Presbyterian pastor Richard Floyd tells of a conversation that he had with an old friend he had not seen in a long time.1 The friend was “bright and compassionate.” Floyd mostly agreed with her politics. And yet, for Floyd, something was missing in his friend’s approach to life. Floyd was deeply immersed in the Christian tradition, and so he often found himself reflecting on life issues from a three-cornered perspective, trying to see God’s viewpoint, his own angle of vision, and the viewpoint of his neighbors. His friend had had virtually no religious formation, and so, it seemed, she did not have this three-cornered perspective. “She could begin and end a topic,” he tells us, “with reflection on the self, without moving on to God or neighbor.” It was not because she was unusually self-preoccupied; she was simply reflecting the extreme individualism of our culture. How did this happen, Floyd wondered. What is more important, how do we begin to see the world around us in a three-cornered way?
Today’s passage from the Gospel of Matthew invites us to begin looking at our lives in a three-cornered way. Remember that this Gospel was written after the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem, i.e., after 70 AD. It was written for a community that was in conflict with the Jewish religious leaders. Since the Sadducees, one of the two major Jewish sects of Jesus’ time, had largely disappeared with the destruction of the temple, almost all of the Jewish religious leaders after 70 AD were Pharisees, i.e., leaders of the other major sect. It was they who were concerned with preserving the distinctive social and religious lives of the scattered Jewish communities – and indeed they were largely responsible for the survival to this day of the Jews as a distinctive community. The followers of Jesus to whom Matthew was writing were in conflict with these leaders, partly because the new communities of Jesus’ followers included people of all classes, genders, and ethnicities. To encourage the fledgling community of Jesus’ followers, on the whole, Matthew, much more so than Mark or Luke, depicts the Pharisees negatively, often showing them disputing with Jesus.
The passage we just heard depicts Jesus’ third and last public confrontation with the leaders of the Pharisees. It was about two days before Jesus would be executed as a common criminal. A lawyer, i.e., a scholar trained to interpret religious law, asked a question: “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” Was it a trick question? Or could the lawyer seriously have been trying to discern what this Galilean rabbi actually thought? After all, many scholars had tried to discern which of the 613 laws in the Torah were more significant than the others.
Whatever the lawyer’s motive, Jesus answered his question in an unexpected, even radically startling way. First, Jesus quoted Deuteronomy 6:5. This is the second half of the Shema, the affirmation of faith that undergirds all of Judaism and is still recited in every Jewish worship service. The whole Shema reads, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord is our God, the Lord Alone. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your might.” Hearing Jesus recite the Shema, the religious leaders would surely have nodded their heads in approval. But then Jesus quoted Leviticus 19:18, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Moreover, Jesus declared that this commandment was not only similar to the commandment in the Shema, it was equal to that of the Shema.
That loving one’s neighbor as oneself was equal to loving God is even more astounding when we look at what this section of Leviticus actually calls for. Loving one’s neighbor as oneself is not some warm, fuzzy platitude. It is a command with deep social implications. For, Leviticus 19 commands Jews to respect their parents, feed poor people and foreigners, not steal, lie, or swear falsely, not defraud the disabled, not slander their neighbor, and not harbor hatred or vengeance. And, even more important, Jesus’ followers knew that one’s neighbor was not just one’s family members or friends. One’s neighbor was everyone in need. Which commandment in the law is the greatest? Jesus told his hearers that the greatest commandment is to love God by loving one’s neighbors – all of them. And then, as if banging a gavel, Jesus capped off his unexpected teaching by declaring that this is what Scripture is all about; every revelation that you hear, this is what it’s about. This is the foundation of your life: love of God, love of self, and love of neighbor. All are equally important.
How did the religious leaders who heard Jesus meld these commandments into one react? We’ll never know – at least from Matthew. In Mark’s account, the Scribe who heard Jesus says these words praised Jesus and echoed his words back to Jesus, to which Jesus replied, “You are not far from the Kingdom of God (12:32-34).” And how about us? Those of you who remember the 1928 Book of Common Prayer, or heard it last month at Bruce Chapel, remember that at every Eucharist, we heard the priest repeat these words of Jesus: “Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God….” So how do we hear Jesus’ statement of the ground of our commitment to him? Are his words the foundation of all our decisions and actions? Does how we treat ourselves and God’s children reflect our love of God?
