Isaiah begins today with a feast. Not a hurried sandwich and a packet of crisps.
Rich food. Good wine. Tears wiped away. Death destroyed.
Isaiah is describing salvation itself: God gathering His people into His presence and giving them the life for which they were made.
Then Jesus tells us about a king preparing a wedding feast for his son.
Everything is ready.
The tables are laid.
The invitation has gone out.
And people cannot be bothered to come.
One goes to the farm. Another to the business.
Imagine receiving an invitation to a special occasion and replying:
“Sorry, I was hoping to clear out the shed.”
That is meant to sound absurd.
Something magnificent is being offered, and ordinary things have become more important.
And that gives us a very good way of thinking about the Mass.
What a privilege it is to be at Mass.
We can lose sight of that in different ways.
For some, Mass becomes so familiar that we scarcely notice what is happening.
For others, it becomes a chore: “I suppose I had better go.” As though Almighty God were fortunate we managed to fit Him in.
For others still, the habit has been lost.
Today’s Gospel speaks to all of that.
The guests do not necessarily hate the King. They simply have other things to do.
God does not always get rejected dramatically.
Sometimes He is simply postponed. Until next week. Until life is quieter. And somehow life never quite settles down.
There is always something which, for about forty-five minutes on a Sunday morning, suddenly becomes absolutely urgent.
Now the farm was not evil. The business was not evil.
That is the point. Good things can push out the greatest good.
And the guests fail to see something important:
the loss is theirs.
The King is not asking them to perform a tiresome duty for his benefit.
He is inviting them to a feast.
That changes how we should think about Sunday Mass.
Yes, it is an obligation for Catholics.
But the obligation protects something much greater than an obligation.
God is saying: Come.
Come out of the noise.
Come and hear My Word.
Come because you need grace.
Come because Christ is here.
And there is something deeper still.
The very word Eucharist means thanksgiving.
We come here because Christ has done something for us that we could never do for ourselves. He gave His life upon the Cross, rose from the dead, broke the power of death and opened Heaven.
And at Mass, that saving sacrifice is not simply talked about, we are not spectators at Calvary. Christ draws us into His own offering to the Father.
That puts Sunday Mass in a different light.
Christ has given His life for us. And He says: Come.
When something trivial is freely chosen instead, the answer can become uncomfortably close to:
“No thank you. I have other plans.”
That is exactly what happens in the Gospel.
The guests think they are being asked to give something up.
They cannot see what they are being offered.
We can think: “There goes an hour of my Sunday.”
But think what happens in that hour.
God speaks to us. Christ’s sacrifice is made present.
He gives Himself to us in Holy Communion.
And the whole Mass points towards the feast of Heaven.
There goes an hour of my Sunday? No.
Here is an hour in which eternity breaks into Sunday.
Nothing we do on earth is greater than the worship of the Holy Mass.
But then Jesus makes the parable more uncomfortable.
The King fills the hall.
Good and bad alike are invited.
Nobody earns a place. That is grace.
But one guest has come without the wedding garment.
Now the problem is different.
This person has come to the feast, but not really to the King.
The guest wants what the King gives, but not the King Himself.
The white garment of Baptism helps us see what Jesus means.
At Baptism, sin is washed away, sanctifying grace is given, and we put on Christ.
The garment says: I belong to Him now.
The invitation is free, but it is an invitation to life with the King.
And we can forget that even with the sacraments.
We can come to the Church asking for Baptism, First Holy Communion, Confirmation or Marriage, receive the sacrament we came for, and then disappear again from the life of the Church.
But imagine treating someone you love like that.
Imagine going to see them only when you wanted something from them, receiving the gift, saying thank you, and then not returning until you wanted something else.
We would immediately see what was wrong.
The gift matters. But the person matters more.
And it is the same with God.
The sacraments are not simply religious milestones we collect through life.
They are gifts from Christ, meant to draw us closer to Him.
The gift is meant to lead us to the Giver.
You cannot say yes to the feast and no to the King.
And belonging to Christ cannot be confined to church.
If we kneel before Christ here, then He goes home with us — into the family, the conversation, the argument, the decision, the part of life nobody else sees.
Look again at the King. He wants the hall full. He keeps inviting.
That is what God is like.
Those who have drifted are called. Those who have sinned are called.
Those who have made a mess of things are called.
The King has not stopped wanting us at His table.
And then, near Holy Communion, the Mass gathers the whole Gospel into one moment.
The priest holds up the Host and says: “Behold the Lamb of God… Blessed are those called to the supper of the Lamb.”
Called. Invited. The language is the language of the wedding feast of Heaven.
And we answer: “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.”
No entitlement here. No despair either. Just humility.
We have not earned the invitation. In truth, we need healing. And still He calls us.
Then we hear: “The Body of Christ.” And we answer: “Amen.”
That Amen means: I believe.
I want my life to belong to the King whose feast this is.
Today’s Gospel asks us to see again what is being offered.
Do not miss the feast because ordinary things have become more important.
And do not come to the feast while keeping the King outside the rest of life.
You cannot say yes to the feast and no to the King.
The feast is ready. The invitation has gone out.
And the King still says: “Come. Join me.”
