For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, "You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right." So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o'clock, he did the same. And about five o'clock he went out and found others standing around; and said to them, "Why are you standing idle all day?" They said to him, "Because no one has hired us." He said to them, "You also go into the vineyard." When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, "Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first." When those hired about five o'clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, "These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat. But he replied to one of them, "Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?" So the last will be first, and the first will be last.
--Matthew 20:1-16, New Revised Standard Version
(with thanks to Sue Kravits for the meme)
If you're a fan of the filmmaker John Sayles, then you surely know the movie "Matewan," which was about the attempt to unionize coal miners in Matewan, West Virginia in 1920. The film is narrated by fifteen-year-old Danny Radnor. At this young age Danny is already a coal miner, and he's a part-time Baptist preacher. From time to time he preaches at both of the Baptist churches in his small town: the Hard Shell Baptist and the Soft Shell Baptist.
One night Danny is preaching at the Hard Shell Baptist Church. He reads the same parable that we just read, the Parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard. Now, by way of background you should know that Danny's father was killed in a mining accident, and Danny is hoping that the coal miners in his town will be able to get the union so that they can press for safer practices and better pay. However, the pastor of the Hard Shell Baptist Church (played by John Sayles in cameo) believes that the union organizers are all communists and agents of Satan!
In this particular scene Danny reads the parable from the pulpit while the Hard Shell pastor sits in the chancel and looks over Danny's shoulder. Danny finishes reading the parable, and then he says, "Now, it's clear from this parable that Jesus ain't heard nothin' about the union! Cuz if he had, he'd of changed his tune! He'd say everyone should get the same dollar for the same work!" And that's about as far as Danny got with his sermon before the Hard Shell pastor chased him out of the pulpit!
When we hear this parable, we're tempted to think that there are all kinds of things that Jesus ain't heard nothing about.
Has Jesus ever been to college, for instance? Apparently Jesus doesn't understand that if you're taking a university-level course that you simply cannot ditch class the entire semester, fail to turn in any work whatsoever, play hooky on the day of the midterm, and then show up on the last day of classes and announce that you'd like full credit for the course! That's not how it works.
Also, Jesus apparently has never stood in line at King Kone on a summer's evening. That bit about the "last will be first, and the first will be last" is never going to play well with those at the front of the line who have already been waiting patiently for their ice cream.
Perhaps the cruelest part of the parable is when those who were hired first were made to wait at the end of the line to get their pay. They had bargained for the usual daily wage--a "denarius" in the Greek--in other words, just enough money to provide for their needs for that one day. They watch as the others get paid, and they see that those who were hired last, who only worked one hour, also got the full, usual daily wage--a denarius. And then they brighten up, because all of a sudden, it's no longer a denarius for a day's work; it's now one denarius per hour! Thus, those who have worked the full twelve-hour day can now expect to be paid twelve denarii! (Barbara Brown Taylor imagines a similar scene in her sermon titled, "Beginning at the End").
Automatically, they start calculating everything that twelve denarii will buy. Some of them are planning vacations. Others, who are more prudent, are planning on how they can pay off their credit cards and medical bills. Maybe they'll even have a little left over to put into savings. And, of course, before they even reach the manager and receive their paycheck, those twelve denarii have already been spent! Imagine their profound disappointment when they, too, only receive the usual daily wage. Yes, it was what they bargained for. But it's fundamentally unfair that those who worked only one hour would get paid the same as those who worked three, six, nine, or twelve hours.
Later, when the vineyard owner asks, "Are you envious because I am generous?" The answer is "You bet we are!" That's the PG-rated answer at any rate. It's probably not appropriate for me to quote the profanity-laced answer, but who wouldn't be tempted to swear at an employer who pulled such shenanigans!?
Are you envious because I am generous? You bet we are. Of course, we are!
Perhaps it is the inherent unfairness that upsets us the most. Like Danny Radnor, we believe that every worker should get the same dollar for the same amount of work.
Others of us may be okay with the unfairness, as long as we are the beneficiaries of the unfair practices. We might not want to admit that out loud, but, as Calvinists, we shouldn't be surprised either!
Have you ever seen that bumper sticker: "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite"? Yes, if there is going to be a favored group, then most of us would prefer to be in that favored group.
