Proper 22

“My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. He plowed it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines.” Hmm. Growing up a few miles from Manhattan, I believe my only exposure to grape growing was an old rerun of I Love Lucy. You may have seen it, too.  Lucy is in Italy on vacation and ends up stomping grapes in a big wooden vat, along with a local Italian woman. One thing that stood out about the whole thing was that a vineyard was then, is now, and will always be a great deal of work.

I learned a little bit more about growing grapes while living in the Western New York grape belt during my time as Rector of Trinity Church in Fredonia, which is one town over from the Welch’s grape juice factory in Westfield. Although I never stomped any grapes myself, I do know that grapevines must be carefully pruned and trained to grow so that they will produce fruit. Pests of all sorts find the carefully cultivated vines delicious, and therefore the vines must be protected. The vineyard demands extensive preparation and constant vigilance.

Today’s Gospel tells a story of a very special place, a beautiful, well cared for vineyard. Jesus’ parable is obviously a midrash, or an exposition, of Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard, which we heard in this morning’s Old Testament Lesson. Jesus’ parable is a story of God’s great love for us, but like many parables, it teaches a tough lesson.

When I consider a story like this, I like to think about it from the viewpoint of the various participants in the drama. The first person in this story is the owner of the vineyard. The vineyard owner is not a mere titleholder to the property but, rather, its creator. He cleared away the stones and planted the vines. He built the thickset thorn hedge to keep out both the wild boars that might ravage the vineyard, and the thieves who might steal the grapes. He erected the watchtower, which served a dual purpose. It was a place where sentries watched for thieves and observed the ripening of the grapes. And it also served as a place of shelter and lodging for the vineyard workers.

The vineyard owner dug the winepress, which consisted of two troughs either hollowed out of the rock or built of bricks. The grapes were pressed in the higher trough and the juice then ran off into the lower trough. Everything was in place and available for the workers. There was nothing more to do for the vineyard than what the owner had done.

I have never planted a perfect vineyard, but I have baked an almost perfect chocolate cake. This happened back in Fredonia, New York. I mixed everything from scratch, not my usual method of cake-in-a-box. When I took my almost perfect cake out of the oven, it looked and smelled just wonderful. And, for at least a few minutes, all was right with the world, and I reveled in my creation.

Perhaps you have had a similar moment of such satisfaction. I assume that the vineyard owner did. The owner then turned the perfect vineyard over to a bunch of less-than-perfect tenants. I turned the perfect chocolate cake over to some houseguests who had come over one evening for coffee and dessert. They picked and poked at their plates for many minutes.

Then, as the evening ended and they departed, we were left with several plates of cake that looked like mice had been nibbling around the edges. My labor, like that of the vineyard owner, did not yield the fruits that I had anticipated. (Now that I’ve told this story, I know that if I invite you over to the rectory, I can serve just about anything, and you’ll eat it!)

When the owner is denied the fruit of his vineyard, we meet the next characters in the story, his servants. The servants are essentially messengers. The message they bring is not well received. Perhaps they should have worn their “Don’t shoot—I’m just the messenger” T-shirts. Those of us who have ever worked in some supervisory position can certainly identify with these

poor people. They have a big responsibility but only a small amount of authority.

Years ago, as a lieutenant in the Army, I felt that I was basically asked to speak loudly and carry an itty-bitty stick. Though I’ve never been stoned or beaten, I sometimes felt pretty battered after a week in the field with the teenagers who made up much of Uncle Sam’s Army. Their litany was constant: The food stinks, it’s too cold, it’s too hot, it’s too wet, this field exercise is stupid, I’m glad I only have (fill in the blank) number of days left in the service!

After the messengers are manhandled, the owner responds by sending the next character, a person of authority, his own son. At this point I would like to offer some sympathy to a group of people who have often acted on behalf of their parents in dealings with disobedient and often downright stubborn underlings. All of you older siblings have probably already realized that I am talking about you. I feel for you – for every time you had to accompany a younger family member to a public restroom or retrieve that person from the streets of your neighborhood or keep him/her/them happy and quiet.

And that doesn’t even begin to account for all the times you took the blame for what someone else started in the first place. I’m reminded of an episode with my big brother, back when I was a half-pint. It seems I had commandeered a cast iron skillet from a kitchen cabinet. Proceeding to the living room, I tested it out on my brother’s head as he was watching television. In return, he conked me back. I immediately went into hysterics, mother rushed into the room, and my brother was pronounced guilty and summarily punished. Yes, being your brother’s keeper is a very tough job, and like Rodney Dangerfield, you get no respect.

This brings us to the tenants, or “wicked husbandmen” as they are sometimes called. I’d rather not identify with this group, but I’m afraid it’s not that difficult. They decided that they were not getting what they wanted and took it upon themselves to change the deal. You can call them greedy and lazy, or you can call them aggressive and efficient. I have many times on many occasions left something undone in the hope that someone else would take care of it and I just wouldn’t have to do it. Like those dishes in the kitchen sink that never get moved to the dishwasher, or the dirty clothes that I hope will get washed and ironed through osmosis.

Those are not terrible things (at least I hope they aren’t, because if I’m wrong about that I could be in big trouble), but they are a lot like what the tenants did. I have plenty of excuses for my behavior. I’m sure you can understand that sometimes I’m in a hurry and I just don’t have time. I’m sure the tenants felt that they were doing all the work. Why shouldn’t they receive all the rewards?

Well, now that we’ve looked at this story from several different vantage points, it’s time to state the obvious. The owner and creator of the vineyard is God. The servants are his messengers, the prophets. The son is Jesus Christ. You and I, the listeners, are the tenants in the vineyard.

This parable asks us, as Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard asked Judah and Jesus asked the leaders of Israel, to pass judgment upon ourselves. This is not easy, but it’s a necessary step toward being a redeemed person. Take stock of your priorities. Look at how you spend your time and utilize your mind and resources.

Stop now and look around you, wherever you are. We are in the vineyard, and God has chosen us to care for it, to be its steward. Some seasons, our vineyard may not produce a single grape and it may have suffered through a difficult tenancy. But it is still God’s good creation. The potential is there. God is trusting and patient with us. He has given us the privilege of working in His vineyard. He has given us the freedom to till it as we see fit. But He won’t tarry forever. The Lord will return to seek an account of us. So, if the Lord popped in today, how would he find your vineyard?