For many people in our culture, the answer would be “No.” Most of us see out of only one of the three corners of vision, our own. When we are faced with a decision, most of us ask, how does this suit me? What are my needs, rights, and desires? Does this step advance my own interests and the interests of my group, my ethnicity, my social class, my age-group, or my state? Will my privileged position be threatened by this action? Can’t you see this perspective in the polarization of our political life, where nowadays it seems as if no one, especially at the national level, is looking out for the common good? Can’t you see it in the way we’ve been trashing our planet, in our tendency to say, “I want what I want when I want it, regardless of whether I need it, regardless of whether the people who make it work in safe and healthy factories, and regardless of whether it can be recycled once I’m done with it?”
Where do we unlearn the habit of extreme individualism that is the hallmark of American culture? God willing, the church is one such place – as it was for Richard Floyd. The church can be our school in three-cornered love, if we study Jesus’ words and take them to heart. The church can be our teacher especially if we avoid two pitfalls. Often we try to avoid our extreme self-preoccupation by turning intently to God, by acknowledging our brokenness, asking for God’s healing and transformation, and cultivating habits of holiness and piety. Wonderful, so long as such habits of holiness and piety don’t blind us to the needs of our neighbor in the next house, the next county, or overseas. By the same token, we often try to get beyond our self-preoccupation by making our neighbor’s needs the only focus of our spiritual lives. When we do that, and especially when we act as if all depends on us and our own efforts, we run the risk of arrogantly assuming we know what’s best, or falling into despair when those in need resist or spurn our efforts.
Jesus calls us to have a three-cornered heart. In all our discernment, reflection, and practice, Jesus calls us to consider whether we are serving and loving God, ourselves and our neighbors. Jesus calls us to cultivate this habit of three-fold discernment in all our decisions. When we are making big decisions, e.g. choosing a vocation, or returning to school, or changing jobs, or relocating, Jesus calls us to ask whether our decisions reflect love of God, care for self, and love of neighbor. When we decide how to use our resources of time, talent, and treasure, and especially when we ponder how much to return to God, Jesus calls us to ask whether our decisions reflect love of God, care for self, and love of neighbor. Even in the small decisions we make in the course of a day, we can take a moment to ask ourselves, “In what I am now doing, am I serving God, am I helping myself, and am I loving my neighbor?” We can all do this: you don’t have to be a saint or a monastic to reflect on your decisions and actions from this three-cornered perspective. As Mother Teresa reminded us, “Holiness is not a luxury for the few; it is not just for some people. It is meant for you and me, for all of us.”
So here is my invitation to you this week. In the next decision that you have to make – whatever it is, big or small – stop, take a deep breath, and ask yourself, “God, myself, and neighbor? All three?” Then follow Jesus’ leading to grow in love.
1. He relates the story in Feasting on the Gospels (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2013), 200ff.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
Rejoice in the Lord Always
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What does Paul have to rejoice about? It is 61 or 62. Paul is under house arrest in Rome. After tangling with mobs in Jerusalem, Paul had been arrested and imprisoned for two years at the fortress in Caesarea Maritima in Palestine. When he, as a Roman citizen, had asserted his right to appeal his case in Rome he was transported there under guard to await trial on capital charges. Confined to Rome, Paul is now unable to return to the Christian community at Philippi, a community he had helped to found several years earlier with the help of Lydia, a dyer of purple goods, and other prominent women. He is grateful that the community has not forgotten him, but, rather, has sent him gifts through Epaphroditus, one of its members.
After hearing the news Epaphroditus brought him, Paul’s heart is breaking for the Philippian Christians. They are at odds with their neighbors. Philippi was a Roman city in Macedonia, located on the Via Egnatia, the principle road from Asia Minor to Rome. Most of its citizens were Gentiles, descendants of Roman soldiers who had received land in Macedonia in return for service during Rome’s civil wars. Those who had become Christians were scorned by their neighbors. As Christians, they could no longer participate in the imperial cult, the worship of former Emperors, even though non-Christians considered such worship to be vital to the well-being of the city. Nor could they worship any of the many Greek gods whose temples lined the busy thoroughfares. More than that, the Philippians themselves are dispirited. The first flush of conversion, that delightful sense of finally having been found by God, seems to have worn off among them, and they now face the hard work of maintaining their commitment to Christ. Most heart-breaking of all, there is internal conflict in the Philippian community. Paul’s letter to them mentions Euodia and Syntyche by name, but there are probably others.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What do we have to rejoice about? On a personal level, none of you is in jail, as far as I know, or in danger of being incarcerated. However, like everyone else, you’re caught up in your daily lives, working, volunteering, raising children, renovating houses, going to school. You’ve experienced sickness and loss. If you’re of a certain age, you long to re-establish relationships with those who are distant or from whom you are estranged, you’ve watched your friends depart, and you’re coping with a body that many days seems to thwart your every intention. If you’re younger, you’re watching the aging process play itself out in your parents, grandparents, in-laws, aunts, uncles, and friends.
