Mutiny in the Vineyard

 

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 21:33-46                                                         

October 1, 2020

Proper 22A                                                  

 Dear saints of our Savior,

          We have yet another tale from the vineyard this morning.  In the parable of the tenants we’re told of a master of a house who planted a vineyard.  He spared no expense to make this a wonderful and productive vineyard.  After planting, he put a fence around it, dug a winepress, and even built a tower from which the entire vineyard could be protected against thieves and predators.  The master then went away on a long journey, and left a group of tenants in charge.

          But all was not well in that vineyard.  There was mutiny in the vineyard.  The tenants plotted against the owner.  They rejected the servants sent by the owner to collect his share of the harvest.  They beat one, killed another, and stoned to death a third.  Finally, the owner sent his own son, saying, “They will respect my son.”  But instead of justice there was bloodshed.  There was mutiny in the vineyard.

          This parable was easily understood by everyone.  Especially when you consider that Jesus told it during Holy Week, just days before His death.  The meaning was totally transparent.  No mystery.  The owner of the vineyard is God Himself.  The vineyard is Old Testament Israel.  The servants He sends to collect the harvest are the prophets.  The tenants who reject and kill the owner’s servants are the chief priests and Pharisees.  The owner’s son is, of course, Jesus.

          You don’t have to dive too deeply into this parable before one thing becomes perfectly clear:  We have an extraordinarily patient God.  The Lord of the vineyard is long-suffering.  When mutiny breaks out—when His best efforts are being embezzled—when what is rightfully His is being shamelessly stolen by renegade grape-growers—what does this owner do?  He patiently bears with His treacherous tenants.

          No human being could ever possess this amount of patience.  When servant number one returns beaten and bloody and empty-handed, this owner sends in servant number two.  And when servant number two is killed by the tenants, this owner doesn’t call up the FBI or the Department of Homeland Security.  He sends servant number three!  And servant number three gets pummeled to death with

stones.  And on and on it goes.  What kind of a landlord could tolerate such despicable conduct?  And just when you think this guy will finally come to his senses and evict those terrible tenants, he says, “I think I’ll send my Son to them.”  And everybody knows that’s a big mistake.

          But there’s no mistake; this is your God.  He’s persistently patient and long-suffering.  It’s almost pathetic the way He bears with sinners.  His desire to seek and save surpasses our sinfulness.  His faithfulness is greater than our faithlessness.  When there’s mutiny in the vineyard any other landlord seeks justice—seeks to settle the score.  But your God—He’s not an evictor of sinners, but a Savior of sinners.  For God, our sin isn’t an excuse to rev up the fire and brimstone machine.  But rather, our sin is a crying shame.

          When Jesus finished telling this parable, the Pharisees and chief priests perceived that Jesus was talking about them.  But I perceive that He’s talking about us too.  No, we’re not just like the Pharisees.  But we are tenants in the vineyard of God.  We are stewards and managers.  Everything we have isn’t really ours at all.  In the parable, the owner did it all—planted the grapes, dug the winepress, built the tower.  The tenants were just to care for and manage all that the master had temporarily leased to them.

          So has your God provided you with everything.  All that you have is a gift from Him.  In the Lord’s Prayer we call it “daily bread:” food, drink, clothing, shoes, house, home, land, animals, money, devout spouse and children, faithful friends and the like.  And for all of these vineyard blessings it’s our duty to thank and praise, serve and obey the Master of the vineyard.  It’s our duty to be terrific tenants—to be good stewards of all the people and possessions that our gracious God has entrusted to us.  And at harvest time, we are to return to the Lord the firstfruits—the very best we have.

          And so it is that the Lord of the vineyard sends His beloved Son to us—to collect what is rightfully His.  And what is rightfully His?  Our thanks, our praise, our prayers, our willing service, our joyful obedience.  And it’s right at this point—the point where we tenants are to render our obedience to our Lord and Master—it’s here where one begins to sense a mutiny in the vineyard. 

