The Rev. Dr. Kenneth H. Saunders III
Greeneville, TN
Isaiah 5:1-7
Psalm 80:7-14
Philippians 3:4b-14
Matthew 21:33-46
Today’s Gospel sounds, at first, like a pretty simple story. A landowner plants a vineyard. He puts a fence around it. He digs a winepress. He builds a watchtower. Then he leases the vineyard to some tenants and goes away. Simple enough. It sounds like just another one of those stories Jesus tells one more parable in a long series of stories we’ve been hearing over these past few weeks. But this isn’t really a simple story. And it certainly isn’t an innocent story.
Because if we pay attention to where we are in Matthew’s Gospel, we realize that Jesus isn’t telling this story from the safety of a mountainside somewhere in Galilee. Jesus is in Jerusalem. He has already entered the city riding on a donkey while the crowds shouted, “Hosanna!” and called him Son of David. He has already gone into the Temple and turned over the tables of the money changers. He has already confronted the religious authorities to their face. And now he is teaching in the Temple precincts, knowing that a cross awaits him.
Jesus is telling this story on his way to his death. And suddenly, the story becomes much more personal. Suddenly, we hear it with different ears. The landowner sends servants to collect the harvest. The tenants beat one servant. They kill another. They stone another. So the landowner sends more servants. And the tenants do the same thing. Finally, the landowner says, “They will respect my son.” The son is sent into the vineyard. And the tenants kill him.
Jesus knows exactly what’s coming… Jesus isn’t simply telling a story about somebody else’s vineyard. He is telling a story about himself. He is telling the religious leaders and in turn us, in advance, what is about to happen. And yet there is something even deeper going on here. Because Jesus is also telling us something about God.
The vineyard belongs to God. The land belongs to God. The harvest belongs to God. The whole creation belongs to God. And we? We are tenants. We are the caretakers… the stewards. We are people entrusted with something that ultimately isn’t ours. And that is where Isaiah’s imagery helps us.
Isaiah describes Israel as God’s vineyard. God carefully plants it. God tends it. God protects it. God gives it everything it needs to flourish. And then God waits for the harvest. God expects fruit. But instead of fruit, God gets wild grapes. Instead of justice, God finds violence. Instead of righteousness, God finds oppression. Instead of love for neighbor, God finds people looking primarily out for themselves.
And that sounds uncomfortably familiar, doesn’t it? Because it is extremely easy for us to imagine that the vineyard belongs to us. Our church. Our community. Our money. Our property. Our time. Our lives. Everything is mine, mine, mine… And when we start thinking that way, we can forget that everything we have is ultimately something entrusted to us.
Even this church. St. James is not ours. It isn’t mine. It isn’t yours. It doesn’t belong to the vestry. It doesn’t even belong to the diocese. It belongs to God. We are merely the caretakers… the stewards of this place for a season.
And, as every vestry eventually discovers, being a steward of a church building, especially one that’s 175 years old… can sometimes feel a lot like being the temporary caretaker of a very large, very complicated house. There is always something. A light bulb. A leaky roof. A mysterious noise somewhere in the building. One of the committees wondering why we don’t have enough storage. And, of course, the eternal Episcopal question: “Who moved the chair?”
You can laugh, but I know there are people here today who could identify the exact chair I’m talking about. And we Episcopalians have a remarkable capacity to believe that a particular chair has been in a particular location since the time of the Apostles.
But that’s the funny thing about stewardship. We can become very attached to the things we’ve been entrusted with. Sometimes we get so attached that we forget the difference between caring for something and owning it. And that’s true of much more than chairs.
We do the same thing with traditions, with buildings, with the way we worship. We do this with ministries and with money. We can even do this with our ideas about what the Church is supposed to be. We begin to say, “This is ours.” And then Jesus gently reminds us, “No, it’s not. It’s God’s.”
We’re the tenants. We’re the stewards. But our job is not simply to preserve what we have received. Our job is to ask, “What fruit is God asking us to produce? What does God want us to grow here? What kind of people is God calling us to become? Who is God sending through our doors? Who is still waiting outside to be invited in? And what does God want us to do with the vineyard we are responsible for?”
