Matthew 20:1-16
09.20.2020
It was one of those days. You know the kind. The kind where you don’t really want to get out of bed. Maybe your spouse is curled up next to you in that way that only y’all can fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. Maybe you had stayed up well into the evening, frolicking, hanging out with friends on the front porch enjoying the last few days of an Indian summer, maybe it was just your own thoughts that had you looking out into the waves of the sea, or the darkness of the sky. Maybe you had seen a shooting star that evening. A huge one, dissecting the whole of the firmament, and you had relived that moment over and over again instead of going to bed. In any case, you didn’t really want to be up this morning, and yet when the first light of the sun began to cause wisps of pink and orange to gradually appear in the eastern sky, you drug yourself out of bed. You had to. It had been a long time since you had managed to get picked up by one of the wealthy landowners who came down to the marketplace each day about this time to sign up a crew of day laborers to toil over the land. It had been a long time and let’s be honest, life doesn’t pay for itself, right? I mean, you have a family to support. A mortgage, food to procure for your hungry kids, maybe one day you could get a little ahead. Nothing crazy. You are after all, a worker and workers aren’t really allowed to enjoy anything that resembles financial security, but maybe you could, if you let yourself, you could daydream about a time in which scarcity did not determine the path that your life would take. And it was in that daydream, that hope, that light in the tunnel that sits just outside your reach that keeps you going. So, as with everyday, you drug yourself out of bed. And as you make your way to the marketplace, you slowly repeat the mantra that has gotten you through the lean times, where no one wanted to hire you. You slowly told yourself that this was going to be the day when you were going to be picked by one of the wealthy landowners. This was going to be the day when you toiled all day in the warm sun of harvesting season so that at the end of it, you could line up with all your other co-workers and take that which you had earned. No one could accuse you of not earning exactly what you were being paid. And as you let your wages slide from one hand to the next, you would begin to think about rushing home to show your family your hard earned money. You picture the pride in the eyes of your children, the ones that you would give everything you had to protect, to take care of. You think about the way your spouse might look over at you. That look of love mixed with a slight measure of excitement. That look that may still, in some small measure, display the fear of what the next day might bring but for now, for this one moment, some degree of security is found. So,
as you reach the marketplace to take your place alongside the rest of your other family—that collection of men who just like you find themselves on the razor between making it and not, those with whom your stand each day. And you begin to notice something of a commotion arising down on the far side of the marketplace. It would seem that a man is making his way through the crowd of workers and as he does it seems like everyone is lining up to follow him wherever he goes. He is the kind of landowner that you have seen before. Clearly of means. With opulent gold and jewels on his fingers and around his neck. With large golden hoops in his ears, new clothes, and new work boots adorning his person. As he continues to along the market the crowds seem to part like Moses before the Red Sea even as, they push against one another to get closer to the man. Get close that they might garnering his attention for just a moment. Your friend, or at least the guy you find yourself standing next to most mornings, looks over to you and over the growing din of sound shouts, “come on!” You join him as the two of you push into the crowd of people surrounding this wealthy landowner. All these people, all desperate for relief from the pain of poverty for at least one day, each seeking the man’s gaze and approval just once. You push in closer realizing this this might be your singular opportunity for the day and you begin to say, “pick me! pick me!” Like a kid at recess shouting at the captains of the kickball teams, “pick me! pick me! I can kick the ball like no one’s business!” Only now your words betray the desperation that undergirds them. They evidence the stresses and strains of life lived on the edge that characterizes the life of the day laborer each day. With each exclamation of, “pick me!” your words sound less like a request and more like a plaintive appeal to God and humankind and fate and luck all represented by this wealthy landowner making his way through the marketplace to recognize your worth as a human being. To afford you even an ounce of dignity because heaven knows you no longer can grant that to yourself. But, as you push in, a new wave of fear arises from the depths of your soul. What at first seemed like a man looking to hire everyone with whom he made eye contact, now seemed like a man who was becoming increasingly picky as to whom he would call to join him on the job. Men and women would finally push their way up to the front of the crowd and scream out, “pick me!” and the man would shake his head as those who had worked so hard to get to the front of the crowd only to now withdrew in melancholy sadness as they scanned every direction they could for evidence of any other landowners down at the marketplace this morning to hire day laborers. Alas, there was no one. But you didn’t give up, the man wasn’t dismissing everyone, though for the life of you you couldn’t figure out what exactly the landowner was looking for in those he chose to hire. The crowds were increasingly falling away now as one-by-one workers were dismissed out of the presence of the landowner without reason, without rhyme. In your gut that all too familiar feeling begins to creep in. You can’t go home again with no work. More precisely you can’t go home with no wages. What had in your mind been the pride of your children, the momentary of wave of relief in your spouses eyes, was quickly being transformed into shame and fear. I mean, they still love you, and surely your mind is exaggerating the emotions that will grip your children, grip your spouse, but at that moment, that is not what is important. Possessing an objective view of reality is impossible if it feels like reality is crashing down on top of you.
