Year A: Proper 23 | Matthew 22:1-14
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
October 11, 2026
the Rev. Jonathan Hanneman
Due to technical difficulties, there is no recording of this service.
As our Senior Warden announced last week, it’s that most dreaded time of year in the Episcopal Church: Stewardship Season. I don’t know very many people who like talking about money, and I’m certainly not among them. It would be nice if finances just worked themselves out and everything magically took care of itself. Unfortunately, it doesn’t. As a priest—an employee of the church—it feels especially awkward to discuss congregational giving. It feels like I’m begging for funding for my and the rest of the teams’ jobs, which I’m not. The people of St. Andrew’s are generous throughout the year, quickly taking care of needs as we make them known—as seen with the refilling of the Discretionary Fund just a couple weeks ago.
Believe it or not, in the Episcopal Church, finances aren’t actually under the purview of the priest or any other clergy. I don’t have a major say in the budget. The Vestry—our volunteer board—has that responsibility. I can offer suggestions for ministry priorities and remind them of upcoming needs, but the most I have the power to do is to turn down any offer of a raise, which I’ve done each year since I arrived in 2021. When money is tight, which, from a budget standpoint, it is, I’d much rather we take care of our sextant and musicians and bookkeeper and secretary than me. I’m not in this for the money, and between my work here and Shannon’s with the school district, we’ve been able to manage just fine.
Back in the Diocese of Olympia, our Bishop required that clergy tell their congregations how much they pledge each year. I’m still not entirely sure of his reasoning for that. In an area known for its major corporations—Boeing, Microsoft, Amazon, and the like—what we could offer was often a splash in the bucket compared to many of our parishioners. But the truth is, Shannon and I have always given more than 10 percent of my salary. It’s how we both grew up and is simply how we operate. We aim for a full 10 percent of both of our incomes for charitable giving throughout the year. The Church gets the vast majority—and often a good bit more than we actually pledge—but I like to have a little buffer in our giving to help with other causes and needs as they arise, especially ones close to Shannon’s heart.
When I first came to the Episcopal Church, I had never heard the term “Stewardship Campaign.” Where I grew up, our church called it “faith promise giving.” It was the exact same thing—a time when people would tell the budget team how much they planned to give over the course of the coming year. The idea behind the title was that we were sort of pre-honoring God by trusting our families would receive what we needed throughout the year. Should all things continue as they were, this was the amount we could reasonably plan to give. Should circumstances change—good or bad—that amount might have to change as well, but that plan for giving was the goal.
Like I said earlier, I don’t like talking about money. I don’t normally give a Stewardship sermon—I think this is the first time I’ve ever actually done one. I prefer to stick with our texts and focus on how we as Christians can better understand and follow Jesus. And, despite Vestry leadership requesting that I do so sometime this season, I certainly wasn’t planning on giving one today. After all, none of our readings seem directly aligned with pledge campaigns, what with Psalm 23, Hebrew Bible feasting, Paul closing up his letter to the Philippians, and an admittedly disturbing parable. I couldn’t find any connection, really. But super early this morning, I woke up finally seeing one.
Our Stewardship theme this year is “Plenty Good Room,” the title of an old Spiritual I actually remember singing during childhood: “Plenty good room, plenty good room, plenty good room in my Father’s kingdom; plenty good room, plenty good room, so choose your seat and sit down.” And our readings actually do address that concept. We have Isaiah’s foreshadowing of the Marriage Supper of the Lamb, wherein God freely provides a feast for all to celebrate the victory of the Divine over Death. In our Psalm, God sets a table, offering a place of safety and security in the midst of trouble, fear, and challenges. Paul’s reminder is very human: encouragement to care for one another by helping to resolve conflicts within the congregation and to “not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”[1] Even our Gospel, with its rebellion, murder, military campaigns, and casting into “outer darkness” fits the bill.
As I said, this is one of Jesus’ more disturbing parables. A king happily prepares a feast to celebrate his son’s marriage. This would have been the social event of the year. Everyone who was anyone would have wanted to see and be seen by anybody else there. But when he summons all the expected guests—the nobility and power players of the day—they turn up their noses and offer flimsy excuses as to why they can’t show up—basically, “I really need to go check on my plants” and “Sorry—errand!” And those are the polite responses. The rest of them act in open defiance and disdain, abusing and killing the messengers. The king immediately shuts down the revolt, executing the murderers and torching their towns to set an example.