In this once-vital Episcopal outpost on the Ohio River, we ponder how, with such small numbers, we can continue to grow spiritually. We wonder what God really has in mind for us. We question how we long we can flourish in this community. In southeast Ohio, three hours from Cincinnati, we often feel cut off from the rest of the diocese. With the rest of the Episcopal Church, and other mainline denominations, we struggle to respond to the needs of a changing society. And in the world? Is there any cause for rejoicing in the world around us? The dread Ebola virus is ravaging West Africa. In our own country Enterovirus 68 has affected children, while 20,000 people die yearly from the flu. Our Loaves and Fishes diners remind us that we have not eradicated poverty, and that income inequality is again rising. The daily headlines remind us that people still die needlessly in car wrecks and on city streets. Islamic terrorism infects the Middle East, Russia menaces the Ukraine, and China seeks to control political life in Hong Kong.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What is there to rejoice about? Much, Paul tells the Philippian Christians. First and foremost, he counsels them, they are to rejoice in the good news of God’s work in Christ. They are to rejoice because, even though they are now a community apart from their neighbors, they have been brought together as Christ’s own, and they have been joined to Christ. They are to rejoice, because God now calls them to continue nourishing a community whose life witnesses to Christ’s redemptive work. As they express their gladness, they are to remember that the good news of what God has done in Christ is for all: all our welcomed into Christ’s Body, and all are counted as God’s beloved children.
As members of Christ’s Body, they must also rejoice that God has given them examples of godly life to follow. The primary example is Christ himself. In a hymn that may have come from somewhere else, Paul reminds his Philippian friends that, Christ, though “in form of God …, humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.” Paul also reminds them of Timothy, and of Epaphoditus, their own fellow Christian, who came to visit him. And, finally, Paul reminds them to follow his own example. He, who had all the markers of social status possible in the ancient world, gladly gave them all up in order to “gain Christ and be found in him.”
As they persevere in the Christian life, the Philippians must also remember that “the Lord is near,” that God is with them always in all that they do. They are to remember with joy God’s care for them always, not just on special feast days, not just on Sundays, but always. Their gratitude and joy in knowing Christ must permeate their entire life and must be the foundation of all that they do.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What is there to rejoice about? Much, Paul tells us. First and foremost, we are to rejoice that God has brought us together. In truth, we are a motley crew, not unlike the Philippian congregation. We range in age from one to ninety-three (Hallelujah!). Some of us were born in Gallipolis, some of us were born back east or out west, some of us were born in another country. Some of us are quite well off, and others of us struggle to make ends meet. Some of us are students, some are teachers, some work at other professions, some are homemakers, and some are retired. Some of us were born into the Episcopal Church, and others of us were adults when we heard God calling us to this tradition. All of us are welcomed and valued. God has brought all of us here to give thanks for Christ’s work in us and for us, and to be sent out into the world to be Christ for the world.
We too may rejoice that we have examples of faith. We too have Christ himself. In our own prayers, in our daily devotions and in our corporate worship, we too can continually ponder what it means to humble ourselves and become obedient to the point of death. We too can rejoice in the all the examples we have of faithful commitment to Christ. Look around you! Don’t you see the saints among us? Or look at the calendar of the holy ones of the church. On nearly every day, we see examples of those who faithfully followed Christ wherever he led them. Do the names of Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky, Teresa of Avila, Hugh Latimer, Nicholas Ridley, or Ignatius of Antioch mean anything to you? They are just the people on our calendar for this coming week. I can assure you that all of them have fascinating and exemplary stories.
