More than we Deserve [Proper 22A]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Matthew 21:33-46
More than we deserve
What do you think you deserve? Maybe a nicer home, a bigger paycheck, more
respect, a promotion, perhaps? What do
you think you deserve?
This is the piece I find most
fascinating, and disturbing, about today’s Gospel reading from Matthew. I mean, there is plenty of disturbing to go
around. It’s actually a very violent
story. But in a chilling twist, the
parable ends with the owner of the vineyard sending his son, his heir, into the
vineyard to collect the produce and the tenants kill the son. The reason they kill the son is because they
think, with the heir out of the picture, the owner of the vineyard will will
the vineyard to them – that they would be next in line. Through some kind of twisted logic they convince
themselves that the vineyard owner will reward their
murderous tendencies, will treat them as sons.
After all, for all of their hard work, all that they were willing to do,
don’t they deserve it?
Jesus' audience would have been
familiar with the concept of tenant farming.
It was not uncommon then for a landowner to lease his fields to farmers,
just as it is not uncommon now. The
expectation was that those working the land would return to the owner a portion
of the produce in exchange for land usage.
Of course, the snag in this story
is that the tenants decide to break the deal.
In Jesus' story the landowner sends his servants to collect the produce
that he is due. But instead of handing
over the required share, the farmers beat and kill the servants. And so, perhaps foolishly, he tries
again. This time the landowner sends a
larger contingent of servants; but the same thing happens.
Something is going on here because
after the first servants were killed, the landowner should have sent a police
force or military might to regain his property and to punish those who killed
his servants. Wipe them out or lock them
up. But he didn't; he sent more servants
to go on his behalf. He took another
chance, gave them another chance.
It was not worth the risk; if he
was just hoping for some produce, sending more servants into that dangerous
situation was not worth the risk. The
landowner surely knew that the tenants might do to the second group what they
did to the first. The produce was not
worth it; it was not worth the lives it cost.
And then, finally, the son. When all else fails. God only knows why the landowner sent the
son. You can almost hear a collective
gasp echo across the 2000 years. The
tenants were obviously disrespectful; they violated agreements; they claimed
things which did not belong to them; and they were violent. And he sent his own child. David Lose writes, “So where does the bright
idea come from to send his son, his heir, alone, to treat with these
bloodthirsty hooligans? It’s absolutely crazy. Who would do such a think? No
one…except maybe a crazy landlord so desperate to be in relationship with these
tenants that he will do anything, risk anything, to reach...them. This
landowner acts more like a desperate parent, willing to do or say or try
anything to reach out to a beloved and wayward child, than he does a
businessman. It’s crazy, the kind of crazy that comes from being in love.”[1]
The parable ends with the death of
the son. It is a somber ending to a sad
love story: the story of a landowner who tried everything to reach the ones who
would only break his heart. And by the
end of the story the tenants are ready once again to take advantage of the one
who had proved too generous time and time again – to take an inheritance that
they did not deserve.
Jesus ends the story with a
question; he gives the ending to the religious leaders to whom the parable was
directed – the chief priests and the Pharisees.
“Now when the owner of the vineyard comes,” Jesus asks, “what will he do
to those tenants?” And in a bitter twist
of self-accusation, the religious leaders respond: “He will put those wretches
to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him
the produce at harvest time.”
As if this story were about the
produce; as if that was what the landowner really wanted most.
The bitter twist is that they never
really got it. Sure they understand
eventually that they were the tenants all along. And they sentenced themselves to death. They condemn themselves. But they never really understood what the
landowner is about. What would the
landowner do in that situation, we already know from the story; the religious
leaders, they got it wrong. The
landowner could have put those wretches to death after the first round of
killings or the second. But he didn't.
What the landowner does is
crazy. It's try and try and try again –
to reach them, to love them, to win them over.
The ones in power had killed the prophets; the ones in power would soon kill Jesus
too. But God would raise Jesus from the
dead – and send him again to the very ones who put him to death. It is not what we would do; it seems
absolutely crazy. But it is what God
does. There is no length to which God
would not go to win us over.
More than anything this Gospel
story, this parable, is a salvation story – salvation history encapsulated in
one devastating tale. It is the story of
a God who pursues a humanity that responds with violence and anger. It is the story of a generous God who gives
and gives to a people who are never satisfied.
God offers us everything and we think we deserve more.
The tenants in the story were not
content to work in the vineyard. They
needed to own that which did not belong to them. It was never enough. They thought they deserved more.
From the
primal elements you brought forth the human race, and blessed us with memory,
reason, and skill. You made us the
rulers of creation. But we turned against you, and betrayed your trust; and we
turned against one another.
Again and
again, you called us to return. Through prophets and sages you revealed your
righteous Law. And in the fullness of time you sent your only Son, born of a
woman, to fulfill your Law, to open for us the way of freedom and peace.
By his
blood, he reconciled us.
By his
wounds, we are healed.[2]
It is our story – not just the
story of some first century religious leaders, not just the story of Old
Testament Israel. It is our story. God gives and we take and we take and we
take.
What do we think we deserve? We want it all. To have, to hold, to own. To be the boss.
But while we struggle to grasp
control, to gain the power, to rule the realm, the Kingdom of God is about
spiraling down – a kingdom of downward mobility. Our Lord traded heaven for earth, a kingdom
for a cross. And we are invited into
that kingdom – to become the least, to work for that which we can never
own.
Nothing is ours. It all belongs to God – this planet, this
church, our stuff, our lives. We are
just workers in God's vineyard. And
though we struggle and strive and fight for our rights, and mistreat the gifts
God has placed in our care, God is inexplicably merciful - like a desperate
parent, willing to do or say or try anything to reach out to a beloved and
wayward child. Again and again, God
looks into our violent hearts, into our greedy eyes, and offers us much more
than we could ever deserve.
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