          No, we would never throw God’s Son out of the vineyard.  No, we would never beat Him with blows or pummel Him with stones.  No, we would never be like those treacherous tenants in the parable.  We’re more tactful than treacherous—more subtle than subversive.  No, when God’s Son comes among us we’re much more inclined to simply ignore Him—to shut our ears to His Word—to harden our hearts against His commandments—to honor God’s Son with our lips, while our hearts and our very lives are far, far from Him.  God says, “Lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do,” and we say, “What was that?”  God says, “Forgive your brother from your heart,” and we say, “I didn’t quite catch that.”  God says, “Fear, love and trust in me above all things,” and we say, “Pardon?” 

          And as day turns to night we will realize the terrible truth that we have separated ourselves from the Son of God—we have carefully confined Him outside the walls of “our” personal vineyard.  We have ignored Him—and, in some cases, replaced Him with gods of our own devising.  Now, when the owner returns, what will He do with tenants like these?  How will justice be done?

          As sinners—as terrible tenants—hope not for justice—but look to the injustice that Jesus endured.  And this injustice is the ultimate incredibility of God’s love for you.  What you had coming to you for your sins—Jesus accepted as your substitute.  Jesus got clobbered for you.  He endured the wretched and miserable death you deserve.  And now, because your sins are answered for, they can condemn you no more.  Your guilt is taken away—your sin atoned for.  Everything that would destroy you, convict you and evict you—Jesus has faced it all.  And none of it—not even death on a cross—destroyed Him.  And none of it—not even death—will destroy you who belong to Jesus.  The Owner’s Son has become your brother, your Savior, the best friend you ever had.  You, simply, must believe it.  And, in believing, we terrible tenants are transformed into sons and daughters of God—ready to repent—ready to render to God what is God’s.

          There’s one last detail to this parable that doesn’t quite make sense.  When the wicket tenants spied the owner’s son on the horizon, they quickly hatched a crazy scheme:  “This is the heir,” they said.  “Come, let us kill him and have his inheritance.”  Now, everybody knows that not the way it works.  Murderers don’t stand to inherit what their victims had coming to them.  But in a bizarre plot twist that no one saw coming, this is exactly how it worked with Jesus.  In the murder of God’s beloved Son we terrible tenants—we poor sinners—we stand to inherit everything: the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, the life everlasting.

          We are but tenants, it’s true.  But we have it good.  In fact, you already have a place at the Master’s table.  And at the Master’s table, only the best is served—the wine that is Jesus’ blood and the bread that is His body.  Your gracious God is so generous with you.  The inheritance—all of it—is yours.  For Jesus’ sake.

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Go and Work Today

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 21:28-32                                                  

September 27, 2020

Proper 21A                                                           

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          There’s a lot about the two sons in today’s parable that we don’t know.  It’s a brief parable with just a few details.  But one thing we do know:  Those two boys were definitely not twins.  They couldn’t have been more different.

          But any parent with two or more children can tell a similar tale of diversity.  How can two or three or four kids comprised of the exact same genetic material—from the exact same parents—turn out to be so different and diverse from one another?  From the same two parents are born both leaders and followers, rule keepers and rule breakers.  From the very same brood come both silly and solemn, faithful and faithless offspring.  Siblings always surprise.  They’re like a box of chocolates.

          Their father gave these two sons the exact same command:  Son, go and work in the vineyard today.  Son number one said, “No, I will not.”  Now, as shocking and disrespectful as that is, at least we have the comfort of knowing that this son ultimately did the right thing.  Afterward he changed his mind and went to work.  We aren’t told whether he went to the vineyard mumbling or grumbling, or whether he went with tears of repentance in his eyes.  All we know is that he eventually did what his father requested.

          But son number two—he does the exact opposite of his brother.  Big surprise.  When he’s told to go and work in the vineyard, he responds with a pious-sounding, fourth-commandment-keeping, “I go, sir,” probably with a crisp salute.  But despite his good intentions and his initial impulse to go and work—he did not go, and he did not work.

          “So, what do you think?” Jesus asks.  “Which of the two did the will of his father?”  In light of these questions, we can actually begin to see a few similarities between these siblings.  For both sons were sinners.  Both disobeyed and 

disrespected their father.  Neither of them gave their father the honor and obedience he was owed.

