Scripture: Matthew 20:1-16; 1 Corinthians 15:55; Romans 8:38-39
Preached the Sunday before Lent on the parable of the laborers in the vineyard (Matthew 20:1-16). Opening with a Big Bend story of giving an Alaskan fisherman a ride and her plan for wilderness counseling, the sermon argues that shared hard labor builds trust and community. The parable only ‘makes sense’ through grace, not finite wages: workers are drawn together for a purpose beyond pay, into a beloved community. A second reading, via Bach’s cantata on the hymn ‘Wer weiss wie nahe mir mein Ende,’ treats the parable as an allegory of human life and confronts mortality. Drawing on Terry Eagleton, the sermon contrasts shallow optimism with Christian hope rooted in the risen Christ and his blood, hope that can stare death down (‘O death, where is thy sting?’).
Illustrations: big-bend-alaska-fisherman, construction-mission-trip-dads, bach-cantata-wer-weiss, eagleton-optimism-vs-hope
February 4, 2024
For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire labourers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the labourers 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 market-place; 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 he said to them, “Why are you standing here 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 labourers 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 with me 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
Right after Christmas, my family went out to Big Bend. We were camping by the river. We took the back roads to camp by the river. I’ve been to Big Bend maybe 20 times in my life. Almost every single time we go to the Chisos Mountains, the central part of the park. This area is gorgeous, I love it. This mountain range in the middle of a desert where there’s maple trees and springs and these special Sierra Del Carmen deer
Since we hadn’t spent much time by the river, that was the main focus of this trip. And so we went down and camped by the river. It’s pretty, pretty low flowing in Big Bend and it was very cold, but it was beautiful. It was fun. We went to the hot springs by the river. The next day, we drove deep into the park and got to camp right next to the bend in the river, the bend in the Rio Grande, where it changes from going southeast to then start going northeast. We were able to camp right there. Mexico was a hundred feet away. The boys swam and kayaked in the river. On our way back of there was a bicycle in the road, a woman on the bicycle. We pulled over to let her pass. Instead of passing, though, she waved me down and actually asked “Hey, can I have a ride?”
We looked at each other and said, “Sure, hop on in.” We had the space. And so we put her bike in the back and took her on the dirt road about 10 miles east towards the main road where her car was. She didn’t want go all the way. While chatting, while visiting, and trying to be cordial, and we discovered that she’s from Alaska and is a fisherman. We even talked about the terminology. One of us asked, “why don’t you call yourself a fisher woman?” She said that it’s just easier as a fisherman. The industry is almost 90% men, but there’s another few women who own their boats. And said that they were all fine with the term and that they could handle themselves out in the water. Even more interesting, she then went on to say that she has a master’s degree in counseling, and her goal is to set up a wilderness counseling service of like working on a boat. Because doing something hard together is a way to open up. People who are often emotionally shut off, who won’t say three words to you at a party, will tell you their life story if you’re putting on a roof together or climbing a mountain together. I haven’t really worked on boats, but I assume it’s the kind of same thing. When you’re doing something difficult with another person, you can see a lot of their character. You can build trust very quickly. It doesn’t take long to see whether or not someone is a hard worker or worthy of respect. It doesn’t take long to see if someone will do what they say they’re going to do. If you meet someone you don’t know out and about or at a friend’s house or at a Super Bowl party, it’s hard to judge what kind of person they are, or how much time you should put in to get to know them. If you meet someone on a therapist couch, it may be hard to open up.
When she mentioned this idea, it made me think about these moments in my life where I was on construction mission trips and where these rough dads who were most often very introverted, very focused on the work at hand, moving roofing tiles around, would open up and share about their life and share not just like the good things, not just their lessons about how to be a man, but their failures, their mistakes, their fears.
Jesus tells the parable of the laborers in the vineyard near the end of his ministry, we’re getting closer to Jerusalem. There are workers who are hired to do a job. They’re told that they will be given a wage. A little later, more workers are hired. a little later, more workers are hired. A little later, more workers are hired. Near the end of the day, another set of workers are hired. Then, the manager gives out the wages. The last are given a denari, the second to last, a denarii. All the way down. The first ones, the ones who’ve been there all day, the ones who put in a 12 hour shift, are given the denarii. And it does not seem fair. According to the laws of this world, it’s basically wage theft. In a world where workers paid by the hour, one puts in a 12 hour shift, one puts in a one hour shift. They’re given the same wage. It seems like it’s a really cheap master trying to keep all the profits for himself. Don’t put yourself in the position of the manager, but the worker.