Because here is the interesting part about the story Jesus tells... God doesn’t give up. Again and again, God sends people to remind us who we are. Prophets, Teachers, Saints, Neighbors, Friends... and sometimes even complete strangers. And eventually, God sends the Son. And the tenants kill him. But even that doesn’t bring God’s story to an end.
And that’s the part I think Jesus wants us to understand when he says, “The stone that the builders rejected becomes the cornerstone...” What looks like defeat becomes the beginning of something new. The cross becomes resurrection. And that perspective changes everything.
Because if the cross teaches us anything, it’s that God can take even our worst rejection and make something new out of it. God can take our failures and make them a new beginning. God can take our brokenness and make it a place where grace enters. God can take death and bring new life.
And thank God that means that our stories aren’t finished either. Because I don’t know about you, but there are chapters of my life that I am perfectly happy to leave behind. There are things I have said that I wish I could unsay. Decisions I wish I could make again. Moments when I got it wrong. Relationships that didn’t go the way I hoped. And I’m probably not alone in that feeling...
But the good thing is that our story isn’t over yet. God isn’t finished with us. God isn’t finished with St. James. God isn’t finished with the Church. And God certainly isn’t finished with this world.
We live in a time when it can be tempting to believe that everything around us is falling apart. We see division everywhere... Socially, politically, economically, religiously... People seem increasingly willing to treat one another as enemies rather than love them as neighbors. There is anxiety about the economy, the future, our communities, our businesses, and about the Church. And sometimes it can feel as though the problems are simply just too big and heavy for us to handle.
But the Gospel doesn’t ask us to solve everything. It asks us to be faithful with the vineyard we’ve been given. We’ve been asked to produce good fruit in this place at this time...
And what kind of good fruit are we asked to produce? I think Jesus has been remarkably clear about that. Love God. Love your neighbor. Feed the hungry. Welcome the stranger. Care for the sick. Visit the lonely. Forgive one another. Seek justice. Practice mercy. Tell the truth. And remember that every person you meet is someone whom God loves.
That is what it means to live as people of the kingdom. God isn’t particularly interested in whether we look impressive. God isn’t asking us to prove that we’re better than somebody else. God isn’t asking us to win every argument. God is just asking us to bear good fruit...
Fruit of the kingdom. The fruit of love. The fruit of mercy. The fruit of justice. The fruit of reconciliation. The fruit of compassion. The fruit of holiness.
And that brings us right back to the vineyard. Because the question isn’t whether the vineyard belongs to God. Because we know it does. The question is, what will we do with what God has entrusted to us? Will we hoard it? Will we protect it only for ourselves? Will we act as though we own it?
Or will we remember that we are stewards? Will we open the gates? Will we share the harvest? Will we make plenty good room? Will we make this place be a little more like the kingdom of God today than it was yesterday?
That’s the work in front of us. And sometimes it happens in very ordinary ways. A simple phone call to someone lonely. A meal shared with someone who needs one. A hand extended across a disagreement. A word of forgiveness. A little generosity when we could easily keep it for ourselves. A willingness to listen before we judge. A willingness to say, “I was wrong.” A willingness to welcome someone who isn’t quite sure whether they belong.
These things may seem small. But God’s kingdom is built out of small things. One act of mercy at a time. One conversation with one person at a time. One little piece of the vineyard tended faithfully. I think that’s why I find the ending of this Gospel so hopeful.
The story isn’t over. Not then. Not now. Not ever. The tenants may have rejected the Son. But God did not abandon the vineyard. The cross may have looked like the end. But it wasn’t. The tomb may have looked like the end. But it wasn’t. And whatever chapter we may be living through right now, it isn’t the end either.
There is still time for us to become something more than we have been. There is still time for this church to become more fully the people God is calling us to be. There is still time for grace. There is still time for repentance. There is still time for reconciliation. There is still time for this community to discover that we really do belong to one another. And fortunately, there is still time for the world to become more just, more merciful, and more peaceful.
Because God is still at work. And God has entrusted this vineyard to us. So when the landowner comes looking for the harvest, may we be found a people, diligently at work. Not fighting over who owns the vineyard. Not building higher fences. Not protecting what we think belongs to us. But tending the soil. Planting seeds. Sharing the harvest. Making plenty good room. And loving the people God has placed in our care.
Because the vineyard belongs to God. The harvest belongs to God. And, by the grace of God, the story isn’t over yet. Thanks be to God.
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