Child of God: A Sermon for 25 September 2011

Christ Church, St. Joseph, La.

Today’s parable from Matthew (21:23-32, NRSV) follows last Sunday’s parable by just a few verses. The Master is still presiding over the vineyard.

In the time of Jesus, wine was drunk with most meals. It was the safest thing to drink. Thus the Master of the vineyard was in the business of providing a major necessity of everyday life.

Today wine is not a major necessity of life, at least not for those of us who have safe drinking water. Yet we value it highly, first because of its role in our sacramental life, but also as a special drink we willingly pay for--sometimes handsomely. So Jesus’ imagery continues to resonate.

Today’s story about the Master’s sons and the vineyard struck close to home for me. Up in Ouachita Parish we are privileged to have a real, honest-to-goodness functioning vineyard. It came about when Hurricane Katrina chased Jeff Landry out of south Louisiana. He found a lovely piece of hilly land west of West Monroe and planted his vines.

Landry’s Vineyard thrives, I believe in part because Jeff’s business plan seems to involve inviting the locals to become part of the family and get hands-on involved in the operation. 

Libby & Jeff Landry, Landry Vineyards, Ouachita Parish

Thus when it is time to pick the grapes, Jeff doesn’t hire a professional crew of grape pickers. Rather, he invites everyone and anyone to come on out on the chosen Saturdays, pick grapes for as long as you want or are able, then return for an evening of festivities that includes wine tasting, of course, plus Louisiana cuisine and live music, and even stomping grapes, if you are so inclined.

Back in late August, I decided to help with the red grape harvest. I even told several friends that I was going to be there come Saturday morning to help pick those grapes. After all, I love red wine!

But, you guessed it: Come Saturday morning, it was hot, hot, hot. I was tired from a week of I don’t remember what…. It just didn’t seem so important to hop out of bed early and go out into the sun, on that steep hillside, among those vines that probably harbored mosquitoes and who knows what all, and pick those grapes. I didn’t show.

We have all been the son or daughter who said “yes,” then didn’t do what we said we would do. For any number of reasons, some good, some not so good, we all at least occasionally agree to do things that we ultimately do not do.

But, you know what? We have also all been the son or daughter who said “no.” No, I don’t have time. No, I have a scheduling conflict. No, I’m no good at that. Etc., etc. Then we thought better of it, or we made some time, or we simply felt guilty, and we went and did what we thought we couldn’t or wouldn’t do.

Moreover, more times than not, we are the son or daughter Jesus doesn’t mention in this story—the one that says “yes”… and then is good to that word. That’s the ideal we uphold, and even though we don’t always achieve it, I’m pretty confident that most of us most of the time are people of our word.

We say “no” only when we must. We say “yes” most of the time, perhaps too often for our own good, and most of the time, we do what we say we’ll do.

So why didn’t Jesus put these ideal children in his story? What is the lesson of this story for us, given that most of us know that on any given day we could be either of these sons, both of whom need an attitude adjustment, but that on most days we strive to be the ideal child who is not in the story?

Perhaps you’ve noticed that I’ve completely passed over, so far, one set of characters who… well, are they part of this story or not? What IS the connection between this story about the Master of the vineyard and his two sons, and these Pharisees standing around questioning Jesus about his authority?

At first blush, there appears to be none. The Pharisees try to trick Jesus. Jesus quickly turns the tables on them. Jesus launches into a story.

We can readily see ourselves in either and both of the sons who insult their father by not being men of their word. But we’re not too upset by that because we also know that we are often the missing ideal child.

But… and here’s where it gets uncomfortable: What if we’re the Pharisees?

Could it be that the Pharisees are those “ideal” children missing from the story? The good church people of the day who strive to be good to their word… but who then forget the times they said “yes” and didn’t show?

The good church people of the day who say “no” because, after all, they have businesses to take care of and a family and lifestyle to maintain, and they really don’t have time to feed the poor and welcome the stranger—who are surely lazy or illegal anyway?

The good church people of the day who become so full of themselves and their many good deeds that they come to think themselves better than all those sinners out there who just can’t seem to get their act together?

The Pharisees in this story stand for us when we are hypocritical and self- righteous, when we forget that we are sinners in need of mercy too.

A drunk man who smelled like beer sat down on a subway seat next to a priest. The man's tie was stained, his face plastered with red lipstick, and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began to read.



After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, 'Say Father, what causes arthritis?'



The priest replied, 'My son, it's caused by loose living, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man, sleeping around with prostitutes and lack of a bath.' 

The drunk muttered, 'Well, I'll be damned,' and returned to his paper.



The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologized. 'I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?'



The drunk answered, 'I don't have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.' (Internet joke, contributed by Edge of the Enclosure)

Those who would enjoy the bounty of the Master’s Vineyard, better get used to rubbing elbows with drunks and prostitutes. For they are variations on Child of God just like you and me, and the Master sees through ALL of our false selves.                                                                    

AMEN

No Way, Jesus: A Sermon for 19 September 2010

Sometimes when I read the words of Jesus, I really wish I could look him in the eye and say, “You’re kidding, right? You don’t really mean that, do you?”

