A Sermon by Benjamin J. Newland
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20
Psalm 19
Philippians 3:4b-14
Matthew 21:33-46
Another story about a vineyard; another story about Jesus fooling the Chief Priests and the Pharisees. You would think that as the most popular political party of the day the Pharisees would have something better to do than sit around listening to tales of wine production. Or if they didn’t have anything better to do, then you’d think that they’d have figured out by now that Jesus was telling jokes of which they were the butt. Apparently not, for once again these figures of religious authority are the straight men of this comedy routine.
This vineyard story is not so confusing as the one we had two weeks ago. There are not multiple groups of laborers hired at different times and the resultantly confusing pay scale. No, there is only one group of tenants this week, and the point of the story is very much in your face.
Here’s the cast of characters: The owner of the vineyard, who builds and equips it. The tenants of the vineyard who work it. The slaves of the owner, who come to collect the wine and are beaten up for their trouble. And finally, the son of the owner who also tries to collect but is killed.
Every parable has at least three layers to it. There’s the top layer of what it says. Then there’s the underneath layer of what it means. Then there’s an even further underneath layer of what it means to us.
Like most of Jesus’ parables, this one doesn’t make the most sense on that top layer. What owner would put up with tenants who wouldn’t pay what they owed and beat up the guys he sent to collect? What tenants would be so insane as to imagine that they might inherit the vineyard itself after they’d murdered the owner’s son? It is possible to read this upper layer of the parable as a critique of an agricultural system that was inherently unfair: paying all the profits into the account of an absentee landlord while leaving the tenant farmers without enough to live on so that they fell into debt and became slaves instead of tenants. Jesus probably meant that criticism, actually, and this may have been why the Pharisees and chief priests didn’t see the punch line coming their way.
That punch line comes from the next layer down. Under the surface meaning, all the characters have different identities. The owner and builder of the vineyard is God, of course, while the vineyard itself is the earth God has made and left us in charge of. That makes the tenants of the vineyard those Chief Priests and Pharisees that are listening to the story. The slaves sent to collect the fruit of the vineyard (no longer simply wine, but something else that God wants the earth to produce) are the prophets and other holy people who we have a habit of ignoring (or worse). The son is now the Son with a capital “S”, none other than Jesus who tells this parable.
The meaning of the parable at this level is, as I mentioned earlier, very much in your face. “God made the world,” says Jesus, “then he left you people in charge. You beat up and ignore those he sends to see how it’s going, and now you are going to kill his Son in hopes of keeping more for yourselves. How do you think God is going to feel about that?” The Chief Priests and Pharisees, who still think Jesus is talking about wine, correctly reach the conclusion that God is going to be very upset indeed, and is going to throw out those lousy tenants, if he doesn’t kill them first.
“Exactly,” says Jesus. And then, belatedly, they realize the story isn’t about grapes and wine after all, but about them.
It’s always fun when Jesus zings the Pharisees, isn’t it? Fun, that is, until we get to that pesky third layer of meaning where we have to figure out what the parable means to us. In order to do that, we have to put ourselves into the parable, and inevitably we fit right into the slot the Pharisees were sitting in. Who would you like to be, a Chief Priest, or a Pharisee? Take your pick, because Jesus has the same thing to say to you regardless:
“God made this world,” he begins, “and God filled it with everything you’d need, not just to survive, but to thrive. And God has sent messengers to you to check on your progress. Call them prophets, apostles, or martyrs, or just call them the great human beings of each generation—whatever you call them you’ve largely ignored them (or worse). Now. How do you think God is going to react when he comes to collect the ‘Fruit of the Kingdom’ and all you’ve got to show him is a luxury car you bought on credit before the economy tanked?”
Not good, right?
“Fruits of the Kingdom” is admittedly a pretty vague phrase, so it’s hard to be perfectly clear about what exactly God will be wanting to collect from us. Yet while we can’t be too exact, I bet we can get awfully close. God seems to be pretty into Justice and Mercy, for example. How much of that have we got to show for our labors here in this vineyard? How much of that can we offer to God when he comes to check in on us tenants?
Our theme for this final week of the Stewardship Drive is “Visionary Giving”. A month and a half ago I thought this was a great idea because I could talk about some of the long term plans we’d like to make around here. It’s easy to get into a year-by-year mindset when you’re running an operation almost entirely on donations. Yet there are things we’d like to do that take more than a year to accomplish. Adding a parking lot and building a new organ were specific challenges I mentioned last year at the annual meeting.
After reading Janet Nielsen’s essay for last Friday’s The eClarion, I have come to realize that visionary giving is about more than just these kinds of multiple year projects. Visionary giving is acknowledging that what we do here at Christ Episcopal Church of Puyallup is about more than just us. Visionary giving is recognizing that we are tenants in a vineyard that we did not equip, and that we do not own. Visionary giving is admitting that we are supporting a mission we do not quite understand—that we are working towards a Kingdom that we cannot quite grasp.
I may be leaving the realm of theological responsibility by saying this, but I think it is significant that those original tenants up there on the surface level of meaning of our parable were working to produce wine. They weren’t making moldy bread and water over there; they were producing a beverage that, at its best, not only induces pleasant sensations on the taste buds but also facilitates happiness and celebration. What I think that means is that down here on meaning level three we are not being asked to give a little bit more just to survive. We are being asked to give abundantly that we might thrive, and celebrate life. AMEN.
ben | 
10 31st, 2008| 