Some of you may recall the Academy-award winning film "Amadeus." It was based on Peter Shaffer's play of the same name. The action of the play centers on the bitter, intense rivalry between Antonio Salieri, an 18th century Italian composer who was living in Vienna, and his nemesis, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. As Salieri tells us, Salieri himself was a virtuous, hard-working man. From his boyhood Salieri only wanted to compose music. As a teenage, Salieri slipped into a church and made a bargain with God; he would write God glorious music, and God would grant him fame and fortune in return. As the play begins, it would appear that both Salieri and God have kept their respective ends of the bargain. Salieri is writing church music, and he has indeed become a succesful and admired composer.
Then we meet Mozart, who as a child prodigy had composed his first symphony at the age of five. In the play Mozart is portrayed as a vulgar, notorious womanizer, who is also tactless, arrogant, rude, irreverent, and musically talented beyond imagination.
Salieri has worked hard to compose beautiful music, but Mozart does so effortlessly. The music flows from Mozart as if by grace. Salieri himself believes that Mozart's music flows directly from God, that Mozart is indeed Amadeus, a name that means "beloved of God." Yes, it's true that Salieri received the acclaim he had bargained for, but nothing near the fame and renown that Mozart would enjoy.
Are you envious because I am generous? Well, yes, if you're name is Salieri, you most certainly are! We can imagine Salieri standing at the back of the line, stewing in bitterness.
The way that Jesus teaches the parable forces the listeners to imagine themselves at the end of the line as well. All of us watch together as those who worked less hours than we did get paid the same exact wage that we were promised.
My friend and mentor Patrick Willson, a retired Presbyterian pastor, speculates that Jesus told the parable this way because Jesus wants us to view the action from the back of the line, so that we can see what is happening with everyone else. (see comments by Patrick J. Willson in Feasting on the Gospels. I am also indebted to Patrick for the reference to Peter Shaffer's play "Amadeus").
We all have a tendency to be too wrapped up in ourselves, to see everything that we receive as something we're entitled to. This is true even in the church, even among those of us who ought to know that we have received we have received through mercy and not merit. But even in the church we often look through the lens of entitlement. In one of the churches I served there was a dear saint of the church who had been a part of that congregation for forty years, and one day she confided in me that she still felt like the new kid on the block. With seniority comes entitlement, those of us who have stood around a little longer, who have been in this line a little or even a lot longer, expect more.
But as we watch from the end of the line as everyone else gets paid first, when we have honest conversations with one another, we can begin to see the goodness and mercy of God toward others.
That question, are you envious because I am generous, could be translated, "Is your eye evil because I am good?" Earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus has said that the eye is the lamp of the body. We know, of course, that our eyes are receptors of light, which falls on the retina, which sends signals to the brain via the optic nerve, and then the brain interprets what the eyes see. But in the ancient world, in Jesus' day, the eye was understood to be a lamp that emits light. Thus, what you would see would depend entirely on what was already inside of you. (see comments by Thomas G. Long in Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion series).
To the extent that you are full of bitterness, you will see people and situations that make you feel even more bitter.
To the extent that you are full of gratitude, you will see people and situations that make you feel even more grateful.
So, what do we see from our vantage point at the end of the line? Perhaps we still see the fundamental unfairness of paying everyone the same wage for different amounts of work. But, if we look carefully from our vantage point, we can see signs of God's goodness and mercy.
We might see, for instance, that some of those who worked only one hour had spent the entire day in the marketplace worried sick that no had hired them. The twelve-hour workers were quick to point out that they had worked all that time in the hot sun, but which is worse?: to toil the entire time in the vineyard knowing that you're assured the usual daily wage at the end, or to spend the entire day in the marketplace, also under a hot sun, fretting that you won't find any work and won't have any pay at the end of the day? And if you had spent most of the day in the marketplace, imagine your relief when someone finally does hire you for that last hour, and to your utter amazement, you end up receiving the full, usual daily wage, which you desperately need to provide for your family. Surely, that would be an example of God's goodness and mercy.
Yet from our vantage point at the end of the line we might also see that some of the others who were hred last had indeed fritted the whole day away and didn't show up at the marketplace until the very last minute. In that instance we might insist that they don't deserve the full daily wage, but from our vantage point we can see other situations in which people have received mercy that they did not deserve. And if we look especially carefully, we will see how we ourselves have received mercies that we did not deserve.
If we begrudge others the mercies they have received which they did not deserve, then what should we say about the mercies that we have received which we did not deserve?
