For five weeks now, we’ve been exploring the
parables of Jesus together—these subversive,
surprising stories that shift our perspective and
reframe our responsibilities. And each Sunday,
we’ve considered how the parables turn the world
upside down and invite us to do the same. As my
teacher and friend Will Willimon has written, “To be
a Christian is…to be reminded, on a weekly basis,
that we are meant to employ different standards of
judgment than those that operate in the world.” i
Different standards of judgment. A parable does just
that, reframes our vision of the ordinary world. And
each one, we’ve found, has a punch line, a moment of
revelation, an epiphany, a surprise that shocks us (or
even offends us), a twist, and a turn. Often the story
is going along exactly as we would expect. Nothing
remarkable. A shepherd trying to keep track of one
hundred dumb, aimless sheep, and no surprise—one
of them slips away and gets lost. But then, the punch
line: the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to chase
after the one. And in the unexpected, in the surprise,
we see the difference between our priorities and
God’s desire for us. Different standards of judgment.
The turning point in this morning’s parable is
impossible to miss. The day laborers, they’re all
lined up. They’re ready to receive their pay. Some of
them—some of them—are exhausted from a full day of
work under the hot sun, and others have just finished
a single hour. They’ve barely even broken a sweat.
The landowner begins with those who arrived on the
scene last, and he gives each of them a denarius—
that is the fair wage for a full day’s work. Now, you
can imagine the excitement that must have been
building in the line as news travels from one worker
to the next. “Can you believe this guy? He’s giving
out full day’s wages for an hour of work. Just imagine
what we will receive.” Those who had completed
a whole day of work, eager for their just reward.
And here is the punch line of the parable: “Each of
them received the usual daily wage.” Please note
that what would have been an acceptable payment
only moments before is now an outrage. Those who
worked all day receive the same amount as those
who worked for one hour. And then, Jesus says, “Oh,
this is what the kingdom of God is like.”
He can’t be serious. That is the kingdom of God?
There’s got to be a better metaphor.
I remember it like it was yesterday. A hot summer
afternoon. I was maybe eleven years old, and my
younger brother was five. We had shared a room
since he was a toddler out of his crib, and we had
shifted to bunk beds when he turned five. That
morning when we woke up, our parents had given
us our orders. Grammie and Poppa were coming to
visit, and, to get ready, we needed to clean our room.
Our room was a disaster zone. We both resisted the
order, but the expectation was made clear to us. I,
the elder brother… I, the dutiful son… I got to work.
My brother—at least in my memory—did not. He
lay in his bottom bunk bed taunting me. He played
games on our Sega Genesis (the original Sonic the
Hedgehog). I even remember, though perhaps it
is my imagination… I even remember him playing
outside, just outside our bedroom window so that I
could see him as I kept cleaning. I protested to my
parents. I complained. I cried. I pleaded with my
parents, but I, the dutiful son… I, the elder brother… I
kept cleaning, and eventually, thanks to my hard work
and dedication, the task was complete.
When Grammie and Poppa arrived, we all went out
to Dairy Queen for ice cream. My parents told me
that I, the dutiful son… I, the elder brother… I could
order whatever I wanted—surely a just reward for all
my hard work. And so, I went for broke. I ordered a
banana split. The first bite was delicious, until little
brother was also invited to make his order. A large
Oreo Blizzard. For what? How could they? No fair! I still
remember the burning in my ears. I remember how,
filled with blinding anger, I took that banana split, and
in dramatic fashion, at the trash can just in front of my
parents, I dumped it. Meanwhile, Josh sat at the table
enjoying every last bite of his Oreo Blizzard.
That is the kingdom of God?
You see how this parable offends our sense of justice,
of fairness, of what we all know and agree is right?
Along with those workers who came early in the
morning, many of us read the story, and we find
ourselves both mystified and perhaps even angry.
Those people—those people—got something for
nothing. A handout. They were taking advantage of
the system. And with such a sense of entitlement,
they just walk right up to the landowner and take a
full day’s wage for one hour of work. You can hear the
grumbling…maybe even in your own voice.
“I don’t understand why my hard-earned money
should help those who don’t seem to care whether
they make it or not.”
“Why are our dollars being spent to feed and clothe
people who haven’t done anything to deserve it?”
“If they wanted to make more money, they could. Just
go get more education. Just work harder.”
Oh, the durability of these stories that Jesus tells.
They still sting, don’t they?
The early morning laborers are indignant at the
injustice of their equal pay. It is no longer enough
that they received precisely what they expected.
The landowner gets it. “Are you envious because I
am generous?”
And here is the key to unwrapping the meaning of
the parable and its picture of the kingdom of God:
The world is upside down. The landowner does not
claim that his action is fair. He defends himself on the
grounds of generosity.
Titles matter, and they can be deceiving. Most of us
know this story as “The Parable of the Laborers in the
Vineyard.” Such a title highlights the workers and the
location. Laborers and vineyard. But lost in this labeling
is the landowner whose action is central to the story.
Indeed, Jesus introduces the parable with the words,
“The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner.”
So, what if we were to rename the parable, “The
Parable of the Generous Boss?”
Afterall, Jesus tells a story about a landowner who
chooses to be generous, who wants everyone to have
a place at the vineyard, who returns time and again to
the marketplace in search of those still seeking work,
who cannot abide the thought of anyone left behind.
And so those who had been waiting all day for the
chance are given the opportunity to go and work.
And not only that, they are given a full day’s wage,
which means they have enough to get by for one
more day. Daily bread. This boss’s chief concern
is not the crop or the bottom line but the laborers
themselves. And Jesus says, this is what God’s
kingdom looks like.
It looks like a justice that sees people, not profit. It
looks like an open invitation to join the joyful labor of
the gospel. It looks like radical hospitality for all who
show up—no matter when they arrive. It looks like
justice redefined by mercy.
Whose justice? God’s justice, which begins at
the end, with those who are most forgotten, at
greatest risk. You know who they are. They are your
neighbors. They are children who go to bed with
empty stomachs. They are mothers who skip meals
to keep their family housed. They are workers whose
wages don’t pay the rent. You know who they are
because they are your sisters and your brothers.
If we allow it, this offensive parable can redefine our
understanding of what makes for the good life. Often,
we’re taught to believe the most important thing in
life is fairness, impartiality, just reward for hard work.
But what if the world is upside down? What if a
life worth living is defined not by fairness but by
generosity? What if followers of Jesus are invited to
embrace this truth? Take it from the kid who missed
almost all of a banana split. Our obsession with
what we deem fair can spoil our joy, even corrode
our hearts.
As we close five weeks with the parables, the
question remains: Can we imagine a different world?
Can we imagine a world that resembles the kingdom
of God, where everyone has opportunity and hope?
Can we imagine a different world where generosity
is the default setting? What would it take? It would
take a movement driven by compassion. Different
standards of judgment.
Listen to this. It would take a church more interested
in caring for neighbors in need than judging their
worthiness to receive it. And we can be that church.
Much of the time, I wish he hadn’t said it. But he did.
The last will be first, and the first will be last.
It is the ultimate parable punch line.
It is justice redefined by generosity.
And, if we allow it to be, it is good news…for all of us.
Amen.