There is within the text this week a macabre fascination concerning the economy of heaven. Don’t believe my mousy word alone; check out almost any commentary dealing with Matthew 20:1-16, the parable of working in the vineyard.
Each time this pericope comes around, we hear about the generous landowner, the grumbling workers, and the parity in payments. Yet, there is an undercurrent to the text that feels much more like Terry Southern’s “The Magic Christian”, a satirical novel in which the protagonist exhibits extreme generosity as a means of demonstrating the degradation and greed of humanity and the extent to which people will go to receive his largesse. It is a caustic critique of mid-20th century American culture and economic disparity.
What if, instead of being the magnanimous benefactor, the landowner is the power of Rome? Instead of showering plenty on all, this parable addresses a system of intentional suffering, controlling the world through cereal and circus? Instead of being generous to all, the landowner is demonstrating capricious favoritism? Or, that he is trying to dishearten the workers thereby teaching a lesson of binding arbitration? What if, instead of being a model of “heavenly economics”, this parable illustrates a particularly perverse paradigm of “carrot and stick” punitive psychology? (Did you notice how I sneaked the silent p of psychology into this paragraph?)
I realize that what I am proposing presents a much more profane proposition than the customary commentary, but I believe that there is something here much like a yummily tempting tidbit of bacon holding potential death and perdition in the center of a trap. Parables are not meant to be parsed in a way that limits the peripherals. Parables are presented for expanding our awareness and perceptions that deeply perplex and profoundly pressure perceived parameters of our experience.
Let me begin by saying that we are not the first people to live in a world of partisan politics. During the 1st century CE, partisan politics were pointedly Roman. If the political proposition did not put the power of Rome in prominence, that is, place Roman concerns as a priority, then the proposition was passed over. Rome controlled the land, and the presiding landowner was the emperor.
This parable calls us then to first determine whose land is it? Is it one or the other, or can it be both and….
Then there are the workers of the vineyard. Who are they? Are we the workers? If so, then to what group do we belong? Or are we all of the workers?
In a recent conversation Peter, not the disciple, had with some people who were working for racial equity and inclusion, he realized how late he was coming to the table. I overheard his fervor and embarrassment at his lack of knowledge and awareness of the situations being discussed, leading him to apologize. In response, the convenor of the conversation said, “Don’t apologize for coming late to the table, that place was vacant, and we have more than enough room for everyone and enough work to do. Welcome.”
I know it felt good to be welcomed, but Peter wanted to believe that he was one of the workers who started early in the morning. He was embarrassed to think that he could not understand the need for the work in the first place. And yet, is that not the circumstance of life? Do we not join more work than we initiate? So where do we fall in the telling of this parable?
Don’t we each think we are the ones moving over, making room for others, rather than the ones who are accommodated? How does this parable change when we can see ourselves as those who come to the vineyard at the eleventh hour?
What happens to this parable when we think of Jesus as being the one who comes to invite us into the vineyard throughout the day? What if this parable is a subversive Jesus who continues to work under the radar, so-to-speak, exploiting the plans of power in a way that promotes well-being despite the perilous plans of Roman rule.
Is it possible for us to ponder all these propositions simultaneously and then hear Christ’s gracious welcome of egalitarian parity? It might be a stretch for us to celebrate a world where the last to work gets paid a full day’s wage, regarded as equal to those who have worked all day, but it might be a longer stretch to think that the worker at the eleventh hour is equal to the landowner.
Yes, there is something here that creates a real sense of dis-ease when a stratified kingdom of heaven is presented. It feels a little like living a life of subjective obligation. One lives with an obligation to the landowner, the overseer, the social classes they come from, and a fear that one lives by the largesse of a person who may suddenly change his/her decision or behavior. There is a tenuousness within the text that I find uncertain and disturbing.
In this heavenly world view of egalitarian treatment lies a serpent who tempts us to live within imperial structure begging for daily sustenance. We hear, “Give us each day our daily bread,” and accede to living the life of permanent penury with enough to get by on but not enough to thrive. The daily wage continues to give wealth to the landowner and, by degree, those who administer the pensions of the proud and privileged property owners. Even if the property owner is a benevolent proctor, the place of subservience portends a ponderous prison.
So, where is the good news? I am not sure that it is in the philanthropic passion of the landowner nor the persistent going to the marketplace for workers. I think that the good news is found in the One who works with us, alongside us, and among us in the vineyard receiving enough for the day and a promised hope for a propitious tomorrow.
Your pal, Nicodemus
Editor, Theologian, Counsellor, and Mouse
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