Preacher and writer Tom Long has a wonderful image that helped me unlock the riddle of this parable. Imagine that you, along with everyone else, are standing in a downpour, getting utterly drenched in God's mercy. Rivers of peace are flowing down your cheeks and everyone else's cheeks as well. Do you then complain that you're not getting your fair share of the rain? (from Thomas G. Long's Matthew commentary).
A friend of mine went to a very competitive medical school. The air was thick with spirit of competition. One day, as it neared the time that residencies would be announced and the anxiety about how everyone measured up seemed particularly acute, one of their professors interrupted his own lecture, looked out over the class, and asked, "Do you know what they call the person who graduates dead last in this program?"
"Doctor!"
Well, what do you suppose they call the person who is dead last in the kingdom of heaven?
A beloved child of God.
All glory and praise be to our God. Amen.
When we hear this parable, we're tempted to think that there are all kinds of things that Jesus ain't heard nothing about.
Has Jesus ever been to college, for instance? Apparently Jesus doesn't understand that if you're taking a university-level course that you simply cannot ditch class the entire semester, fail to turn in any work whatsoever, play hooky on the day of the midterm, and then show up on the last day of classes and announce that you'd like full credit for the course! That's not how it works.
Also, Jesus apparently has never stood in line at King Kone on a summer's evening. That bit about the "last will be first, and the first will be last" is never going to play well with those at the front of the line who have already been waiting patiently for their ice cream.
Perhaps the cruelest part of the parable is when those who were hired first were made to wait at the end of the line to get their pay. They had bargained for the usual daily wage--a "denarius" in the Greek--in other words, just enough money to provide for their needs for that one day. They watch as the others get paid, and they see that those who were hired last, who only worked one hour, also got the full, usual daily wage--a denarius. And then they brighten up, because all of a sudden, it's no longer a denarius for a day's work; it's now one denarius per hour! Thus, those who have worked the full twelve-hour day can now expect to be paid twelve denarii! (Barbara Brown Taylor imagines a similar scene in her sermon titled, "Beginning at the End").
Automatically, they start calculating everything that twelve denarii will buy. Some of them are planning vacations. Others, who are more prudent, are planning on how they can pay off their credit cards and medical bills. Maybe they'll even have a little left over to put into savings. And, of course, before they even reach the manager and receive their paycheck, those twelve denarii have already been spent! Imagine their profound disappointment when they, too, only receive the usual daily wage. Yes, it was what they bargained for. But it's fundamentally unfair that those who worked only one hour would get paid the same as those who worked three, six, nine, or twelve hours.
Later, when the vineyard owner asks, "Are you envious because I am generous?" The answer is "You bet we are!" That's the PG-rated answer at any rate. It's probably not appropriate for me to quote the profanity-laced answer, but who wouldn't be tempted to swear at an employer who pulled such shenanigans!?
Are you envious because I am generous? You bet we are. Of course, we are!
Perhaps it is the inherent unfairness that upsets us the most. Like Danny Radnor, we believe that every worker should get the same dollar for the same amount of work.
Others of us may be okay with the unfairness, as long as we are the beneficiaries of the unfair practices. We might not want to admit that out loud, but, as Calvinists, we shouldn't be surprised either!
Have you ever seen that bumper sticker: "Jesus loves you, but I'm his favorite"? Yes, if there is going to be a favored group, then most of us would prefer to be in that favored group.
Some of you may recall the Academy-award winning film "Amadeus." It was based on Peter Shaffer's play of the same name. The action of the play centers on the bitter, intense rivalry between Antonio Salieri, an 18th century Italian composer who was living in Vienna, and his nemesis, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. As Salieri tells us, Salieri himself was a virtuous, hard-working man. From his boyhood Salieri only wanted to compose music. As a teenage, Salieri slipped into a church and made a bargain with God; he would write God glorious music, and God would grant him fame and fortune in return. As the play begins, it would appear that both Salieri and God have kept their respective ends of the bargain. Salieri is writing church music, and he has indeed become a succesful and admired composer.
Then we meet Mozart, who as a child prodigy had composed his first symphony at the age of five. In the play Mozart is portrayed as a vulgar, notorious womanizer, who is also tactless, arrogant, rude, irreverent, and musically talented beyond imagination.
