2026.02.18 | The Good news Is...All Are Invited
“The Good News Is…All Are Invited”
Luke 14:15-24
Preached by
Rev. Brenda Loreman
Eden United Church of Christ
Cherryland, CA
18 February 2026
The season of Lent— the 40 days of preparation (minus Sundays) that precede Easter—is probably the oldest and most ancient of liturgical seasons that we celebrate in the church. In the early days of Christianity, Lent was originally a season for new converts to the faith to learn and prepare for their baptism, which would happen on Easter Sunday. During that time, they would study what was central to Christianity. They would learn who Jesus was. They would learn the stories of his life and ministry, and they would come to an understanding of what those stories meant. They would learn the practices of Christian faith, and they would prepare for taking on a new life in Christ, which is what baptism was seen as. Rather than a season of penitence, as it is seen now, Lent was a season of preparation.
This season of preparation was probably well-established by the time of the Council of Nicaea in the year 325. But the practice of wearing ashes on the forehead was not something that was done by everybody in those early centuries. In the early days, ashes were reserved for the most notorious and wicked of sinners. It was a mark not of devotion, but of shame. The church would put these crosses of ash on peoples foreheads and send them out in public as a way of really forcing them to acknowledge their sins and come back into unity with the body of the church.
It took another four or five centuries for this practice of ashes on the forehead to become widespread across Christianity as a way of helping us understand our own sinfulness, because we all sin, and of recognizing the fragility of our lives, and the fact that one day we too will be nothing more than dust.
In the early days of the church, during the time when churches were beginning to actually build buildings instead of worship in homes, it is obvious from the imagery in those early church buildings that still exist that the church was not seen as a place of penitence, but was instead supposed to be experienced as a place of paradise—not the promise of paradise after death, but a paradise on earth, in the here and now.
If you go to the city of Ravenna, on the eastern coast of Italy, you can visit churches that are still standing from the fifth and the sixth centuries—those days when the Christian faith was seen as a place of paradise. These churches have beautiful mosaics. And the imagery on those mosaics does not include a crucifix, or any images of the suffering of Jesus or of the saints. Instead, the imagery is of Jesus in paradise. In one of the churches the scene that you see as you face forward towards the altar is one of a beautiful garden—like the Garden of Eden—with green grass, and trees, and flowing rivers, and birds and animals, and all of it tended by Jesus with his arms outstretched, welcoming us into paradise with him. And lining the walls of the nave of this church are dancing saints, not seen in their martyrdom, but in their glory, a cloud of witnesses welcoming us into this paradise.
In these early days, instead of penitence, Lent was a time of preparation for receiving the good news of Easter, the good news of the resurrection of Jesus and the good news that the Kingdom of God is paradise here and now. The Kingdom of God is an abundant banquet, and all are invited.
When Jesus tells his parable of the great banquet in the 14th chapter of Luke, he does so at the home of a Pharisee. Not just any Pharisee, but one of the leaders of the Pharisees. This Pharisee would have been someone of wealth and status in his community—not unlike the person throwing the banquet in the parable. Before he tells this parable, Jesus has just told a story about a wedding banquet, and he suggests in that story that when we attend a dinner, we should not seat ourselves in the highest place of honor, but should instead humble ourselves and sit in the lowest place.
And then, perhaps because it doesn’t seem that folks at the table are getting the point, he tells this parable of another banquet. The man who declares “Blessed is anyone who will eat bread in the reign of God,“ is probably thinking of people like himself—people with status and wealth, people who invite their peers to parties. But Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God, or as I like to say, the Ecosystem of God—where each one is important, and where all work together for the good of the whole— is a banquet to which all are invited, especially those usually marginalized by their community. The reign of God, Jesus suggests, is like this banquet where not only those of wealth and status get a seat at the table, but where all are welcome, even those who have nothing, even those who have been banished from their communities. Jesus is redefining the meaning of communal belonging.
This season of Lent reminds us that God has extended such an extraordinary welcome to us.The parable of the banquet encourages us to consider how we imagine God and how we imagine God’s Ecosystem. If we imagine God as the host of a banquet, how do we respond to God‘s invitation? When do we feel God seeking us out? This parable also implies that Jesus is interested in how we host, who we seek to dine with, and what our intentions are. Do we set tables simply for status and honor? Or do we search far and wide for those who are desperate to be fed—whether that be physically, spiritually, or emotionally? As we begin this season with dust on our foreheads and the reminder of our human fragility, may we come like those who humble themselves. May we not only be generous hosts, but also humble guests for the good news of great joy is for all people, and that means that God‘s invitation is cast wider than we think, and we may be surprised to see who shows up.
This Lent, like those early Christians preparing for baptism, we are grounding ourselves in the good news of Jesus‘s teachings. What is central to Jesus‘s life and ministry? Radical welcome, love of neighbor, care for the vulnerable, nourishment for the hungry, non-violence in the face of injustice. At the heart of Jesus‘s teachings, we find liberation, love, mercy, and grace – all of which are meant to be very good news for us all. This Lent, in this time when we are almost assaulted by bad news every single day, we are hoping to remember that the Good News really is good news. It is joyful—like fine wine saved for celebration. It grows like a mustard seed, and it smells like perfume poured from an alabaster jar. It tastes like bread passed endlessly through a hungry crowd. It sounds like laughter and it feels like mercy. The good news is alive in the world. Even when times are as hard as they are today. Even when so, so many of us live in fear, the Good News is alive in the world.
So tonight let us acknowledge our sins, and our need for repentance. And let us acknowledge the frailty of our human lives. But let us also open our hearts to the Good News of Jesus. Let us spend the next 40 days not in penance, but in preparation. In preparation for the feast—because all are invited, and there is room at the table. Amen.