The last of the workers are now slowly filing away from the man. Joining their friends looking for the next wealthy landowner who isn’t coming this morning. You meander through the thinning crowds, prepared to take your own place in this sad line of the “not-chosen” when you come face-to-face with the landowner whose attention you had been trying to draw this whole time. Your eyes meet, you share a singular moment, one of those instances in life when everything seems to slow to a crawl and the people walking around you and all those making small talk or bartering with the artisans begin to move in slo-motion as all of time and space melts away, and the landowner says, “you, come with me!” You quickly take your place at the end of the line of workers who have been hired for the day and begin to make your way out to the land that this man owns. As you walk he begins to discuss with the group what exactly you will be doing. A vineyard he says, ripe and ready to be picked, that grapes today that will begin the process of becoming the late harvest wine of tomorrow. And finally, the agreement to pay each person the going rate for day laborers who put in a full day of work. The pride of your children, the relief in the eyes of your spouse a mere 12 hours of grape picking away. As you continue to follow your new benefactor for the day, you begin talking with the other day laborers, this fraternity of wage earners, who each, like you, depend on the largesse of the wealthiest in the land to grant the opportunity to feed one’s family and feel some degree of dignity in this life. And as you swap stories you are so lost in the moment of amiability and revelry that you are not aware that surrounding you in each direction are scuppernong vines, strung up on posts that seem to stretch on forever. If you picked all day everyday for a month you couldn’t begin to pick all these grapes. And in the distance, the house of the wealthy landowner comes into view.
For the next couple hours you joined with the rest of the day laborers to pick as many grapes as you could. In the midst of all the picking you compare other places that you each had worked, other tasks in which you could now claim some degree of proficiency and the space where you each were picking was surely full but not crowded. Comfortable and yet, not packed. Then, somewhere around 9:00 in the morning, with the coolness of the dawn quickly being burned off as you feel the first beads of sweat form on your brow, you notice a second group of workers making their way to the house with the wealthy landowner walking in the middle of them. From your vantage point on the hill you can see them arrive at the house and then disperse into the vineyard to also begin the task of harvesting the grapes. You aren’t completely sure from whence they came because earlier today, the landowner had seemed very picky of who would come work for him and now he had returned with a new group of workers chosen from those who had overslept in the morning and missed the opportunity to work for anyone else. But the fields stretched on as far as you could see in every direction and there was plenty of work to be done. You wondered briefly how much less they who came after you would make.
