Go and Work Today

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 21:28-32                               

September 27, 2026

Proper 21A                        

Dear saints of our Savior~

        Hark, the voice of Jesus calling:  Who will go and work today?  Good question.  Not son number one.  And not son number two.  And certainly not the elders and chief priests.  After all, it was Holy Week, and they had murder on their minds.  The Parable of the Two Sons is one of the briefest parables Jesus ever told.  It’s the second of three “vineyard parables” served up by St. Matthew: Last week it was the workers hired first and last.  And next week it’s the “wicked tenants.” Today “two sons” are on tap.

When the first son is asked to “go and work in the vineyard today,” the first word out of his mouth is “no.”  Now, as shocking and disrespectful as that is, at least we have the comfort of knowing that this son ultimately did the right thing.  Later on, he changed his mind and went to work.  Now, whether he went to the vineyard mumbling and grumbling, or whether he went with tears of repentance in his eyes, we do not know.  All we know is that he eventually did what his father requested.

        As for the second son, he does the exact opposite of his brother. When his father asks him to go and work in the vineyard, he responds with a pious-sounding, fourth commandment-keeping, “I go, sir,” accompanied perhaps by a respectful bow or a snappy salute.  But then, this son promptly turned on the Packer game, which, four hours later, left him too depressed to do any work at all.

        “So what do you think?” asks Jesus.  “Which of the two did the will of his father?”  Which was the good boy, and which was the bad boy?

        The fact is both boys were bad boys!  Both sons were sinners!  Both disobeyed and disrespected their father.  Both brothers broke the fourth commandment.  Neither served, honored, and obeyed his father.  And what was so terrible about the father’s request?  Two times the father said, “Son, go and work in the vineyard today.”  That very first word, “son,” emphasized the loving relationship between them.  He didn’t say, “Get your lazy you-know-what out to the vineyard.”  He said, “Son . . . go.”  The vineyard was their vineyard.  It wasn’t owned by a corporation or by some wine-making conglomerate.  It was the family vineyard. 

And there was work that needed doing “today.”  Urgent tasks that needed doing—not next week—but now.  Perhaps the Pinot needed pruning.  Maybe the Malbec was maturing.  The father’s request was simple and sincere and reasonable; and neither son obeyed.

        Now, this parable was primarily told to the chief priests—the religious superstars of Jerusalem.  They were much worse than either son in the parable.  Not only had they rejected John the Baptizer’s ministry, so also they had rejected Jesus—and were about to do so in spectacular fashion. 

Jesus began this parable with a question:  What do you think?  I’ll tell you what I think.  I think this parable can also be applied to all of us.  We fit the profile of both sons.  There’s something here for all of us. 

        We’ve all got vineyard work to do.  Vocation work.  Work that flows from faith in Jesus Christ.  We’ve been baptized into the family of faith—made to be sons and daughters of our heavenly Father.  Having been adopted, an amazing inheritance awaits us.  But now we have our marching orders:  Go and work, God says.  Love and trust in me above all others.  Love your neighbor as yourself.  What do you say to that? 

        Sometimes we say what the first son said.  God says, “Go and work.”  And we say “no.”  God says, get to work:  “Go and lead a sexually pure and decent life in what you say and do.”  “Be content with what you have because the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.”  And we sinful sons and daughters say:  I will not. 

        God says, get to work.  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 be generous with all the wealth we call our own.  But all of us, from the greatest to the least, have brazenly said to our heavenly Father what the first son said: “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 say with gusto, “I will, sir.  Amen.” 

        But . . . then we start thinking—thinking about what it is we’re supposed to do.  We study.  We ponder.  We pray.  We go to Bible studies, we listen to podcasts, read books, 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, 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 fact, 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—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.

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

 

Not Fair!

Jesu Juva

St. Matthew 20:1-16                                 

September 20, 2026

Proper 20A                   

 Dear saints of our Savior~

        An hour’s pay for an hour’s work.  You reap what you sow.  You get out of it what you put into it.  A day’s work equals a day’s wage.  Those are the rules.  And we expect God to operate by those same rules.  We expect God to be fair—to recognize and reward our work.

        But today we learn that God is not fair.  He’s just.  He’s gracious.  But God is not fair.  And that’s good because grace isn’t fair.  The Law is fair; but the Gospel is grace alone.  Fairness means that means the first come in first, the last come in last, survival to the fittest, and the kingdom to those who achieve it.  But if it’s grace, then the first are last, and the kingdom goes to the least of all.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  Let’s go to the parable, shall we?