Rejoice that God is at work in the world, using us as God’s instruments to bring God’s realm closer. Rejoice that God is working through Episcopal Relief and Development to empower women. Today is actually the Day of the Girl. Through the Church’s Auxiliary for Social Action, ERD has started a new agricultural program in India. The program has brought women and girls together in unforeseen ways, allowing the mostly lower-caste women to support each other, grow food for their families, and learn new skills. Rejoice too that God is even working through those outside the Christian fold. Give thanks to God that people like Malala Yousafzai, a seventeen year-old Muslim, and Kailash Sathyarthi, a Hindu, are at work protecting children and their right to education. Both just won the Nobel Peace prize.
And finally, hear the command in Paul’s voice: “Rejoice!” Commit yourself to thanking God and rejoicing in the good news of God in Christ intentionally and regularly. Find a time for daily prayer. Come and be nourished in worship. Then take your joy out into the streets and share it with others. Or follow the poet Mary Oliver and sing. In a lovely poem, entitled “I Worried,” she says,
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.1
My sisters and brothers, rejoice, give thanks, and sing!
1. Mary Oliver, from Swan: Poems and Prose Poems. © Beacon Press, 2010.
What does Paul have to rejoice about? It is 61 or 62. Paul is under house arrest in Rome. After tangling with mobs in Jerusalem, Paul had been arrested and imprisoned for two years at the fortress in Caesarea Maritima in Palestine. When he, as a Roman citizen, had asserted his right to appeal his case in Rome he was transported there under guard to await trial on capital charges. Confined to Rome, Paul is now unable to return to the Christian community at Philippi, a community he had helped to found several years earlier with the help of Lydia, a dyer of purple goods, and other prominent women. He is grateful that the community has not forgotten him, but, rather, has sent him gifts through Epaphroditus, one of its members.
After hearing the news Epaphroditus brought him, Paul’s heart is breaking for the Philippian Christians. They are at odds with their neighbors. Philippi was a Roman city in Macedonia, located on the Via Egnatia, the principle road from Asia Minor to Rome. Most of its citizens were Gentiles, descendants of Roman soldiers who had received land in Macedonia in return for service during Rome’s civil wars. Those who had become Christians were scorned by their neighbors. As Christians, they could no longer participate in the imperial cult, the worship of former Emperors, even though non-Christians considered such worship to be vital to the well-being of the city. Nor could they worship any of the many Greek gods whose temples lined the busy thoroughfares. More than that, the Philippians themselves are dispirited. The first flush of conversion, that delightful sense of finally having been found by God, seems to have worn off among them, and they now face the hard work of maintaining their commitment to Christ. Most heart-breaking of all, there is internal conflict in the Philippian community. Paul’s letter to them mentions Euodia and Syntyche by name, but there are probably others.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What do we have to rejoice about? On a personal level, none of you is in jail, as far as I know, or in danger of being incarcerated. However, like everyone else, you’re caught up in your daily lives, working, volunteering, raising children, renovating houses, going to school. You’ve experienced sickness and loss. If you’re of a certain age, you long to re-establish relationships with those who are distant or from whom you are estranged, you’ve watched your friends depart, and you’re coping with a body that many days seems to thwart your every intention. If you’re younger, you’re watching the aging process play itself out in your parents, grandparents, in-laws, aunts, uncles, and friends.
In this once-vital Episcopal outpost on the Ohio River, we ponder how, with such small numbers, we can continue to grow spiritually. We wonder what God really has in mind for us. We question how we long we can flourish in this community. In southeast Ohio, three hours from Cincinnati, we often feel cut off from the rest of the diocese. With the rest of the Episcopal Church, and other mainline denominations, we struggle to respond to the needs of a changing society. And in the world? Is there any cause for rejoicing in the world around us? The dread Ebola virus is ravaging West Africa. In our own country Enterovirus 68 has affected children, while 20,000 people die yearly from the flu. Our Loaves and Fishes diners remind us that we have not eradicated poverty, and that income inequality is again rising. The daily headlines remind us that people still die needlessly in car wrecks and on city streets. Islamic terrorism infects the Middle East, Russia menaces the Ukraine, and China seeks to control political life in Hong Kong.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What is there to rejoice about? Much, Paul tells the Philippian Christians. First and foremost, he counsels them, they are to rejoice in the good news of God’s work in Christ. They are to rejoice because, even though they are now a community apart from their neighbors, they have been brought together as Christ’s own, and they have been joined to Christ. They are to rejoice, because God now calls them to continue nourishing a community whose life witnesses to Christ’s redemptive work. As they express their gladness, they are to remember that the good news of what God has done in Christ is for all: all our welcomed into Christ’s Body, and all are counted as God’s beloved children.
