Sermon: October 2, 2011

STEWARDS OF THE VINEYARD
Sermon Notes of The Reverend Canon Robert A. Picken
Cathedral of the Incarnation, Garden City
Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 22
October 2, 2011


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In France, it is illegal to not maintain a vineyard. Under the law, even if you owe the smallest acreage of vines, you are required to produce grapes. What many people do with these small vineyards is join a wine cooperative; they have professionals maintain and harvest the vineyard, produce the wine and share in the profit. Someone else cares for the land; yet, in the end, they still own it and reap the rewards.


In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus tells us a story, about an anonymous landowner. We hear it and we figure it’s just another ordinary, unremarkable, simple story: no complications, no allusions, no hard life lessons to be learned. Jesus’ story appears to be just another story. (Another parable about a vineyard.)

In this parable, we can imagine the landowner as a metaphor for God the Father. The Creator did a lot more than plant a vineyard, put a fence around it, dig a wine press in it, and build a watchtower; but those images show us some basic truths. God created this earth, and the land on it; God separated the water from the land; God leased the land to people; and God developed the property, with and through the work of those human hands. Simple, right? God owns the universe, and we are mere tenants in it, or stewards of it.

And then we look at the history of the Israelites: God sent his holy prophets to his people, and great leaders, and monarchs, people like King David, Moses, the prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah. And yet the people didn’t listen to what the leaders said. They rebelled, and sinned, and transgressed the law – again and again and again. So God sent his only son, saying, “They will respect my son.”

Up until now, we can imagine this story – and Jesus’ place in it – with no difficulty whatsoever. The landowner’s son, of course, represents Jesus, God’s son. And the son, like Jesus, comes to the story after a series of unsuccessful attempts to deliver a message. Yet when Jesus tells this story, he knows – and reveals – something else about himself. Jesus predicts something more profound than his return home. Jesus predicts his death, his murder at the hands of our fellow humans.

Just imagine what it was like to hear Jesus tell this story. Just imagine how it feels to see him drive out all who were selling and buying in the temple, to hear him say, “My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of robbers.” Just imagine what it would be like to take part in the great procession from the Mount of Olives, with Jesus riding on a donkey, and the crowds shouting, “Hosanna in the Highest!” Just imagine what it was like to sit and listen to him tell stories – prophetic stories, about himself and about us – the very next morning. T(hat’s the setting for this passage from Matthew’s gospel, by the way.)

Today’s gospel is not about Jesus teaching on a mountainside early in his ministry, or visiting a village to cure the sick. Today’s gospel is about Jesus stopping to teach on his way to the cross. Jesus tells us this story – his story and the story of salvation history – in simple, uncomplicated, ordinary terms. He does this, I suspect, not because he thinks we lack any knowledge or common sense; rather, because he wants to be sure we don’t miss the simplicity of the message.

God has not given up on the ancient Israelites, just as God has not given up on us. No matter how unloving and uncaring, no matter how many mistakes we make, no matter how often we turn away from his messengers, God still loves us, and continues to reach out again and again and again.

And when we reject a stone, when we turn away from Jesus, when we kill the landowner’s son or commit some lesser sin, God just turns around and takes that very rejection and makes it into the cornerstone of the strongest foundation ever, for a structure built of love. God hasn’t given up on us: not then, not now, not ever.

For God loves us, and desperately wants us to produce fruit for the kingdom. God craves a new Jerusalem, where all people live together in harmony, where peace and prosperity abound, where truth and justice reign.

So often in the Church, we see ourselves connected to a place – that is a particular building which we call ‘church.’ Church is often see as a destination or even an action – we’re going to church. But, the Church is more than that – these are simply buildings, as beautiful as they are. As Scripture says, God cannot be contained in temples made by human hands, God is found in each one of us and in the our common life together. These buildings as beautiful as they are, and as in much need of repair as they are, cannot be seen as the end-all-and-be-all of our life together. Our buildings will simply become museums if we do not continue to build on our strong foundation of good ministries and programs.

We are the Body of Christ here on earth, and it must be our care and delight to help lift up the most lowly, to exalt the humble and meek, to fill the hungry with good things. Justice, mercy, and love for all people: that is what God intends. And we can help.

When the landowner returns, let us be found working not for our own selfish greed, but for the good of all people. By more faithful participation in God’s mission for humanity, we can and will make this world a better place for every one of God’s beloved children. Amen.