Twenty-Eighth Sunday of Ordinary Time
In this mountain, the Lord of Armies will make all peoples a feast of choice meat, a feast of choice wines, of choice meat full of marrow, of well refined choice wines. He will destroy in this mountain the surface of the covering that covers all peoples, and the veil that is spread over all nations. He has swallowed up death forever! The Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces. He will take the reproach of his people away from off all the earth, for the Lord has spoken it.
It shall be said in that day, "Behold, this is our God! We have waited for him, and he will save us! This is the Lord! We have waited for him. We will be glad and rejoice in his salvation!" For the Lord's hand will rest in this mountain.
Moab will be trodden down in his place, even like straw is trodden down in the water of the dunghill.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
He restores my soul. He guides me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me. Your rod and your staff, They comfort me.
You prepare a table before me In the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil. My cup runs over.
Surely goodness and loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life, And I will dwell in the Lord's house forever.
I know how to be humbled, and I also know how to abound. In any and all circumstances I have learned the secret both to be filled and to be hungry, both to abound and to be in need. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. However you did well that you shared in my affliction.
My God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus. Now to our God and Father be the glory forever and ever! Amen.
Jesus answered and spoke to them again in parables, saying, "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a certain king, who made a wedding feast for his son, And sent out his servants to call those who were invited to the wedding feast, but they would not come. Again he sent out other servants, saying, 'Tell those who are invited, "Behold, I have prepared my dinner. My cattle and my fatlings are killed, and all things are ready. Come to the wedding feast!"' But they made light of it, and went their ways, one to his own farm, another to his merchandise; And the rest grabbed his servants, treated them shamefully, and killed them. When the king heard that, he was angry, and sent his armies, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city.
"Then he said to his servants, 'The wedding is ready, but those who were invited weren't worthy. Go therefore to the intersections of the highways, and as many as you may find, invite to the wedding feast.' Those servants went out into the highways and gathered together as many as they found, both bad and good. The wedding was filled with guests.
"But when the king came in to see the guests, he saw there a man who didn't have on wedding clothing, And he said to him, 'Friend, how did you come in here not wearing wedding clothing?'He was speechless. Then the king said to the servants, 'Bind him hand and foot, take him away, and throw him into the outer darkness. That is where the weeping and grinding of teeth will be.' For many are called, but few chosen."
There's a thread running through all of today's readings, and it's this: God sets a table, and the question is whether we'll sit down.
Isaiah sees it as a mountain banquet — rich food, aged wine, the veil of death itself lifted away. The psalmist sees it as a prepared table, even in the presence of enemies. Paul, writing from prison, has somehow found a way to feast on contentment regardless of his circumstances. And in the Gospel, Jesus tells a parable about a king who throws open the doors of a wedding banquet to anyone — anyone at all — who will come.
Notice how the parable unfolds in two movements. First, the invited guests simply don't show up. They're not villains, exactly — they're just busy. The farm needs tending. The business won't run itself. There's nothing dramatic about their refusal. It's just the slow drift of ordinary priorities crowding out the extraordinary invitation.
Then comes the second movement, and it's the one that catches us off guard. A man arrives at the feast but hasn't dressed for it. In the ancient world, a host would often provide wedding garments for guests who came unprepared — so this man's bare appearance isn't poverty, it's refusal. He came, but on his own terms.
The tension here is between showing up and actually receiving. We can occupy a pew, go through the motions, attend the feast — and still hold ourselves slightly apart from it. The wedding garment is a willingness to be changed by the encounter.
Paul names this with startling directness: he has learned contentment. It didn't come naturally. It was formed in him through hardship and abundance alike.
So as this week unfolds, consider:
Where are we showing up in body but holding back in spirit? What would it mean today to actually sit down at the table God has prepared? And what "farm" or "merchandise" keeps pulling us away from the feast?