As members of Christ’s Body, they must also rejoice that God has given them examples of godly life to follow. The primary example is Christ himself. In a hymn that may have come from somewhere else, Paul reminds his Philippian friends that, Christ, though “in form of God …, humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.” Paul also reminds them of Timothy, and of Epaphoditus, their own fellow Christian, who came to visit him. And, finally, Paul reminds them to follow his own example. He, who had all the markers of social status possible in the ancient world, gladly gave them all up in order to “gain Christ and be found in him.”
As they persevere in the Christian life, the Philippians must also remember that “the Lord is near,” that God is with them always in all that they do. They are to remember with joy God’s care for them always, not just on special feast days, not just on Sundays, but always. Their gratitude and joy in knowing Christ must permeate their entire life and must be the foundation of all that they do.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”
What is there to rejoice about? Much, Paul tells us. First and foremost, we are to rejoice that God has brought us together. In truth, we are a motley crew, not unlike the Philippian congregation. We range in age from one to ninety-three (Hallelujah!). Some of us were born in Gallipolis, some of us were born back east or out west, some of us were born in another country. Some of us are quite well off, and others of us struggle to make ends meet. Some of us are students, some are teachers, some work at other professions, some are homemakers, and some are retired. Some of us were born into the Episcopal Church, and others of us were adults when we heard God calling us to this tradition. All of us are welcomed and valued. God has brought all of us here to give thanks for Christ’s work in us and for us, and to be sent out into the world to be Christ for the world.
We too may rejoice that we have examples of faith. We too have Christ himself. In our own prayers, in our daily devotions and in our corporate worship, we too can continually ponder what it means to humble ourselves and become obedient to the point of death. We too can rejoice in the all the examples we have of faithful commitment to Christ. Look around you! Don’t you see the saints among us? Or look at the calendar of the holy ones of the church. On nearly every day, we see examples of those who faithfully followed Christ wherever he led them. Do the names of Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky, Teresa of Avila, Hugh Latimer, Nicholas Ridley, or Ignatius of Antioch mean anything to you? They are just the people on our calendar for this coming week. I can assure you that all of them have fascinating and exemplary stories.
Rejoice that God is at work in the world, using us as God’s instruments to bring God’s realm closer. Rejoice that God is working through Episcopal Relief and Development to empower women. Today is actually the Day of the Girl. Through the Church’s Auxiliary for Social Action, ERD has started a new agricultural program in India. The program has brought women and girls together in unforeseen ways, allowing the mostly lower-caste women to support each other, grow food for their families, and learn new skills. Rejoice too that God is even working through those outside the Christian fold. Give thanks to God that people like Malala Yousafzai, a seventeen year-old Muslim, and Kailash Sathyarthi, a Hindu, are at work protecting children and their right to education. Both just won the Nobel Peace prize.
And finally, hear the command in Paul’s voice: “Rejoice!” Commit yourself to thanking God and rejoicing in the good news of God in Christ intentionally and regularly. Find a time for daily prayer. Come and be nourished in worship. Then take your joy out into the streets and share it with others. Or follow the poet Mary Oliver and sing. In a lovely poem, entitled “I Worried,” she says,
I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not how shall
I correct it?
Was I right, was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?
Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do it and I am, well,
hopeless.
Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw, dementia?
Finally I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.1
My sisters and brothers, rejoice, give thanks, and sing!
1. Mary Oliver, from Swan: Poems and Prose Poems. © Beacon Press, 2010.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
We are the Tenants
Some years ago, my husband and I vacationed in eastern Ontario. We enjoy live theater, and so we were headed to the Shaw Festival in Niagara-on-the-Lake. As we drove towards Buffalo on I-90, we passed row upon row of what were surely young vineyards. Crossing over into Canada, we discovered, to our astonishment, that eastern Ontario had also become a wine-producing area. Between Shaw Festival plays, we visited the surrounding area. We learned that wine has been produced in Canada for almost 200 years. However, in the last thirty years the apple and pear orchards that had once been the mainstay of the Niagara economy had now all become vineyards that were producing very nice wines. When we sampled ice wine for the first time, we learned that producing wine is a very painstaking business. The vines must be lovingly tended, the wine must be carefully put in barrels to age, and finally, the wine must be bottled to be sold. Winemaking is definitely not a solo operation! However, with conscientious workers and managers, even small wineries can produce wine that equals or even surpasses the wine of better known houses. Although we were disappointed to discover that very little Canadian wine is exported to the US, several bottles of wine from the smaller wineries crossed back over the border with us.