        A man had a vineyard and needed laborers to pick his grapes.  He went to the union hall at 6AM and negotiated for some laborers, promising to pay them each a denarius at day’s end—about $100—a crisp C note featuring Ben Franklin’s portrait.  So off they went.  At 9AM he noticed he was still shorthanded.  So he went to Home Depot and found some laborers looking for work.  He told them, “You go work in the vineyard too, and whatever is right I will give you.”  (Note that: Whatever is right. Not whatever is fair.)

        He did exactly the same thing at noon and at 3PM—found some idlers hanging around and hired them for some unspecified wage.  By 5PM the sun was beginning to set and there was still work to do, and he needed more help.  So he went to the local tavern where some deadbeat losers had been hanging out all day, quaffing beers, because no one would hire them.  “You go into my vineyard too,” he says, not even promising to pay them a dime.  But they’re running low on funds for booze and weed, so off they go to work for one hour.  How hard can it be?

        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 eleventh hour losers to the crack of dawn Grape Pickers.  The first girl in line (one of the deadbeats from the tavern) opens her envelope expecting maybe Alexander Hamilton.  But who’s she find instead?  Our good buddy Benjamin on a crisp C note.  And so it continues.

        Pretty soon word filters back to the end of the line—back to the guys hired first—that those who worked only one hour got $100.  So they’re doing the math: $100 per hour times 12 hours, that comes to $1,200. And so, one by one, they step up to the table, expecting the biggest payday of their grape-picking lives.

        But in all their calculations they hadn’t figured on one thing.  The payout from the vineyard owner is all based on his goodness and his promises, and not on their work.  And in his infinite goodness, this guy gives a hundred dollar bill to each and every worker, regardless of how much or how little they worked.  Here’s your denarius.  “Not fair!” declare the sweaty, dirty, exhausted guys who worked all day long.  But the owner reminds them that he didn’t promise to be fair, but only 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; and that our salvation at the world’s final Miller Time is not based on our works, our achievements and accomplishments, 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 last-second, deathbed convert to Christ.  The religious elite howl in protest.  Not fair!  But then grace wouldn’t be grace, would it?  It would be bookkeeping.  Score-keeping.  And if the world could have been saved by keeping score, it would have been saved by Moses with his commandments, and not by Jesus with His bloody cross.

        A day’s wages for a day’s work.  That’s fair.  And that’s what we expect in this world.  This world operates by the rule of law. But Isaiah reminds us that God’s thoughts are not our thoughts.  His ways are not ours.  He deals with us not according to what’s fair, but according to His grace and His goodness.  If you want God to be fair—to deal with you according to your works and your accomplishments—then you will be damned.  That’s fair.  That’s the Law.  Hell is the one place where everybody gets exactly what they deserve.

        Some of us are like the workers hired first, or at least earlier in the day.  We were baptized as babies.  We grew up in the church.  There’s never really been a conscious moment in our lives when we didn’t know Jesus as our Savior.  We’ve worked in His vineyard our entire lives.  We’re not quite sure what to make of those eleventh hour converts who benefit from everyone else’s hard work—those who “got away” with never tithing, never serving on a committee, never attending a long church meeting, never having to get up early on Sunday. 

Whatever you make of them, for the love of God, don’t be jealous of them.  But do see God’s generosity in them and praise Jesus that it really is by grace alone, through faith alone, for the sake of Jesus Christ alone that sinners are made righteous.  Praise be to Jesus, because if there’s room enough in the kingdom for eleventh hour losers and deadbeats—for hookers, and tax collectors, and all manner of notorious sinners—well, then, there is surely enough room in the kingdom for you and me.

        Then again, let’s not overstate our position in the kingdom.  We really aren’t the first workers hired, are we?  Others have believed long before us.  Others have suffered before us—and much, much more than us.  There have been workers in this vineyard for two thousand years:  St. Matthew and St. Paul, St. Mary and St. Elizabeth, St. Polycarp and St. Augustine, Luther and Bach.  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).

        And now, in these last days, at the eleventh hour with the sun 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.  We are, really, the last and the least.  We come to the scene when much of the work is already done.  Yet, you get the same denarius—not a C note, but the same forgiveness of sins, the same salvation, 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, He 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.  And even the work you’re doing now—the good you do each and every day out of love for your neighbor—it’s all really God’s doing in you and through you.  And all this is what we call the “gospel.”  Good news.  Grace, not works.  Gift given, not wages earned.

        It’s outrageous!  There’s no denying that.  Whether first or last—whether we have worked hard, or little, or barely at all—there’s a generous payday coming to all who believe.  It was won for each of us by the death and resurrection of Jesus.  He got the wages we deserve for our sins.  We get His free gift of eternal life.  That’s not fair . . . because God isn’t fair.  But He is good.  And He is gracious.  Thanks be to God. 

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