Somehow, despite the morning’s death and mayhem, he’s still in a party mood. Since his original short list canceled themselves, he chooses to give his subjects the thrill of a lifetime and share the feast with all of them instead. People flock to the festivities, eating and drinking like they never have before and likely never will again. There is, indeed, “plenty good room.”
Then comes a strange twist. The king is wining and dining the commoners, checking in to make sure everything’s tasty and everyone has what they need when he comes across someone severely underdressed for the occasion. When I’ve encountered this parable before, I’ve always wondered if the person simply couldn’t afford fancy clothes—not many in that era could—or if maybe they felt rushed and didn’t have a chance to go home and change. By any measure, the king’s response feels extreme: tying them up and throwing them out for what amounts to a party foul. Maybe he’s still sensitive from putting down the morning’s insurrection, but even so, the detail makes him seem less than magnanimous—someone around whom you would never quite be able to feel comfortable or safe.
But there’s a detail here we miss in English. In Greek, there are two different words for negation: one objective, which reflects factual reality, and the other subjective, revealing volition or intention. We find both in this portion of the story. The person is, objectively, not wearing wedding attire. However, when the king gently asks why, the phrasing shows that this person made a choice to reject the dress code. It isn’t that they didn’t have time or simply can’t afford to spiff themselves up. They won’t—they’re refusing to do so. The truth is, like the nobles, this person doesn’t actually want to be there. They have no interest in participating or celebrating. All they’re there to do is complain and kill the mood. So when the king kicks them out, the response may appear harsh, but he is, in truth, giving the person exactly what they desired. “You don’t want to be here? Fine, get out.”
There was no problem with the provisions. The Wedding Supper was immaculate. Everyone had exactly what they wanted—better than anything they’d ever even dreamed. The issue at heart was will—why go if you’re just going to refuse to participate? If you’re coming just to bring down the vibe, go hang out where you’re happy—or at least where you won’t ruin it for everyone else.
In the greater context, Jesus is talking to the Judean religious leaders in the Temple who keep trying to quash the common people’s joy. The day before saw the uproar of the Triumphal Entry and Cleansing of the Temple, immediately followed by Jesus healing droves of people. But the culture-keepers and other leadership were unhappy—they didn’t like the way celebrating people phrased their praise. “Hosanna to the Son of David”[2] was a little to human-centered for their taste.
The next morning they challenge Jesus’ authority to teach or heal, which lead to our parable from two weeks ago, wherein a recalcitrant son changes his mind and follows his dad’s request while his enthusiastic brother agrees but never follows through, which Jesus relates to how the social pariahs of his day were entering and enjoying God’s Kingdom ahead of the pious people who simply refuse to participate. He follows that tale with one about a land owner who leases a vineyard to tenants who become so delusional about their own standing that they end up murdering the landowner’s son in expectation that their action will give them not simply the harvest or the vineyard but the full family birthright and inheritance. Realizing Jesus is talking about them, the priests and elders become more infuriated yet refuse to act due to both issues of propriety and fear. The way Matthew tells it, today’s parable comes immediately on the heals of that one, emphasizing just how insane it is for these people, important as they may appear, to be complaining about others’ excitement and praise when they’re celebrating God’s goodness and bounty.
Bringing it back to our Stewardship Campaign, it’s the same thing. If you want to give, please do. If you want to celebrate the goodness God has worked in your life and want to share the joy of your abundance, that’s really all we’re looking for. Knowing what you reasonably hope to be able to give over the coming year is all that we ask, not so that we can bloat our budget or find space to waste funds but so that we, as an organization, can plan and share God’s bounty as well. If you don’t want to give, don’t. It’s okay. Not everybody has extra funds, and I’ll never encourage you to “give until it hurts.” Doing so is nothing more than abuse!
Pledging should be a matter of individual gratitude, generosity, celebration, and trust: trust that God will continue to supply for your needs and trust that those of us attempting to serve God on your behalf will use your gifts as carefully and wisely as we can. Participate as fully as you’d like; giving is not a requirement of attendance or membership. There is indeed “plenty good room in [our] Father’s kingdom” for all. Pledges help us plan, but whether or not you can give, whether or not you can pledge, you’re fully welcome to “choose your seat and sit down” at our Father’s feast!
[1] Philippians 4:6 | All Bible quotations are from the NRSVue unless otherwise noted.
[2] Matthew 21:9 & 15