If the goal is just the wage, it doesn’t make sense. If the wage is something finite, it doesn’t make sense. Instead, if the goal is seen as the community gathered together both now and eternally, there’s a different sort of logic going on. If the goal is a wage that is infinite, that cannot be contained, there’s a lot more going on. When the workers came to the vineyard, they weren’t silent robots in the field. They were building up something because they were doing something together. Now, just the fact that hard work builds up community isn’t a justification for exploitative practices. I mean, we shouldn’t exploit people in any sense of the word. People deserve to live with dignity. If we’re holding on to these finite ideas, the whole parable doesn’t really make sense. And it’s important for us to realize it doesn’t make sense. In the same way, it doesn’t make sense to love your enemies. It doesn’t make sense, apart from grace, to love your enemies. It doesn’t make sense, apart from grace, to work in the field for 12 hours and only get one denari. It only makes sense because of grace. It only makes sense because of who Jesus is, because of who this master is. And we are drawn together for a purpose beyond the wage. As laborers in the field, some have been there for a while, and some have just showed up, but we all serve our master in heaven and we are all better for having each other. And some of us open up because of it. We can share our hopes and fears, our weaknesses and frailties, because we have been called to a beloved community that lifts each other up, whether we have been here thirty years or three weeks.
There is another meaning to this parable, which is often lost today. It has to do with the inevitability of death for us all. It is another topic that is hard to speak of. What is our comfort with mortality?
The lutheran hymn, wer weiß wie nahe mir mein ende, which means “Who knows how close my end is to me!” was written by a German countess in the late 17th century. Even fifty years after the ravages of the 30 years war, Europe was still recovering and death was present and visible for the rich and poor alike.
The words are stark and do not sound like any modern praise song.
Who knows how close my end is to me! There goes the side, here comes death. Oh, how fast and agile can come my death! My God, I pray through the blood of Christ, just do it well with my end!
The piece the choir sang was written by Johan Sebastian Bach for this Sunday in his Cantata cycle. He connected the last verse of the hymn with the passage from Matthew about the workers. It is a common reading of this parable to be an allegory of the human life. Some find Jesus early in life, some late in life, but we all receive the amazing treasure of his love (no matter how long we have worked) because it is freely given and not earned.
The verse Bach set is as follows:
I live meanwhile in thee contented and die, all troubles laid aside; sufficient is what my God gives me, of this I am in faith convinced, Through thy dear grace and Christ’s own blood, mak’st thou mine own life’s finish good.
Lent begins in less than two weeks. We will have an Ash Wednesday service at noon and 7 and we will have the chance to hear these stark words: remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.
The world often tells us to be optimistic. Jesus doesn’t give us optimism. Jesus gives us hope.
As Terry Eagleton writes,
“Since the truth is often enough unpleasant, it must be trumped by the unflinching will. It is a vein of optimism not easy to distinguish from mental illness. Cheerfulness of this kind is a form of psychological disavowal. For all its square-jawed vigor, it is really a moral evasion. It is the enemy of hope, which is necessary precisely because one is able to confess how grave a situation is”
Hope lets us look at mortality it tragedy with clear eyes because hope does not rest in ourselves or our circumstances but in our risen savior.
It is a hope that can handle the truth. A hope deeper than passing fancies. A hope which rests, as the hymn author repeats over and over, a hope which rests on the blood of Jesus Christ and can withstand the reality of our mortality. The reality that whether we joined the labor early or late, the gift of life is offered to us.
May you find comfort in Christ’s promise. And if you do not feel that comfort, seek Christ’s peace. You are loved. You are forgiven. You are offered life here and now. You are offered life eternal, abundant so that our mortality need not be anything to cause fear.
The point of life is not to avoid death. We don’t need to avoid death as some people avoid talking about their emotions. In Christ, we are offered life that can stare death in the face and say, O death, where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?
Let us pray, Heavenly Father, thank you for the gift of life beyond death. Thank you for the peace that passes understanding. Help us to live as those who are prepared to die. And when our days here are accomplished, enable us to die as those who go forth to live, so that living or dying, our life may be in you, and that nothing in life or in death will be able to separate us from your great love, In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.