Scripture:
Today's reading from the Hebrew Scriptures finds the Israelites in the desert, having been freed from slavery in Egypt. It's hot. They're thirsty and hungry. They begin to complain. They tell Moses that they wish that they were back in Egypt where at least their bellies were full. God responds mercifully, and provides them with special food which they call manna, which means "What is it?" What makes the manna so special is that each day, God provides enough for everyone, but the manna spoils if anyone tries to save it. It is only useful if it is appreciated and consumed immediately. Hear now, a reading from the book of Exodus, chapter 16, verses 2-15:

The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness. [3] The Israelites said to them, "If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger."


[4] Then the LORD said to Moses, "I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not. [5] On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather on other days." [6] So Moses and Aaron said to all the Israelites, "In the evening you shall know that it was the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, [7] and in the morning you shall see the glory of the LORD, because he has heard your complaining against the LORD. For what are we, that you complain against us?" [8] And Moses said, "When the LORD gives you meat to eat in the evening and your fill of bread in the morning, because the LORD has heard the complaining that you utter against him--what are we? Your complaining is not against us but against the LORD."


[9] Then Moses said to Aaron, "Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, 'Draw near to the LORD, for he has heard your complaining.'" [10] And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the LORD appeared in the cloud. [11] The LORD spoke to Moses and said, [12] "I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them, 'At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the LORD your God.'"


[13] In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp. [14] When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground. [15] When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, "What is it?" For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, "It is the bread that the LORD has given you to eat.

Jesus' effectiveness as a teacher has everything to do with the parables he told. Parables have a way of sneaking up from behind us, and surprising us with their point. A parable like the Prodigal Son is universal -- its wisdom spills out, regardless of the cultural context. While this is not true with all parables, it does apply to the parable for this morning: the workers in the vineyard. Many also feel that it would be difficult to find a parable that is at once more disturbing and yet more relevant to our lives and society(1). Let's see what you think, as I read from the 20th chapter of the Gospel of Matthew, beginning with verse 1:

"For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. [2] After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. [3] When he went out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; [4] and he said to them, 'You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.' So they went. [5] When he went out again about noon and about three o'clock, he did the same. [6] And about five o'clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, 'Why are you standing here idle all day?' [7] They said to him, 'Because no one has hired us.' He said to them, 'You also go into the vineyard.' [8] When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, 'Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.' [9] When those hired about five o'clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. [10] Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. [11] And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, [12] saying, 'These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.' [13] But he replied to one of them, 'Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? [14] Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. [15] Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?' [16] So the last will be first, and the first will be last."

Sermon:


I have some sad news which I must share with you before I begin today's sermon. Last April, when my friend Henri Nouwen was here to preach at my installation, he told Cindy and me that he had a sense that God might have some new plans for him. He wasn't at all sure what they were, but he was excited and full of energy to explore what would become the next chapter in his life. That chapter -- that unknown possibility -- began yesterday. Following a heart attack, Henri Nouwen went home to God. I had known Henri for 24 years. In all my life, I have never known anyone with a deeper desire to be close to God. Now, those years of longing are over, and his joy is complete. His yearning heart is now satisfied, and his restless soul is at peace. It gives me great joy to know that so many of you had an opportunity to hear him and meet him, and that he could be a part of the beginning of my ministry among you. Please remember in your prayers his family, his community in Toronto known as "Daybreak," and all who knew and loved him. Some of you may be familiar with the monks of the 3rd and 4th centuries referred to as the Desert Fathers. They were men, and a few women as well, who left the cities of the middle east and northern Africa to go out to the desert. There, they lived alone in caves, isolated from the world. They prayed. They fasted. And occasionally they gathered for discussion. From the many stories that have been passed down, I share one with you this morning.

The story is told how, in the 4th century, word filtered back to one of the holiest of the Desert Fathers that, in a town a few days journey away, there was an ordinary carpenter whose spiritual qualities were of the utmost purity -- far greater than those of the Desert Father -- or any of his fellow monks.

Desiring to see for himself, the father set off on the journey. When he arrived in the village, he came upon a crowd of rowdy, unkempt ruffians, whose language he could barely tolerate. Their blasphemies and unruly conduct were more despicable than anything the Father had ever seen before. As he hastily passed them by, he noticed, in their midst, a carpenter who fit the description of the great spiritual master the father was searching for. The Father advanced closer to the carpenter by forcing himself amongst the vile and abhorrent entourage. Finally, when he reached the carpenter, he asked if he were the one whom the Father had heard about. He was.

The Father then signaled to the carpenter to lean over, whence the Father whispered in his ear a question: Why, for God's sake, had the spiritual master allowed himself to be associated with such a despicable lot as this? The carpenter offered a kind and understanding smile, and said that he stayed close to these ruffians because they were the ones who would lead him to heaven. Immediately, the Father's face took on a look of amazement, and after thanking the carpenter, he departed, for he was certain that he had been in the presence of a very holy man. The grace of God is amazing, baffling, and upsetting. It defies our small-minded attempts to channel and control its direction. Like manna, it cannot be hoarded. Like the landowner's wages, it seems that it is distributed unfairly. Like the carpenter who lives amongst the street gangs, grace is present in ways we would never expect. God's grace is greater than our wildest dreams. Grace can redeem us from circumstances long after we have abandoned all hope. Yet its logic, its economy, is unlike anything we understand. In fact, when Johnathan Wesley--the founder of Methodism--was removed from his pulpit in England, he said, "There are few matters more repugnant to reasonable people than the grace of God." (2)

We learn from Jesus' parable of the workers that God's grace is not fair or just. It does not bend to our demands that it conform to our perceptions of merit. God's grace is abundant beyond all human calculation. It comes when we least expect it, and confers blessing upon those who least appear to deserve it, even those who show up for work at 5pm. All of us are familiar with the dictum: "Last hired; first fired." In the economy of God's grace, the last hired are the first paid, and they are paid a full day's wage, just like those who have been working their tails off since sunrise. In another of Jesus' parables about God's grace, the prodigal son -- who returns after squandering his inheritance -- is welcomed with open arms, and becomes the occasion for a great celebration.

