the Holy Spirit. It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs. People have wrestled with those quotes for centuries, literally.

There are great chunks of the Bible, teaching things that are expected of me as a Christian, that I am not comfortable with, want to get out of - these are, if you will, also "Difficult Sayings" that I might want to ignore - but those are difficult in a different way - hard for me personally, maybe, but obviously commendable. But then, once in a while, there are things hard to know what to make of, not simply hard to follow faithfully.

Like today. "The King said, go into the streets and invite all you find to the wedding feast." Well, sure, now that sounds like the Lord we know and love. But then, somehow one poor soul slips in without the proper wedding garment. And the King, enraged, orders him thrown into the outer darkness. Over clothes! This is how Jesus is presenting God?

It is always difficult to deal with insights or lessons or experiences that overturn our assumptions, our expectations, our cherished beliefs.

When friends do or say something we consider uncharacteristic of them, we are startled. When God does it, we are dismayed. We can't second guess him, of course, but how we love to try. This passage has always surprised me, startled me, unsettled me, confused me, blind-sided me. And I am left wondering, confused.

I know we all agree that the Bible is always greater than us, beyond us, more than us - and some of it we will never understand, at least while we are on this side of the Jordan.

And so, while I would be the first to admit I am not at all sure what this Gospel passage is about, I have an idea. I have not seen it confirmed by any of the sensible and excellent commentaries on the Bible, so it may be off-base. But as you have learned by now, to your sorrow or delight, I have never let being off-base throw me too much.

Seems reasonable to me, at least possible, that this Gospel is both the warmest possible invitation, followed by a chillier reminder. A chance to be reassured about the Grace of God, and reminded about being too casual about that Grace. It seems to me it may be a needed correction to a too-breezy belief in a kind of sentimental grace. God invites all to the Feast, good and bad. That's Grace. And that's grand. But we need to do something in response, not much, but, yeah, a little something, like wear a wedding garment, whatever that symbolizes. Not much, and not difficult, but something, in response to the glorious invitation from the King, which represents God's Grace.

Why on earth was the man cast out? I think because he symbolizes coming to the Kingdom of God, coming to the Banquet, coming to the Church, on our own terms.

He did not come as others came - and remember it is not the high and mighty who ae there, they ignored the invitation. It is all a group of rag-tag, miscellaneous human types of, as we used to say, "all sorts and conditions." But one man came with no regard to how you approach so great an Invitation, how you seriously and earnestly and devoutly and modestly respond. I am not suggesting for an instant that we not come to the Feast, to the Banquet, to the Kingdom, to our church, without all the dreadful things we wrestle with. We do not need to come without the pain, without the scars, without the shortcomings, without the sins. As though we ever could! We do come as we are, we are invited to come as we are, not as we might want to be or pretend to be. Grace calls us as we are, where we are. We do not need to pass some sort of test to get in,

But that is not the problem with the man cast out. Those others, those quickly assembled folks, from the hedges and byways and the darker alleys of the world were surely not well-dressed or festively dressed, or dressed or success. But this man seems to have come with no regard, no respect, no care for what was expected, what was intended, what was hoped for. We come with all our usual flaws, we have to, but we leave our arrogance behind, we come as we are, but ready to change, ready to be touched by Grace, ready to be reached, re-dressed as God intends.

Maybe the man just thought, assumed, he could attend with no regard for the Host or for the others, or for his own better self, or his own best efforts. He was cast out for arrogance and pride and entitlement and superiority - not for whether he could do better, dress better, be better. God does not care what we wear, what have on our backs. He cares very much, - I guess decisively - for what you wear on your heart, how your poor, battered, tattered, way-side, by-way, hedgerow soul is presented - in love and reverence and respect, seeking his Will and not our own. Ready to accept from that wedding garment that he both offers and expects.