We should not be surprised that Jesus chose the image of a vineyard to make a point about good stewardship. The vineyard is a common image in the Hebrew Bible. For example, the book of Proverbs praises a “woman of valor,” by noting that, “She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard” (31:16). Isaiah concludes a prophecy about God’s anger with Israel saying, “For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are his pleasant planting….” (5:7).
What is more important, wine was an important part of the economy of Galilee. Despite the hard work involved in producing wine, even in Jesus’ time, anyone who owned a vineyard and who employed good managers and workers could expect a reasonably profitable product. Here, though, Jesus’ parable does not depict conscientious employees. Rather it depicts employees who deny the vineyard owner his rightful share of the wine. What’s worse, they are so greedy to get control of the production of the vineyard that they kill successive emissaries from the owner. In the end, they kill the owner’s own son, the rightful heir.
We should also not be surprised to learn that this parable occurs in all three Synoptic Gospels. Indeed, in Matthew it is the second of three parables that depict escalating conflict between Jesus and the religious authorities. Last week we heard the first one, the parable of the two sons, and next week we will hear a parable about those who refuse the invitation to enter God’s Realm.
Jesus’ earliest followers recounted these stories, because the church of the first century painfully questioned the relationship between followers of Jesus and the existing Jewish communities. The earliest Christians wondered why the majority of the Jews of their day declined to acknowledge Jesus as the Messiah, why followers of Jesus were unwelcome in synagogues, and why there was often conflict between Jesus’ disciples and leaders of the Jewish communities. Matthew’s version of the story is clearly allegorical. The vineyard is Israel, as in the Hebrew Scriptures, and God is the owner of the vineyard. The owner’s earlier emissaries represent the two groups of prophets, while the son clearly represents Jesus, who is killed through the collusion of the religious leaders and the Roman government. The verdict of the Gospel writer is harsh: old leaders have been replaced by new leaders, the followers of Jesus, the members of the New Israel.
Before we nod our heads in agreement, we need to avoid two mistakes when interpreting this parable. First, we must avoid the temptation of anti-Semitism. Instead, we must remember that only a few self-interested religious and civil leaders were responsible for Jesus’ death. We must also remember that Jesus preached to Jews, healed them, loved them, and was one of them. His first disciples were all Jews, as were most of his earliest followers. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, the God of love graciously incorporates Gentiles into the covenant that God first made with the Jews.
Second, however, we must also avoid thinking that this parable applies only to the time, place, and people to whom it was originally addressed. Scriptures continue to speak to us and contain truths for all times, places, and people. If we think that the parable applies only to first-century Jewish leaders, we’ve missed the point – by a mile – and we turn our backs on the challenge the parable addresses to us.
So what does the allegory in this parable say to us? My friends, we might not like to hear it, but we are the tenants. We are the stewards, managers, and workers in God’s vineyard. We don’t own the vineyard any more than the tenants in the parable did. Indeed, in truth none of us owns anything. Everything we have has been given to us on short-term loan by God. Everything we think we own has been entrusted to us by God. God expects that we too will produce good fruit with God’s gifts. Just as in the parable, at the end of our lives God will surely ask an accounting of us, judging us by what we have done with God’s resources.
So of what are we the stewards? In church stewardship campaigns, it is common to suggest that we are stewards of our time, talent, and treasure. And indeed we are. God has gifted us with minutes, hours, nights, days, and years, with innumerable talents, and, in this country, with unimaginable economic resources. Yes, we must use God’s gifts of time, talent, and treasure wisely and productively. But I’d like to suggest a form of stewardship that we ignore to our peril, the stewardship of creation. God has given us this good earth, and God has given us the care of everything on it. And what have we done with God’s gifts? Polluted resources, global warming, shrinking rainforests, and overflowing landfills testify to the ways we have trashed God’s gifts. Worse, while so few enjoy so much, so many lack sufficient food and access to clean water. Theologians and scientists rightly shout out, “Beware, we are the wicked tenants.”
