The double doors opened and my fellow retreat participants and I were ushered into a room lit only by candleight. When my eyes started to adjust I could make out figures moving around the room. The figures it turns out were men dressed in starched white shirts, black pants and bow ties. They were carrying plates to long formal tables set with linen and china. Still dazzed, we were each guided to a table and our chairs were pulled out for us by these formally dressed waiters. I looked across the table at the other women. Everyone looked simultaneously puzzled and pleased. No one said a word. Finally, the woman next to me put her hand on my arm to get my attention and pointed over to the corner of the room. There I saw a beautifully decorated, multi-tier wedding cake. A real wedding cake. The tears came when I began to piece things together–we were at the wedding supper of the lamb, or an earthly version of it anyway.
As we were served a lovely meal course by course, and we were treated to live music all the while, I started to feel self-conscious. It had been a long weekend already, filled with surprises and one activity after another, with little time for freshening up. By that point we were all looking pretty ragged. Here we were at a “wedding” and I was hardly dressed for the occasion. That’s when the tears really started to flow. There we were at the lamb’s wedding. Unworthy, underdressed, but welcomed just the same.
I can’t wait until the real thing–and as for Jesus’ dress code, he supplies the fine linen.