The Beggar at the Ball

This story was given in lieu of a sermon on Sunday 11th October. The gospel reading was Matthew 22:1-14, which is (in my mind at least) quite a troublesome passage. This is my response to Jesus' prompting of us to compare the kingdom of heaven to the banquet he talks about in his parable. I hope you enjoy my own version!

  

 

Once there was a great and powerful king. He lived in a most magnificent palace in a land called Ekklesia. The palace was built high up on a hill, and gleamed with golden domes and silver spires that glittered in the sunlight. All the citizens of Ekklesia wondered at the marvels that must exist within that palace, given the opulence displayed so evidently in its building work. They stared up as they went about their business, carrying trade of fine silks, heady spices and precious metals from the great merchant ships in the harbour to the rich city centre.

One of those who marvelled at this palace every day was a fellow called Lazarus. Lazarus lived in Ekklesia, but they were not part of that merchant class who passed them every day. Lazarus was poor. Lazarus was homeless. Lazarus slept on the street and was woken each morning by the glint of the sun bouncing off the palace domes on the hill. And each morning on being awoken, Lazarus set down a wooden bowl, got out a penny whistle and played music for the passers-by. And as Lazarus played and the passers-by dropped a few coins into the bowl, Lazarus danced. Now, Lazarus was not a good dancer, but they loved to dance. As Lazarus flailed their arms and jumped, and nodded their head furiously to the tune that came out of that whistle, Lazarus was truly happy. This ungainly, frenetic, frantic, whirling dancing made Lazarus feel alive. And as for the passers-by? Well, as you can imagine, some were bemused to see this spectacle, some were frightened by the frenzy of it all, and the parents on their way about their business had grown particularly weary of restraining their young children from rushing to join in.

Now, it came to pass one day that the king of Ekklesia decided to throw a great ball, the greatest of all balls in fact. A ball to eclipse, by far, that of any other ruler. And to show his wealth, and his generosity, he invited everyone.

Letters arrived on every doorstep in the country. A royal decree; an invite to the greatest ball and banquet there ever was, or would ever be. But none arrived for Lazarus. Lazarus did not have a doorstep. Lazarus did not have a home.

 

And so, when the day came – disappointingly for the king, a wet and drizzly day – Lazarus continued their daily routine; playing their whistle and dancing, though perhaps you could sense a hint of sadness in Lazarus’s dance as citizen after citizen hurried past in their best finery, all going in the same direction; all heading to the magnificent palace, still glittering despite the grey clouds and the consistent rain. Still, Lazarus danced.

 

The citizens of Ekklesia, meanwhile, arrived at the palace, one by one; their best finery somewhat dampened by the inclement weather. Each was met by an identikit servant, who handed them a monogrammed luxurious towel and explained to them how the evening would progress. All would dance minuets, pavanes, and of course the Viennese waltz. The band master would keep order to ensure everyone knew to move at the right time, and in the right way. After the dancing, would be the banquet, and each citizen had been allotted a place at the table. Instructions were given as to the correct use of the cutlery and appropriate topics for conversation around the table – whispered, of course.

The band started to play a strict, measured tempo and the citizens took their prescribed places on the floor. As they danced in a most beautifully ordered manner, the king looked out over his people.

“There are not enough people here”, he stated to a servant. “This cannot be all my subjects?”

“Many are still abroad on business, sire”, came the reply. “International trade does not stop.”

The king frowned. “It still does not look full. Go out into the city and see who has not come. Bring them in – they should experience my generosity. They should see my great wealth.”

 

And so, servants left the palace and went into the city. They went door-to-door but each house that they came to was empty. Each market-stall locked up. Anybody who was anybody left in the city was at the ball. Fearing to come back in failure, the servants looked about them. They saw dotted in street-corners and in door-ways the folk who had not received an invite; the people without addresses to which an invitation could be sent.

“Come with us”, the servants commanded. “Come to the king’s ball! Come and dance and feast. The king desires your presence!”

 

So, the servants gathered up the beggars and those without a place to call home, and ushered them through the rain and off to the palace. And Lazarus was amongst them.