          And, for that matter, what was so terrible about the father’s request?  Two times he said, “Son, go and work in the vineyard today.”  That very first word, “Son,” emphasized the loving relationship between the two.  He gently appealed to his sons to do what needed to be done.  The vineyard was their vineyard.  It wasn’t owned by a corporation or some wine-making conglomerate.  And in that vineyard, there was work that needed doing “today.”  Urgent tasks needed attention—not next week—but now.  Perhaps the Pinot needed pruning.  Maybe the Malbec was maturing.  The father’s request was simple, sincere, and reasonable; but neither son obeyed.

          So what do you think?  Which son are you?  I’ll tell you what I think.  I think we are both sons.

          I think that your heavenly Father has said to you, “My son, my daughter, go and work in my vineyard today.”  When did that happen, you ask?  It happened when you became a child of your heavenly Father in the cleansing splash of Holy Baptism.  In, with and under that water and Word, God, in effect said, “You, child, are mine.  I’ve adopted you.  I’ve got an amazing inheritance waiting for you.  Now go and work.  Go and love me above all others.  Go and love your neighbor as yourself.  Repent of your sin and believe in me.”

          What do you say in response to that?  Unfortunately, we too often say what the first son said.  God says, “Go and work.”  And we say “no.”  Jesus said that the first son was like the tax collectors and prostitutes.  Through John the Baptist God had said to them, “Go and lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do.”  But they said, “No.  I will not.”  God had said to them, “Be content with what you have because the love of money is the root of all evil.”  But they said, “No.  I will not.” 

          God tells you and me much the same thing.  He tells husbands and wives to love and honor each other, that children should obey their parents in everything, that we should forgive those who sin against us, that we should return to Him a firstfruit percentage gift from our income—and all of us from the greatest to the least have brazenly said to our heavenly Father, “No.  I will not.”  And for that there is hell to pay.

          At other times we are twins of the second son—the son who said, “I will, sir,” but did not go.  At least he said the right thing.  He talked the talk.  We’re very good at that too.  Today your heavenly Father is telling you to go.  Go and forgive your brother from the heart.  Go and live a life of sexual purity.  Go and trust in me above all else.  And we all confess with gusto, “I will, sir.  Amen.” 

          But . . . then we start thinking—thinking about what it is we’re supposed to do.  We study.  We reflect.  We go to Bible studies, we listen to sermons, we read books, we talk to a counselor.  We ponder and procrastinate.  We evade and equivocate.  And as day turns to night, we realize that we haven’t gone and done what the Father has asked of us.  All of our pious-sounding promises have resulted in nothing—no change, no repentance, no obedience, just the same old lukewarm living.  We haven’t done what we pledged and promised to do.  And for that there is hell to pay.

          Whether it’s the open, defiant rebellion of the first son who said, “I will not,” or the syrupy-sweet hypocrisy of the second son who said, “I will,” but then didn’t, we aren’t so different.  In this respect ALL SIBLINGS ARE THE SAME:  There is no difference. All have sinned.  All fall short.  All are rebels and hypocrites.  And “the soul who sins shall die.”

          What do you think?  I think that both sons need another Son.  I think that both sons need God’s Son—and so do we.  Jesus is the Son—the only Son—who said to His Father, “I will,” and then went and did what He had promised to do.  When the Father surveyed this world of rebels and hypocrites and disobedient children, He asked, “Who?  Who will go and buy them back?  Who will pay the awful price?  Who will go today and do the dirty work required in My vineyard?”  And His one and only Son said, “I will, sir.”  And He went and did it.

          Conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried.  He made Himself nothing, set aside His royal robes, rolled up His sleeves, and put on the uniform of a servant.  He humbled Himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross.  Jesus was obedient to every law, every commandment, every aspect of loving God and loving neighbor.  And best of all, He did it all for you—in your place.  The hard work of this Son counts for every wayward son and daughter.  He does all the hard work in the Father’s vineyard.  He labors, He toils, He works Himself to death on a cross—and you get all the credit simply through faith in Him.  His blood has the power to cleanse every bad boy, every sinful son and daughter.  And by His Holy Spirit He gives repentance to every rebel—gives a sure and certain hope to every hypocrite.

