A Lectionary Reflection for the people of Thankful Memorial Episcopal Church for worship from home, October 4, 2020, Year A, 18 Pentecost, Proper 22

Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20
Psalm 19
Philippians 3:4b-14
Matthew 21:33-46

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

For me, one of the most heartbreaking symptoms of this crisis-moment in our history has been the ways in which it has revealed our meanness.  And I’m not just describing our way of behaving towards each other – when we say and do things that are unkind or unfair.  I also intend the other definition of that word, where being mean is to be “unwilling to give or share things,” a lack of generosity.[i]

It seems to me that, as a nation, maybe as a world, we tend to operate under the false idea that there are always winners and losers, that if someone else has some, I will necessarily have less.  Less than I have now, less than I need or desire.  And so we all seem to be running, breathlessly, exhaustingly, to get there first, to acquire the most, to win – or at the very least, not to lose.  

Our society places heavy emphasis on the individual, that the needs of me and mine should be placed before anyone else’s.  There is a sense of competition in the world in which we live, such that we are constantly measuring ourselves against others, deciding who “deserves” more.  Pushed too far or too hard, this competitive culture can lead to a form of idolatry that justifies going to any lengths to get the things we imagine we deserve. 

I’m not saying that wanting things is necessarily a bad thing.  Indeed, ambition, a strong work ethic, a goal of completing something well – these things can be good.  But they become sinful when we prioritize our own successes, desires and goals over God’s will for all.  When we begin to believe in our entitlementto these things, that something about who I am, what I’ve done has made me deserve them, they become our idols.  And we hear in the ten commandments this Sunday: “You shall not make for yourself an idol.”

It is a fine line that we must always negotiate.  Rarely are our idols today as clear-cut as a golden calf.  But, we nonetheless behave foolishly, absurdly even, when we feel entitledto anything “that is in heaven above or that is on the earth beneath.”   

The absurdity of such entitlement comes through clearly in the parable that Jesus tells in Matthew’s Gospel.  How absurd for the tenants of the vineyard to feel entitled to their landlord’s land.  How could they ever even think that by beating and killing slaves, servants and son they would somehow come to possess the inheritance themselves?  It is such foolish, false logic. 

But the tenants’ folly forces us to rethink our own sense of entitlement.  Are we perhaps being, behaving, believing as absurdly as the tenants in this parable?  Are there ways in which we assume a claim to some of the things we’re so used to having or getting? 

In the midst of our stewardship discernment season, the first thing we might think of in this respect is our treasure.  How often do we consider the money in our bank accounts, our incomes, as ours because we have worked so hard to earn it?  But, if you think about it, any financial gains we have earned have come only through the gifts we have first been given from God: the brains that think through problems, the arms and hands and legs that lift and bend and do, the support systems – institutional or social – that nourish and encourage us, even the time that we spend – none of these things is ours but gifts we have been given from the one who creates and sustains us. 

But our treasure isn’t the only thing about which we often make assumptions about ownership.  In C. S. Lewis’s book The Screwtape Letters, a powerful demon named Screwtape writes a series of letters to his protégé, Wormwood, an underling-demon charged with tempting one human away from the love of God.  In one letter, Screwtape reminds Wormwood of the way that every human views time, with “the curious assumption [that] ‘My time is my own’” such that every minute of one’s life is understood as our “own personal birthright.”  Screwtape is quick to point out that this assumption is “absurd” because “man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels.”  And yet, we humans cling to the notion that we somehow “have” time to spend as we like as surely as the foolish tenants in Jesus’ parable cling to the idea that they are somehow entitled to the land they work. 

And it’s not just time.  Screwtape goes on to tell Wormwood that “humans are always putting up claims to ownership which sound equally funny in Heaven and in Hell… their time, their souls … their bodies,” even their God. 

C.S. Lewis makes clear to us the absurdity of these claims.  After all, we are only the tenants of this vineyard – this earth, these bodies, these moments, these lives.  God has built and created all these things for us and for our use, just as the vineyard-owner built the fence, winepress and watchtower, but they are not ours. And if our response to God’s call to us to return a portion of that which we have been given is to deny his Son and claim these things as our own, we are as foolish and absurd as the tenants in Jesus’ parable. 

So, how will we respond, in our every-day lives, to the graciousness of God?  Will we, like the tenants, reject God’s calling to be in relationship with Him?  Or will we, like St. Paul in his letter to the Philippians, understand that even faith itself is a gift, that we cannot make God and the salvation we have through Christ “our own” but rather that it is Christ Jesus who makes us his own. 

For the Apostle Paul, the best response to God’s grace is to strive for further intimacy with God in Christ, for full knowledge that all we are, all we think we “have,” is ultimately located in Christ, and for a life lived in obedience and deep gratitude for these gifts of our creation, preservation and redemption. 

Because when we mistakenly believe that our own comfort and security and righteousness are all rooted in ourselves, in what we do and control on our own, then we will get caught in the hell of believing that when others “win” such comfort, there will be little left for us.  Or, even worse, that we must always achieve our own survival at someone else’s expense. 

But when we begin to see that these things are rooted entirely in God, when we cease to rely on ourselves for ourselves, when as St Paul says we count as “rubbish” our own achievements, power or control in the face of knowing Christ, then we understand that we have all we could ever want in the abundance of God’s grace and mercy and love offered to us through Christ Jesus.  And we can respond with grace and gratitude, turning all God’s creative energy within us to the good work God has given us to do in the vineyard. 

In this time of deep division and so much need in the world around us, it is tempting to look out for ourselves alone.  But, instead, in faith, let us press on “toward the goal of the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.” May we be fruitful tenants, leaseholders only of all that we have been given.  May we give joyfully and generously from the abundance that has been given us, towards the reconciling work of God in Christ in the world, drawing all people to God, and trusting in that same Source of all creation.  Amen. 

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[i] Definition according to Google Dictionary