That's right . . . . it's not fair. It's not the way things are supposed to be!! As Henri Nouwen pointed out while preaching here in April, when we first hear the parable of the Prodigal Son, most of us imagine ourselves in the place of the older sibling; and in today's parable of the workers in the vineyard, I would guess that most of us identify first with the workers who respond early and work long hours. In both cases, we like to see ourselves as "insiders." We ask ourselves, "How can it be that the others receive God's blessing first, and in equal proportion to ourselves? What kind of God rewards laziness and profligate behavior?" Our minds run quickly to memories of the times we have arrived early and stayed late: we remember the committees we have served on, the unpaid overtime we have put in, the Sisyphusian household tasks we have repeatedly undertaken.

The hardest thing to accept about the grace of God is that it is not a reward. God does not pour out upon us love and mercy in response to our good behavior. We do not "earn" God's grace -- as if, when we really "have our act together" and have everything under control, God's grace will come upon us; and then, when our life is unravelling, it's an indication that somehow, we've "fallen" from grace.

The fact is that no matter how hard we may try, nothing we could do could make God love us. It's as if God is throwing a grand party, and if we are going to attend it, it will have to be because we got invited, not because we worked our way in. (3)God's love of us is God's free gift, freely given. God chooses to love each and every one of us -- not only when we "have our act together," but particularly when we've been crushed by life's relentless challenges. In this way, and ONLY in this way, do we begin to glean the ultimate truth of our lives, and our relationship with God: and that truth is that it is by God's grace, and God's grace alone, that we are transformed from who we are to who we might become. And in this way, we receive eternal salvation. I don't know if God ever implemented salvation by the books. But I'm certain that the good news of this and others of Jesus' parables is that God isn't keeping score, and the only way we're going to be saved is to let go of our own inclination to keep score, and join the festival to which we are invited, along with the "losers" we most despise. On a day-to-day basis, I have a very hard time accepting what I have just said. Theologically, I understand that it is true. But existentially, I'm too caught up in a culture which is rooted in the notions of merit, reward, earning, fairness, just desserts and score keeping.

All week long, as I have struggled with these two texts which depict the alien activity of God's grace, I've been forced to switch modes internally. I have been going back and forth between thinking: "in life, when I add it all up, I'm getting what I deserve" . . . between that, and a sense that each day, I have opportunities available to me beyond my wildest expectation, far exceeding anything I myself could ever have generated. And nothing that I have done suggests that I deserve these wonderful experiences.

* Who can put a price on the opportunity to soothe a crying child?

* What have I done to merit the grandeur of a spectacular sun rise?

* How could I ever think that I deserve the ease with which I can relax when I am with my closest friends?

Although my life is rich with these and other similar blessings, yielding to the economy of grace as it is freely offered by God is hard.Amidst this internal debate, what I have learned is that we need not view the human arena of merit and the heavenly arena of grace as an "either / or" choice. There is value in fair play and hard work. But each of us knows in our minds, and hearts, and in our bones that life is more much, much more than getting what we deserve.

* Life is also about loving, and being loved, more than we deserve.

* It is about being forgiven even though we've messed up.

* It is about saints who make their home even with the likes of us.

Although much of life amounts to a zero-sum-game, in which there must be a loser if there is to be a winner -- the opportunities to create win / win situations far exceed our imaginations.

Throughout the week, while pondering the meaning of these two texts:

* I have spoken with a number of people who are fighting cancer;

* I have been confronted with the gap between the quality of the Cleveland public schools and the quality available in the suburbs;

* I have listened to the bitterness of someone whose life was destroyed by the alcoholism of the person they loved;

* and I have increasingly struggled with my own blurry vision as I await surgery on the cataract on my right eye.

Through all of this, I have concluded that to ask the question "Is any of this 'fair'?" is to invite the possibility that my life will get stuck -- bogged down -- in a vain and prideful attempt to reduce the events of the world to some grid that I can understand; to compel the freedom which we have been given to conform to my rules.

I don't want to get stuck in that place. Although fairness and justice will have their say with me, grace will lead me home.

In conclusion, let me share with you a spiritual "experiment with truth" -- to borrow Gandhi's phrase -- which I initiated in response to this parable. Perhaps you might find it useful in your own attempt to make sense of our common Parent whose profligate nature is so stunning. Consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, from God's perspective, all of us have been loitering throughout the day, oblivious to a huge hunk of the work which God needs done. We have dawdled in the streets,

* while numerous species go extinct each day;

* while the gap between the rich and poor in this country has grown to a new extreme;

* while weapons of mass destruction continue to be developed, built, enhanced and stockpiled;

* while our elders are consigned to a life of loneliness and destitution in their final few years;

* while our children constitute the largest segment our population living in poverty.

And after a day of loitering, a friend taps us on the shoulder, or a book speaks to our heart, or a sermon awakens new hope and energy -- and suddenly, it's 5 in the afternoon, and the most important thing is that we still have a chance to help with God's work.

Suddenly, my tendency to emphasize merit, fairness, and just desserts begins to fade, giving way to a new and overwhelming sense that each day is jam packed with gifts and opportunities to serve God. I remember the moralistic score card which I so often conceal from the eyes of others, and put it away. In its place, I take out my handkerchief to catch the tears of gratitude that begin to flow.

My wish for each of us is that, in this way, we might all cry tears of joy, together. Amen.