Salieri has worked hard to compose beautiful music, but Mozart does so effortlessly. The music flows from Mozart as if by grace. Salieri himself believes that Mozart's music flows directly from God, that Mozart is indeed Amadeus, a name that means "beloved of God." Yes, it's true that Salieri received the acclaim he had bargained for, but nothing near the fame and renown that Mozart would enjoy.
Are you envious because I am generous? Well, yes, if you're name is Salieri, you most certainly are! We can imagine Salieri standing at the back of the line, stewing in bitterness.
The way that Jesus teaches the parable forces the listeners to imagine themselves at the end of the line as well. All of us watch together as those who worked less hours than we did get paid the same exact wage that we were promised.
My friend and mentor Patrick Willson, a retired Presbyterian pastor, speculates that Jesus told the parable this way because Jesus wants us to view the action from the back of the line, so that we can see what is happening with everyone else. (see comments by Patrick J. Willson in Feasting on the Gospels. I am also indebted to Patrick for the reference to Peter Shaffer's play "Amadeus").
We all have a tendency to be too wrapped up in ourselves, to see everything that we receive as something we're entitled to. This is true even in the church, even among those of us who ought to know that we have received we have received through mercy and not merit. But even in the church we often look through the lens of entitlement. In one of the churches I served there was a dear saint of the church who had been a part of that congregation for forty years, and one day she confided in me that she still felt like the new kid on the block. With seniority comes entitlement, those of us who have stood around a little longer, who have been in this line a little or even a lot longer, expect more.
But as we watch from the end of the line as everyone else gets paid first, when we have honest conversations with one another, we can begin to see the goodness and mercy of God toward others.
That question, are you envious because I am generous, could be translated, "Is your eye evil because I am good?" Earlier in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus has said that the eye is the lamp of the body. We know, of course, that our eyes are receptors of light, which falls on the retina, which sends signals to the brain via the optic nerve, and then the brain interprets what the eyes see. But in the ancient world, in Jesus' day, the eye was understood to be a lamp that emits light. Thus, what you would see would depend entirely on what was already inside of you. (see comments by Thomas G. Long in Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion series).
"The eye is the lamp of the body"
Oil lamp typical of the first century.
To the extent that you are full of bitterness, you will see people and situations that make you feel even more bitter.
To the extent that you are full of gratitude, you will see people and situations that make you feel even more grateful.
So, what do we see from our vantage point at the end of the line? Perhaps we still see the fundamental unfairness of paying everyone the same wage for different amounts of work. But, if we look carefully from our vantage point, we can see signs of God's goodness and mercy.
We might see, for instance, that some of those who worked only one hour had spent the entire day in the marketplace worried sick that no had hired them. The twelve-hour workers were quick to point out that they had worked all that time in the hot sun, but which is worse?: to toil the entire time in the vineyard knowing that you're assured the usual daily wage at the end, or to spend the entire day in the marketplace, also under a hot sun, fretting that you won't find any work and won't have any pay at the end of the day? And if you had spent most of the day in the marketplace, imagine your relief when someone finally does hire you for that last hour, and to your utter amazement, you end up receiving the full, usual daily wage, which you desperately need to provide for your family. Surely, that would be an example of God's goodness and mercy.
Yet from our vantage point at the end of the line we might also see that some of the others who were hred last had indeed fritted the whole day away and didn't show up at the marketplace until the very last minute. In that instance we might insist that they don't deserve the full daily wage, but from our vantage point we can see other situations in which people have received mercy that they did not deserve. And if we look especially carefully, we will see how we ourselves have received mercies that we did not deserve.
If we begrudge others the mercies they have received which they did not deserve, then what should we say about the mercies that we have received which we did not deserve?
Preacher and writer Tom Long has a wonderful image that helped me unlock the riddle of this parable. Imagine that you, along with everyone else, are standing in a downpour, getting utterly drenched in God's mercy. Rivers of peace are flowing down your cheeks and everyone else's cheeks as well. Do you then complain that you're not getting your fair share of the rain? (from Thomas G. Long's Matthew commentary).
A friend of mine went to a very competitive medical school. The air was thick with spirit of competition. One day, as it neared the time that residencies would be announced and the anxiety about how everyone measured up seemed particularly acute, one of their professors interrupted his own lecture, looked out over the class, and asked, "Do you know what they call the person who graduates dead last in this program?"
"Doctor!"
Well, what do you suppose they call the person who is dead last in the kingdom of heaven?
A beloved child of God.
All glory and praise be to our God. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment