The People Who Show Up

When the Invitation Goes Beyond the Family

They went out into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

— Matthew 22

A friend of mine once moved back to his hometown after retirement, partly because his siblings and extended family all lived in the area. His wife was somewhat reluctant to leave the city where they had raised their children and developed many friendships, but they made the move. My friend became active in the local music community and, two years in a row, produced an elaborate solo concert. Each represented months of preparation, with musicians, arrangements, rehearsals and an entire evening of music. He poured his heart and soul into those performances. But not one of his siblings, nieces or nephews attended either concert. Eventually, he and his wife moved back to the city they had left.

I've thought about that story many times. We cannot always know why people fail to respond to our invitations. They have their own interests, obligations and circumstances. And loving someone doesn't necessarily mean attending every event that matters to them. But sometimes an invitation is about much more than the event itself. It is a way of saying, This is part of who I am, and I would love to share it with you. When that invitation repeatedly goes unanswered, the disappointment can reach considerably deeper than an empty seat.

In today's Gospel, Jesus tells a rather severe parable about a king who prepares a wedding banquet for his son. The invited guests refuse to come, and some respond with outright violence. Judgment follows. But the king then sends his servants into the streets to gather everyone they can find, “both good and bad,” until the wedding hall is filled. Jesus is speaking about the kingdom of heaven, not offering advice about disappointing relatives. Yet something about that widening invitation catches my attention. The celebration does not have to end because the people we expected to attend have declined.

I've been discovering something similar in my own family-history work. One of my rather unconventional goals is to meet as many of my third cousins and closer relatives as I possibly can. In some cases, I am reaching beyond even that circle. Not everybody shares my enthusiasm for extended family, and that's all right. But among those distant branches I am finding people who do—people eager to exchange stories, discover connections and turn names on a family tree into living relationships. There is genuine joy in that. Sometimes the people who seem farthest away are the ones most eager to draw near.

And perhaps there's a lesson here about gentleness, too. I don't have to punish people for declining my invitations. I don't have to make them feel guilty or spend years trying to persuade them to care about what matters to me. I can recognize the disappointment, accept what they are willing to offer, and continue inviting others. But the Reflectionary mirror turns this around. Whose invitation have I been neglecting? Have I dismissed someone's cherished interest because it wasn't mine? Have I overlooked an opportunity to encourage somebody simply by showing up? Perhaps I've been an empty seat at somebody else's celebration.

The king's invitation in Matthew reaches beyond the expected guests, and the parable reminds us that responding to an invitation matters. I cannot make everybody come to the celebration. But I can keep the doors open, welcome those who arrive, and remember to show up when somebody else invites me. Sometimes the most meaningful gift I can offer another person is not sharing their particular enthusiasm. It is simply letting them know that what matters to them matters to me.

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