          What do you think?  I think this sounds like good news—the best of news!  When Jesus completed all the work His Father sent Him to do, Jesus said, “It is finished.”  At that moment, the sins of the world had been taken away.  At that moment, the road to heaven was blasted wide open for rebels and hypocrites and tax collectors and prostitutes and sinful sons and daughters, including you and me—all who confess that Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father.

          Both sons in this parable were sinners.  Both sons needed God’s Son, the Savior of sinners.  But I’m sure you noticed the one critical difference between the two.  One son eventually did make his way into the vineyard.  The first son who said, “I will not,” later “changed his mind and went.”  I’d like to think that son was given grace to see his sin.  That son was given grace to repent of his sin.  And that’s exactly why you are here today.  For in the Divine Service God’s Son is here for you—to give you grace to see your sin. Here you receive power to repent of your sin, to receive His forgiveness, and to follow Him right back into the vineyard—to do the hard work the Father has asked of you in your vocations—and to do it all for reasons of love and thankfulness and joy. 

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

 

It's not Fair!

 

Jesu Juva

St. Matt. 20:1-16                                                          

September 20, 2020

Proper 20A                                                               

 Dear saints of our Savior~

          We often hear it said of Jesus that He had no earthly possessions.  No house or home.  No money.  No personal property to speak of.  “Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests,” Jesus once said, “but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”

          But frankly, after hearing the parable of the laborers in the vineyard, it’s a little more apparent why Jesus wasn’t wealthy.  Any small business owner who tried to adopt the business practices in this parable—well, he wouldn’t be in business for long.  Nor would Jesus fit in with today’s corporate world.  His accounting method of equal pay for unequal work sounds more like socialism than capitalism.

          After all, it doesn’t take an MBA degree to figure out what will happen when those who come to work at sunset are paid exactly the same amount as those who show up at sunrise.  Nobody would be so foolish as to come to work at dawn if he could get the same fat paycheck for showing up at dusk.  Who wouldn’t prefer to work for just a little while at the end of the day?  Nobody’s going to do ten times the work for the same amount of money.  It’s just not fair.

          But today we learn that God is not fair.  He’s just.  He’s gracious.  But God is not fair.  Then again, grace isn’t fair.  What’s fair is the Law.  If it’s fair, that means the first come in first and the last come in last, and the kingdom goes to those who earn it.  But if it’s grace we’re talking about, then the first are last, and the kingdom goes to the least of all.  But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.  Let’s go to the parable, shall we?

          A man had a vineyard and needed laborers to pick his grapes.  At about 6 AM he went out and negotiated with some laborers to work that day for a denarius—about $120.  And off they went.  By mid-morning they were still shorthanded.  So the vineyard owner went and found more laborers looking for work.  “You go and work in the vineyard too,” he told them, “and whatever is right I will give you.”  Note that he says, “whatever is right,” not “whatever is fair.”  The same thing happened at noon and 3PM.  At 5PM he still needed more help, so he went to the local tavern where some deadbeats had apparently spent the entire day.  “You go into my vineyard too,” he says, making no promises about the wages he would pay.

          Finally, at 6PM it’s Miller Time as they say in Milwaukee.  The vineyard workers all head to the foreman to receive their wages.  The owner has them line up in reverse order, from last-hired to first-hired—from the 11^th hour losers to the crack-of-dawn early birds.  The first girl in line (one of the deadbeats from the tavern) gets her envelope, expecting maybe ten dollars.  But what’s she find instead?  Six crisp twenties!  And so it continues.