 

As Lazarus and the rest of the group entered the palace, they were amazed at what they saw. It truly was even more magnificent inside than out. They entered into a gigantic ball-room, resplendent with myriad crystal chandeliers. Rich tapestries draped over the walls, pointing down to a shining marbled floor. Through the door at the far end of the hall, they could see a great table beset with an elaborate feast. Silver platters held vast quantities of roasted meats. Exotic fruits were bursting forth from cut-glass dishes. Dozens and dozens of bottles of the finest champagne were dotted liberally along the table.

But the thing that caught Lazarus’s attention more than any of this was the music. The music, and – of course – the dancing.

Sweet, stately music filled the air of the room. And the congregants moved around in perfect poise with perfect timing. It truly was a sight to behold, like exacting clockwork.

 

The identikit servants gave the newly arrived guests their instructions for the dance, and soon the group, unaccustomed as a whole to dancing, were joining in the steps as barked out by the band leader; faltering, perfunctory, but making a most agreeable passable attempt to mimic the original guests.

The king himself was most pleased with the sight. Until he saw Lazarus, that is.

 

For Lazarus was different. Whilst others moved precisely on the first beat of the minuet, Lazarus settled naturally on the off-beat. When others bowed and curtsied gracefully in exact time, Lazarus jumped or twirled. Where other guests moved as one, Lazarus found their own flow, and threaded between them.

 

Lazarus, dancing to his own beat

 

“Stop this at once!”, shouted the king, fearing he was being made a fool of. Immediately, he strode over to Lazarus, demanding an explanation.

“What are you doing?”, he exploded. “This is not how the dance goes. You are making a mockery of us!”

Lazarus the beggar, fully unaware of any misdemeanour, stood there, dumbfounded in the presence of the king. Lazarus had been invited to a dance, and so had danced. Lazarus had no idea what to say.

“Sir”, cried the king, “You insult my hospitality! You have thrown my grace back into my face and are refusing to conform. A man like you is not welcome in this palace.”

 

And with that, before any objections could be raised, the palace guards swept in forcibly grabbing Lazarus by the arms and legs. Lazarus found themselves being hauled roughly into mid-air as the guards marched them through the quickly-parting astonished congregation. Lazarus was thrown from the door, and tumbled down that hill banging their head on rocks and stones on the way down until finally Lazarus came to land in a heap on the outskirts of the city.

 

Lazarus lay in the dark and the mud, shocked, bruised and abused, and feeling completely wretched. The king was right, Lazarus thought. Lazarus was, and always would be, an outsider.

As Lazarus sank into despair, they saw a figure approaching from the distance. Fearing the threat of a beating, Lazarus retreated further into the dark and mud, but it was too late. Lazarus had been seen.

“Hello my friend!”, cried the figure. Lazarus did not know him, but could tell from his sheepskin jerkin and the crook that he held, that he must have been a shepherd.

“My friend”, called the man again, “you look hungry. Have you eaten?”

Lazarus looked up towards the palace and thought of the sumptuous feast that must surely now be taking place.

“I see”, said the shepherd, holding out his hand and helping Lazarus to their feet. “Why don’t you come home with me? My family always bake a fresh loaf of bread for when I return from tending my flock. There will be more than enough for you to join us too.”

And Lazarus and the shepherd set off walking together away from the city, towards the shepherd’s hut.

 

The pair approached the little house, and Lazarus could hardly imagine a more welcoming sight. The light of the hearth glowed orange through the windows and smoke billowed gently from the chimney. As they came nearer, Lazarus could smell the aroma of the most delicious baked bread before the shepherd had even opened the door.

“Come in”, said the shepherd, flinging the door wide open and stepping inside. He picked up an earthen jar. As Lazarus entered, their eyes and ears met a scene of unstructured joy. Two of the shepherd’s children were sitting on little wooden stools, playing rough music on a pipe and a drum, whilst a little girl whirled and twirled, clapping her hands and laughing with joy as the lively tune tumbled out of her brothers’ instruments.

The shepherd poured a cup of wine from the jar and handed it to Lazarus. “Stay with us a while, friend”, he said. “Eat bread, and drink wine. You will always be welcome here.”

The little girl looked up at her father and at Lazarus. “Welcome home!” she shouted. But then, she took the cup out of Lazarus’ hand and put it down on a table nearby.

“Bread and wine can wait!”, she declared with great authority. “Dance with me!”

And grabbing them both by the hands, the girl whirled the trio round and around, all three of them, the shepherd, his daughter and Lazarus jumping and dancing and laughing in the house of the shepherd.