At the edge of 6th street and I-35 in Austin Texas stood a small, ramshackle building. From the outside, we might imagine it is a storage room. Instead, every night about fifty men called this place home or, at least, shelter for the night. In the morning, these men would stand outside and wait. They are day laborers, men whose income depends on a daily work. They have no salary, no budget. They depend on the contractors who pick them up in the morning; and, the promise of a daily wage.
Many of these men use very little of their wages on themselves. Many of them have family living in other cities. They have come to Austin because the climate and economy promises the most work in a year. They save enough for meager meals and a bed. Everything else is given away to those they love.
I came to know some of these men while I was in seminary. Every Friday a group of us would take homemade bean burritos, fruit and water down to the shelter. We knew there was not much day labor over the weekend and, for some, this would be their only meal. We began to learn their names and share stories. We talked about our families and, of course, Jesus. By the time I graduated and left Austin, these men were imprinted on my life. And it is their faces I imagine when I hear Jesus’ parable of the laborers in the vineyard today.
They know, more than I, what it means to work for that daily wage. They know, more than I, the frustration of watching those who work less be paid the same amount. They know, more than I, how it feels to live at the mercy of the landowner and his justice.
I wonder how they would respond to this parable. Would they, like me, find it shocking? Would the story offend or comfort them? Would they identify with those who grumble or those who rejoice in the unexpected income? Would they identify me or fellow seminarians as the landowner: those with the privilege and power to hire them and pay them however I choose?
Godly Play is a storytelling practice similar to The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd (our children’s formation curriculum). When we tell the stories of the parable, we use boxes. We wonder about the box. Could be a present - it is a gold box…maybe it is a very valuable present. When we knock on the box, we discover it is made of wood. Wood is strong and sturdy - and it sounds a bit like a door. What could be on the other side of this door? We open the box and discover all the pieces of the story. We begin to tell the story and enter into the kingdom of heaven. Jesus begins, “The kingdom of heaven is like…” Enter into the community - enter into the kingdom. I wonder what we will find in this space?
I want to go back in time for a moment to the beginning of Matthew chapter 20. A young man comes to Jesus and says, “Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?” Today’s parable ends the teaching that begins with this question.
There’s a lot that happens in between the two stories. Here’s a brief summary:
- The young man walks away, grieving. It seems his possessions inhibit his ability to follow Christ.
- Jesus declares: “Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven.”
- Peter wonders what will come from following Jesus.
- Jesus promises the disciples “twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”
- But…“But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first,” Jesus says.
Here’s where we find our parable. This is the link from the question to the teaching to the wondering: many who are first will be last, and the last will be first. Imagine standing in any line - being at the front of the line - knowing this makes you first - only to discover that the person at the back of the line - they are first. Feels frustrating to me. There’s no real assurance there, not for me. I want to first, to be first, I must be last. How can I be last without wanting to be first? Dear Jesus, tell me what this means.
“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard…”
Who are we in this story? The landowner? The laborers? The first? The last? And what difference does it make?
The day laborers in Austin showed up every day because this was their work. And it was the work of the landowners to pay those men as they chose. At the end of the day, this is how the work got done. Every morning, we show up. Some of us have the privilege to hire and pay others. Some of us depend on someone else to pay us. Either way, this is how the work gets done. How is this like the kingdom of heaven?
The scandal of the parable is that everyone earns the same wage. Maybe this is an abuse of power by the landowner. Maybe it is an act of justice and mercy. Either way it creates scandal and drama.
The promise of the Gospel, the promise of Christ’s life, is that we all receive mercy. From the tax collector to the Centurion, there is enough. From you to me, there is enough. For each of our neighbors, there is enough. We may grumble. We may be envious. We may not believe it. And it is true. God’s mercy is a scandalous grace given to all of creation: to each laborer, each landowner; to the day laborers in Austin; to us. This mercy is God’s prerogative. There is no good deed to earn it. It is not ours to own. It is the last and the first. There is more than enough. Mercy for every moment of every life from the One who made us.
May we know this mercy. May we receive this mercy. May we give this mercy away. Thanks be to God!
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