          Pretty soon word filters to the back of the line—to those who began working at dawn—that those who worked only one hour got $120.  So they’re thinking, $120 per hour, for 12 hours—the biggest payday of their grape-picking lives.  But they hadn’t figured on one thing:  The payout from the owner is all based upon his goodness and his promises, and not on their work.  And in his infinite goodness, this guy gives six crisp twenties to every single worker, regardless of how much or how little they worked.  Each worker gets a denarius.  “It’s not fair,” shout the sweaty, exhausted, sun-burnt guys who worked all day.  But the owner reminds them that he didn’t promise to be fair, but to pay them a denarius.  Promise made; promise kept.  End of parable.

          One of the toughest pills for religious superstars to swallow is the idea that God justifies the ungodly.  God adopts deadbeats as His own dear children.  And when that final whistle blows on that final day of labor, our salvation will not be based upon our works, or upon how early we clocked in, but on the sheer grace of God in Jesus Christ who doles out a denarius  of salvation to all who believe, whether a lifelong Lutheran or a deathbed convert.  There’s nothing fair about it.

          Now, a day’s wages for a day’s work—that’s fair.  That’s what we expect in this world, and that’s well and good.  This world operates according to the law, and that’s good.  But in the kingdom of God things are different.  God’s thoughts are not our thoughts.  His ways are not our ways.  He deals with us not according to what’s fair, but according to His grace and mercy. 

          But if you want God to be fair—to deal with you according to your works and your time-card—well then, you will be damned.  You can look forward to an eternity of weeping and gnashing your teeth.  That’s fair.  Hell is the place where everyone gets treated fairly—where everyone gets exactly what they deserve according to the Law.

          Where do we fit into this parable?  Are we like those hired first or hired last?  Hard to say.  Most of us were baptized as babies; we grew up in the church.  We’ve been working in the vineyard a long time with not even a conscious moment when we didn’t know Jesus as our Savior.  We “clocked in” early and we’ve never clocked-out.

          Then again, we’re hardly the first to go to work in our Lord’s vineyard.  Countless others have believed before us.  Other saints have suffered before us—and much, much more than us.  There have been workers in this vineyard for two thousand years, including St. Matthew and St. Paul, St. Mary and St. Elizabeth, St. Polycarp and St. Augustine.  There were countless, nameless believers who bore the heat of persecution, who defended the faith, who suffered and died trusting in Jesus, who have now departed this life to be with Christ (which is far better).

          But now, in these last days, at the eleventh hour, as the sun is setting, with the fields still ripe and waiting for harvest, the Lord of the vineyard has been so kind and gracious to call YOU to work in this same vineyard.  And today, on this Confirmation Sunday, we welcome and pray for our three newest vineyard workers:  Katie, Rilan, and Delaney.  You three are really the last and the least.  You’re just setting foot in the vineyard when so much of the work is already done.  And yet—mysteriously and unfairly—you get the same denarius as everybody else—not 120 bucks, but the same forgiveness of sins, the same salvation, the same love and mercy, the same resurrection life in Jesus.  It’s not fair at all; but it’s oh, so gracious.

          While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.  While we were still ungodly deadbeats, Jesus justified us.  Before you so much as lifted a finger to work in His vineyard, He prepared an envelope with your name on it, containing your “denarius.”  You’re not saving up pay stubs to present at the pearly gates upon your arrival.  But as you go about everyday doing the work God has called you to do, you’re simply serving the Lord who has already served you.  You are loving Him who loved you first.

          Saint Paul expressed it this way in today’s epistle:  For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.  And for you too:  “To live is Christ.”  To go on living and laboring and working in this world is a good and wonderful thing—a privilege grounded in grace.  “To live is Christ.” To receive His gifts, to forgive as you have been forgiven, to speak the truth in love, to rejoice in your sufferings, to love your neighbor as yourself.  It’s not easy work, to be sure.  But the day is almost over; and you have a generous Master who is full of wonderful surprises.  To live is Christ, and to die is gain.  All of our labor is done in that sure and certain confidence—to die is gain.  To die is to depart and be with Christ—and there is nothing better than that.

          It’s not fair.  There’s no denying that.  For whether first or last, whether we’ve worked hard or hardly worked—God’s grace and generosity  are awaiting each of His children at the end of the day.  Jesus has seen to that.  He got the wages we deserve for our sins.  And we get God’s free gift of eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.

          In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.