Today’s parable of the dishonest manager (Luke 16:1-13, NRSV) is one of those times. It is hard to know who the hero of this story is supposed to be. Rich men don’t usually fare too well in the stories of Jesus, and although Jesus does not explicitly criticize this one, he does not exactly hold him up to us as a model either.

Besides, we tend to see ourselves as much more on the level of the manager. But Jesus defines the manager as dishonest from the beginning. To make matters worse, we then see the manager showing even more of his true colors—afraid of work, too proud to beg—and cheating his master further to save his own skin. No hero there, it seems.

But just when we think Jesus is surely going to level the conniver with a stern command, on the order of “pay back not just what you owe, but more than you owe,” Jesus commends him instead.. for acting shrewdly! Come on, Jesus, no way!

Like most preachers, I keep at hand a variety of aids to consult when preparing sermons. This particular story is acknowledged by many to be Jesus’ most difficult parable. In fact, two of my sources copped out completely. They advised preaching today on the Old Testament or Epistle lessons instead.

Another source went into mind-numbing detail to explain that the manager was following ancient Judaic money-lending practices, and therefore really did nothing wrong. In other words, they sanitized the story, making the manager’s behavior sound righteous after all.

But if that’s the case, why didn’t Jesus and Luke tell the story that way? I’m sure they both knew ancient Judaic money-lending practices perfectly well!

Another source—a Baptist preacher from Australia who calls his website Laughing Bird—offered two sermons he has preached on this text. And in them, I found something more helpful. He understands this parable to be part of a larger theme in Jesus’ teaching and in Scripture as a whole, namely the notion that God can use anything—even less than honorable behavior like that of the dishonest manager—to teach us something.

And what can the shrewd manager teach us? How about that we should put just as much thought and energy and dedication into developing our spiritual lives as we do into creating financial security for our selves and our offspring?

Perhaps Jesus is saying, 'Just because you are children of light does not mean that you have to be naive, unsophisticated and unwise. Be clever, be smart, be far-sighted, but put that level of intention and energy into your spiritual life, into serving God first.'

Have you ever heard yourself say to a teenager, “If you spent half as much time and energy cleaning your room, or doing your homework, as you do in procrastinating, you would be done in no time”?

As a teacher, I have also observed students investing great energy and effort into figuring out the exact minimum effort they have to put into getting a passing grade. And I have often said to them, “If you just directed that energy and commitment to studying, or doing the assignment, your grade would take care of itself!”

(By the way, they almost never believe me!)

I think that is part of the lesson of this story. Invest the shrewdness of the dishonest manager into your relationship with God, and other things, earthly things, will take care of themselves. Your relationship with God is the “true riches,” and from the true riches, other riches will flow, like trusting and faithful relationships with each other.

But I have one more lesson to offer from this parable, and that is the lesson of forgiveness. The Gospel according to Luke is full of stories of radical forgiveness, and this is not the only one that gives us pause.

Consider, for example, the prodigal son. We would really prefer the faithful son to be the hero of that story, rather than the son who squanders everything then is lavishly welcomed home when he has exhausted all his resources. We want the father to at least scold the prodigal son and make him ask for forgiveness! But the father doesn’t and we feel the faithful son’s sense of injury.

Likewise in today’s story, we would probably feel better if the master at least chastised the dishonest manager, made him grovel a bit, before commending him for shrewdness. But the master, which is to say Jesus representing God, doesn’t do that. He just says, “Way to go, oh shrewd one!”

And then to his disciples, who were no doubt standing there feeling superior to the dishonest manager, he says, “And all of you, you just might want to take a lesson from this guy.” Ouch!

The story of salvation according to Luke is a story of absolute forgiveness. The prodigal son and the dishonest servant parables are just two examples. Luke’s understanding of God’s forgiveness is particularly welcome—and radical—news to those of us who grew up hearing only about the anger and wrath and judgment of God.

I am not trying to suggest that God never judges and I do believe there will be a judgment day. But I do mean to suggest that—at least since the cross of Jesus Christ—God seeks first and constantly to bring us back into the fold, to draw us back into relationship, with forgiveness and love.

One of the online sermon resources I consult from time to time is a website called Edge of the Enclosure maintained by an Episcopal priest. She also prefers to see the dishonest servant story through the lens of God’s forgiveness. “Only God,” she says, “could appreciate the gifts of the consummate con-man in such a way as the master does in this story.”

Last week Fr. George described how a trained sheep dog works a flock of sheep, not by barking madly every time they stray—which would surely frighten and scatter the sheep. Rather, the sheep dog watches with a keen eye for the sheep to head in a wrong direction, then runs like crazy to lie down in front of them, thereby gently guiding them back in the way they ought to go.

God, too, is quite capable of barking, and sometimes we wish He would—at someone else's shortcomings! But in this parable, Jesus does not bark. He runs like crazy and lays down in a useful place.

God would have us be honest. But if the best we can do on any given day is “shrewd,” God will accept “shrewd,” and use it to love us and forgive us back into the fold.  

AMEN