At noon, this same scene replayed itself. Only this time, the group of workers who had been chosen were even more disheveled than the 9:00 group. The sun was now beating down and they were each displaying the tell-tale signs of being persons who had spent the previous evening imbibing the fruit of the very vine that was being denuded for a fresh supply later. As they straggled their way down, you couldn’t believe that those folks who had finally gotten to the marketplace would be joining you in the task of harvesting the grapes. This process repeated itself at 3:00 as well with the ones making their way down the road seeming as if they had never bothered going home from the previous evening’s celebrations. Finally, at 5:00 the landowner arrived with the roughest group of workers that this day had seen. As day laborers, each of you were of little to no means but this group looked like they had been passed up by landowners for many many days, weeks, months in a row. When they did arrive at the house, they had to be shown how to properly remove the grape from the vine without crushing it, and the wealthy landowner seemed to take an inordinate amount of time showing each of them how to do it. In comparison to your group of workers these folks were slow and not particularly good at what they were trying to do. There was no way that they were performing in a manner that would not ultimately cost the wealthy landowner more than they made for him.
At 6:00 the evening bell chimed across the whole of the hillside and as you looked down at the house you saw that folks were gathering at the workhouse and a new person was lining folks up in groups based on when they had begun working. As you took your place in the line of folks who had been here from the beginning you finally allowed yourself a moment to breathe and think about the family to whom you would soon be returning. You are covered in dirt and sweat and can’t wait to get both off of you. Can’t wait to return to the comfort of your home. With each worker in place, the manager began to disperse the day’s wages. He begins with the group that had arrived there last and as he make his way down the line, a look of utter bewilderment and joy crosses over the face of each of the workers in the line. They are laughing and joking with one another and making plans to go out and spend their wages. As you wait in line a group of the workers pass by you saying how they can’t believe how they made a whole day’s wages for doing an hour’s worth of work. You hear this and you almost can’t believe your luck. If the one’s who got here at 5:00, who only worked for an hour, were just paid a day’s wages, how much would you who had been here for 12 hours make? With each passing group leaving, excited about how much they had made for the day, your own excitement grows to a fevered pitch until finally the manager stops at your line and you and you compatriots prepare to be showered with money. But, ahead in the line, a curious thing is happening. Rather than joy, the workers ahead of you are angry, bordering on violent. “Surely,” you reason, “this wealthy has not run out of funds for the day. Surely, he has not so showered those who worked only a little while with wages that now he cannot afford to pay those who have toiled all day.” As you reach the front of the line and stick your hand out, you prepare for the weight of all those extra wages until you feel the familiar jingle of a day’s wages hit your palm. You stand a few extra moments thinking that surely this is not it, surely he is going to give you what you really deserve now. But the manager gives you a look in reply that tells you that you have received that which you shall receive. You stare an extra second in disbelief until from behind you hear the next one say, “hey buddy, we all got places to be.” What was utter jubilation has been turned into anger as you seethe at the wages in your hand. What was to be the source for your kids pride, for your spouse’s momentary security, now seems to mock you from your hand and your anger bubbles over. Searching through the crowd, you see the man who had hired you at the start. Only 12 hours ago your spirit had been lifted. Only 12 hours ago had you shared a moment as he called you to join his crew. As you walk up to him, you rehearse what you are going to tell him in your head. “Sir,” you say, “how can you possibly pay that last group of folks the same as you have paid me? This is not fair.” The wealthy landowner gets a curious look on his face as he take a single breath and replies, “Friend, what have I done wrong? At the beginning of the day we agreed on a day’s wages and that is what I have paid you. I have decided to pay everyone the same amount and it is out of my bounty that I pay them. Are you just envious because I am generous?” And with that, you make your way home, to see your kids, to see your spouse, to show them the money that you have made for you labors. But somehow the world looked completely different.
Jesus told his followers, tells us today, that this is how the kingdom of heaven is. Tells all of us that this is how Grace is. And thank God for that, because none of us know in which group we will find ourselves and so we are left to depend solely on the grace of God and nothing that we have done or left undone. All who get called to the field are rewarded with the treasure of heaven. To which let us all say, thanks be to God and glory be to God in the highest and on earth peace amongst all God’s children. Alleluia, amen.
Image taken from: https://www.purewow.com/food/difference-between-vineyard-and-winery