Yesterday was the feast day of St Francis of Assisi. A 12th century religious, Francis dedicated his life to living simply without possessions, to serving the poor, and to caring for all creation. The monastic order that bears his name, the parallel order for women, the Poor Clares, and the Third Order of Franciscans for lay associates, all still exist today. Francis’s movement still inspires today’s Christians. Third Order Franciscans in particular embrace a preferential option for the poor, non-violence, and a belief in the sacredness of creation. While one could say much about caring for the poor and speaking out against violence, I’d like to focus on our stewardship of creation, the responsibility that we share with Franciscans to care lovingly for the earth and all its creatures. Are we good stewards of creation in our personal lives? In our corporate lives? Could we all live more simply and less wastefully, so that, by God’s grace, our planet may begin to recover from what we have done to it?
Before you think, “I can’t do anything,” let me say this: big steps are good, but so are small steps. We do need to encourage our elected representatives to support legislation and government agencies that preserve state and national parks, protect the atmosphere, our farmland, and our forests, and clean up devastated rivers, lakes, and streams. But we also need to order our personal lives so that we too take responsibility for healing the vineyard in which we work. To do that, we must be in relationship: in relationship with creation, in relationship with our communities, and in relationship with God.
There are many ways we can foster our relationships with creation, with communities, and with God. I’m going to suggest just a couple of possibilities for each – if you’d like more I’d be happy to provide them. To heal your relationship with creation, identify habits in your life that are not sustainable for the earth and change them. For example, can you take reusable cloth bags when you shop? Can you support local farmers and reduce your consumption of food that has travelled thousands of miles? To strengthen your relationship with the community, can you get involved with an organization that is working for peace or for reduction of gun violence? Can you mentor a child, or teach someone to read? To strengthen your relationship with God, can you take time to be grateful for God’s gifts? If you have a smart phone, consider the app Five Good Things, which encourages you to note five good things about your day. How about pondering the answer to this question: what is the purpose of my life?
Ultimately, everywhere we go we are in God’s vineyard. God provides us the tools, the wisdom, and the means to produce good fruit in God’s vineyard. What we are asked to provide is the will to do what needs to be done to bear good fruit, and the will to work in the vineyard every day. When we renew ourselves at the holy table, and when we remember that we have what we need from God to produce God’s fruits, then we will be God’s faithful and worthy stewards.
We should not be surprised that Jesus chose the image of a vineyard to make a point about good stewardship. The vineyard is a common image in the Hebrew Bible. For example, the book of Proverbs praises a “woman of valor,” by noting that, “She considers a field and buys it; with the fruit of her hands she plants a vineyard” (31:16). Isaiah concludes a prophecy about God’s anger with Israel saying, “For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the people of Judah are his pleasant planting….” (5:7).
What is more important, wine was an important part of the economy of Galilee. Despite the hard work involved in producing wine, even in Jesus’ time, anyone who owned a vineyard and who employed good managers and workers could expect a reasonably profitable product. Here, though, Jesus’ parable does not depict conscientious employees. Rather it depicts employees who deny the vineyard owner his rightful share of the wine. What’s worse, they are so greedy to get control of the production of the vineyard that they kill successive emissaries from the owner. In the end, they kill the owner’s own son, the rightful heir.
We should also not be surprised to learn that this parable occurs in all three Synoptic Gospels. Indeed, in Matthew it is the second of three parables that depict escalating conflict between Jesus and the religious authorities. Last week we heard the first one, the parable of the two sons, and next week we will hear a parable about those who refuse the invitation to enter God’s Realm.
Jesus’ earliest followers recounted these stories, because the church of the first century painfully questioned the relationship between followers of Jesus and the existing Jewish communities. The earliest Christians wondered why the majority of the Jews of their day declined to acknowledge Jesus as the Messiah, why followers of Jesus were unwelcome in synagogues, and why there was often conflict between Jesus’ disciples and leaders of the Jewish communities. Matthew’s version of the story is clearly allegorical. The vineyard is Israel, as in the Hebrew Scriptures, and God is the owner of the vineyard. The owner’s earlier emissaries represent the two groups of prophets, while the son clearly represents Jesus, who is killed through the collusion of the religious leaders and the Roman government. The verdict of the Gospel writer is harsh: old leaders have been replaced by new leaders, the followers of Jesus, the members of the New Israel.
