28 “What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, ‘Son, go and work in the vineyard today.’ 29 He answered, ‘I will not’; but later he changed his mind and went. 30 The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, ‘I go, sir’; but he did not go. 31 Which of the two did the will of his father?” They said, “The first.” Jesus said to them, “Truly I tell you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. 32 For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.
I have a confession. I love getting invited to things. You see, I get really excited to feel included, to be part of something, to belong. Getting invited to something...a party, a reunion, you name it, it makes me feel incredible things - that I matter, that I’m noticed, that I’m wanted.
I also have a bad habit. Well, I have lots of bad habits, but only enough time this morning to chat with you all about one of them. While I like getting invited to things, I don’t always like going to things. The “maybe” button on Facebook was made for people like me. For those of you not familiar with Facebook, there is a function where you can set up an event invitation and your friends can respond in four ways - going, not going, interested and maybe, simple enough, right? By choosing maybe I get to feel all of the wonderful feelings that come with being invited to an event without any of the downside - the social anxiety, what to bring, what to wear, balancing the event with the seemingly dozens of other demands on my time. So, I look at the invitation, I smile at the thought of being included, and am briefly appreciative for the person who thought of me. Then, without missing a beat, I hit the maybe button on the RSVP form - the modern equivalent of one of those “check yes or no notes” we may have received when we were children where we wrote in maybe as a third choice - or maybe that was just me. Many times I select maybe when I know I’m not going to go. Anxiety aside, I know I’m slated to work, or that one of my kids has an event, or it doesn’t fit in the budget. Maybe is still my response. My feelings take precedence over the logistical needs of the person who has invited me. I convince myself it is a harmless little fib. I click maybe, and I forget about it.
Rewind 2,000 years and I might look awfully similar to the characters questioning Jesus in today’s Gospel passage. At this point in Matthew’s narrative, Jesus has just made his triumphal entry into Jerusalem welcomed by the masses, especially those the priests might deem as the other - the unchurched, employees of the oppressive Roman Empire like tax collectors, social outcasts like prostitutes, and a motley crew of disciples leading this new movement having had little experience working for their Jewish faith in the past. Right before this interaction, Jesus had overturned the tables in the temple, angry that it was being used for business rather than worship. At this point in the story, Jesus was mad. He was annoyed at having to teach the same message over and over again. He was in no mood for a maybe, but maybe is what he got. The chief priests approach Jesus with what seems like an easy question - “by whose authority are you doing all of this teaching and healing?” It seems simple but there are many underlying issues and Jesus sees right through the question. The chief priests aren’t really seeking to understand, It’s a question they already know the answer to. They know they aren’t going to this party. The priests aren’t the guests of honor, in fact, their power and very way of life is being threatened. Likely thinking, “Who does this guy think he is,” the priests do all they can to preserve their place in the hierarchical order of the time. But when Jesus counters their question, when he challenges them to stand up for the God they know rather than their own personal needs, they do what I might do with that Facebook invitation...they waiver. They consider what the crowds might think, they worry about the implications their answer will have on the order of society and, not wanting to deal with all of that just yet, they confer with one another and ultimately say “We don’t know.”
While we know, having read the story, that Jesus’ desired answer is the correct one, I’ve got to tell you, I have some empathy for these chief priests. I bet that if I could read their minds, they might be thinking something like this: “We have been busting our tail holding this Church together our whole lives. We have put up with so much, we have dealt with Rome as an occupier and now, can you believe it, this young guy is coming here claiming to have the power to heal and just look at the shady characters he is hanging out with. Just who does he think he is?” How many times have we’ve found ourselves frozen by the same kind of thoughts? This new hot-shot at work thinks he knows better, but has no experience. Why can’t my kids see that this is for their own good? When I was your age! Sound familiar? It sure does for me. Instead of opening ourselves up to new possibilities, to something better and brighter, it is easy to ask questions and respond with platitudes and coyness, to offer up a maybe. And that’s exactly what the chief priests are doing when they question the authority of Jesus in this interaction.
Not satisfied with “I don’t know,” Jesus keeps trying. He does what he does best, he tells the story another way. He takes us to a figurative vineyard, a fitting setting on this Sunday where we also celebrate the creation of dry land and plants. The vineyard is used countless times in the gospels as a symbol for God’s kin-dom, a symbol of the promised land we all so richly desire - the invitation to outdo all other invitations. He walks us through an invitation, a scenario we’ve all been in a million times. An authority figure invites us to do something we know we need to do. Nothing onerous, nothing out of the ordinary, just something we don’t really want to make time for. In this scenario, when asked to work in the vineyard, one child says yes, the other says no but, as we know, it’s never quite that simple.
One child seems like the kid that’s always secretly been the favorite. The child says yes right away when asked to work in the vineyard while the other child bluntly says no and moves on. The nerve of that kid. Unbelieveable. The image is in our head and we think we are on course to hear a cliche story about one person doing right, and another doing wrong. But Jesus, he always seems to have a twist. When it comes time to work, the “good child” doesn’t come and the one who refused to help is there, toiling beside us in the vineyard. What gives? I think the point is this: our words mean something but the real challenge of faith is living our lives in a way that stewards the vineyards we find ourselves working in every day. This isn’t a gospel of doing works to win God’s approval, our reformed tradition which celebrates its 500th birthday later this month rejects that and rightfully so. It’s not really about the tangible work at all. It’s about the way we live - do we commit to working together, do we try doing things a new way, do we live out our covenant of welcome to people wildly different than us and do we make the sacrifices we need to in order to keep the grapes going?
After telling the story, Jesus asks his question again - which child was more righteous? Who did the right thing and who stuck with maybe? Finally, embarrassed and likely tired, the priests give the answer they knew all along. By acknowledging that the child who ultimately said yes to the invitation was more just despite saying no earlier, they convicted themselves. In the midst of their daily tumult, the priests had forgotten that it is our future, not our past that matters to God. They didn’t believe what was right in front of their eyes. They were caught up in themselves and their own needs.
Jesus is asking us to commit. In the words of John Calvin, “faith does not consist solely in a person giving their assent to true doctrine, but that if it embraces something greater and loftier, that the hearer, renouncing himself, devotes his life wholly to God.” Are we coming to the party or not? Jesus is begging for us to decide and giving us chance after chance to give the correct answer, just as he did with the chief priests. We know the answer: believe, and regardless of your position in life, you’ll be invited to the kin-dom of God.
Hear the good news. We get to keep trying, over and over again if we need to. Jesus said the tax collectors and prostitutes were entering the kin-dom of God ahead of the tribal leaders of the day, not instead of them. In the same way that our friend keeps inviting us to the Party, keeps accepting maybe as our response, and keeps holding out hope we’ll actually attend - that we’ll mean what we say, Jesus keeps inviting us to the vineyard. He keeps giving us the chance to get it right. That feeling is better than being included, better than simply being thought of, better than an invitation. That feeling isn’t an invitation at all, it is a statement, a declaration. It is the unconditional love that only God can give - an event with no RSVP required, no comments section and no expiration date. Thank God for that. Amen.
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