Before we nod our heads in agreement, we need to avoid two mistakes when interpreting this parable. First, we must avoid the temptation of anti-Semitism. Instead, we must remember that only a few self-interested religious and civil leaders were responsible for Jesus’ death. We must also remember that Jesus preached to Jews, healed them, loved them, and was one of them. His first disciples were all Jews, as were most of his earliest followers. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, the God of love graciously incorporates Gentiles into the covenant that God first made with the Jews.
Second, however, we must also avoid thinking that this parable applies only to the time, place, and people to whom it was originally addressed. Scriptures continue to speak to us and contain truths for all times, places, and people. If we think that the parable applies only to first-century Jewish leaders, we’ve missed the point – by a mile – and we turn our backs on the challenge the parable addresses to us.
So what does the allegory in this parable say to us? My friends, we might not like to hear it, but we are the tenants. We are the stewards, managers, and workers in God’s vineyard. We don’t own the vineyard any more than the tenants in the parable did. Indeed, in truth none of us owns anything. Everything we have has been given to us on short-term loan by God. Everything we think we own has been entrusted to us by God. God expects that we too will produce good fruit with God’s gifts. Just as in the parable, at the end of our lives God will surely ask an accounting of us, judging us by what we have done with God’s resources.
So of what are we the stewards? In church stewardship campaigns, it is common to suggest that we are stewards of our time, talent, and treasure. And indeed we are. God has gifted us with minutes, hours, nights, days, and years, with innumerable talents, and, in this country, with unimaginable economic resources. Yes, we must use God’s gifts of time, talent, and treasure wisely and productively. But I’d like to suggest a form of stewardship that we ignore to our peril, the stewardship of creation. God has given us this good earth, and God has given us the care of everything on it. And what have we done with God’s gifts? Polluted resources, global warming, shrinking rainforests, and overflowing landfills testify to the ways we have trashed God’s gifts. Worse, while so few enjoy so much, so many lack sufficient food and access to clean water. Theologians and scientists rightly shout out, “Beware, we are the wicked tenants.”
Yesterday was the feast day of St Francis of Assisi. A 12th century religious, Francis dedicated his life to living simply without possessions, to serving the poor, and to caring for all creation. The monastic order that bears his name, the parallel order for women, the Poor Clares, and the Third Order of Franciscans for lay associates, all still exist today. Francis’s movement still inspires today’s Christians. Third Order Franciscans in particular embrace a preferential option for the poor, non-violence, and a belief in the sacredness of creation. While one could say much about caring for the poor and speaking out against violence, I’d like to focus on our stewardship of creation, the responsibility that we share with Franciscans to care lovingly for the earth and all its creatures. Are we good stewards of creation in our personal lives? In our corporate lives? Could we all live more simply and less wastefully, so that, by God’s grace, our planet may begin to recover from what we have done to it?
Before you think, “I can’t do anything,” let me say this: big steps are good, but so are small steps. We do need to encourage our elected representatives to support legislation and government agencies that preserve state and national parks, protect the atmosphere, our farmland, and our forests, and clean up devastated rivers, lakes, and streams. But we also need to order our personal lives so that we too take responsibility for healing the vineyard in which we work. To do that, we must be in relationship: in relationship with creation, in relationship with our communities, and in relationship with God.
There are many ways we can foster our relationships with creation, with communities, and with God. I’m going to suggest just a couple of possibilities for each – if you’d like more I’d be happy to provide them. To heal your relationship with creation, identify habits in your life that are not sustainable for the earth and change them. For example, can you take reusable cloth bags when you shop? Can you support local farmers and reduce your consumption of food that has travelled thousands of miles? To strengthen your relationship with the community, can you get involved with an organization that is working for peace or for reduction of gun violence? Can you mentor a child, or teach someone to read? To strengthen your relationship with God, can you take time to be grateful for God’s gifts? If you have a smart phone, consider the app Five Good Things, which encourages you to note five good things about your day. How about pondering the answer to this question: what is the purpose of my life?
Ultimately, everywhere we go we are in God’s vineyard. God provides us the tools, the wisdom, and the means to produce good fruit in God’s vineyard. What we are asked to provide is the will to do what needs to be done to bear good fruit, and the will to work in the vineyard every day. When we renew ourselves at the holy table, and when we remember that we have what we need from God to produce God’s fruits, then we will be God’s faithful and worthy stewards.
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