Psalm 80:7-14
Philippians 3:4b-14
Matthew 21:33-46
It seems second nature, undoubtedly because so many of us were taught it from any early age, to understand the Scriptural passages read and proclaimed this morning as supersessionary, that is, as representing that Christianity supersedes or replaces Judaism. And certainly, it has been a prevalent theological stance through much of Christian history to understand the Church as the new Israel, that is “a people who produces the fruits of the kingdom” (Matthew 21:43), and the covenant made with the Children of Israel on Mt Sinai as superseded, even invalidated by the “new” covenant inaugurated by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. In short, we are the Chosen People, the “winners”, as it were. Very convenient, very comforting…very smug. I have to come accept it as a rule of thumb that whenever my encounter with any part of Scripture or of the Tradition leaves me feeling righteous or self-satisfied, I have probably missed its point. Genuine encounters with Scripture should un-nerve us more than a little. They should accuse, and to some degree even shame us, and it is only when we face the accusation square in the face and shoulder the shame, that the texts can yield for us anything truly meaningful or be life-giving in any real way.
If we believe Scripture to be a living thing, a living presence in the Church, then the prophet’s cry for justice and Jesus’ disgust at hypocrisy and pretended self-sufficiency are directed not exclusively to their original audience, but to us who are the Church. Only if and when we understand that, can the power of the Scriptures transform us. Any other stance allows us to stop our ears and deflect their challenge. And what is that challenge? It is the challenge to see ourselves not in those commended in the narratives, but in those reproved; to see ourselves as the careless whose indifference yields wild grapes, as those whose greed and violence gains for us a reprimand and loses for us our inheritance. Taking an honest look at the text and at ourselves, the Scriptures today accuse us. They accuse us of sloth, ingratitude and a distorted sense of entitlement which resolves itself in murderous violence. They also should and do shame us; shame us with God’s kindness and generosity, with God’s trusting forbearance. They beg the questions: “How well do I take care of what has been entrusted to me – note, ‘entrusted’, not ‘given’?” “How acute is my sense of entitlement?” “How much of what comes my way do I delude myself into believing really is mine?” These are hard questions which can strike at the core of one’s beliefs and values, yet in encountering them with integrity is held out the possibility of change, the possibility of growth, the possibility of transformation.
The premise in both the passages from Isaiah and from the Gospel of Matthew is that all things are really God’s , including ourselves and the good things that come our way. Isaiah depicts the vineyard as provided, tended and cared for by God and as representing the people of Judah who unthankfully rebelled, pretending themselves to be their own with a right to produce and to do whatever they liked. Jesus’ parable also depicts a landowner as the one who plants a vineyard and who provides all which is necessary for its successful operation: a fence, a winepress, a watchtower; and he entrusts it to tenants for his own and their mutual benefit. The tenants will get a share of what they produce, but he rightly expects his share. It is his vineyard, after all. The tenants, however, somehow get it into their heads that they are entitled to all it produces, they fancy themselves the landowner and stop at nothing to make sure that world-view is undisturbed, even to the point of murder. In both cases, the landowner – God – in the end asserts his control over what is his, and the images used by Isaiah and Jesus are pretty graphic. They leave little room for speculation on the landowner’s feelings. The passages highlight the reality to which we usually only give lip service: Everything is God’s, and ultimately all we have is provided or made possible by God.
Yes, to those who have ears to listen, as Jesus so often says in the Gospels, these two texts about landowners and vineyards confront us with some very difficult questions, and they seem disturbingly appropriate as we begin our stewardship campaign. It is certainly the rector’s duty to speak at least annually about stewardship. But more than the nuts and bolts of it, it is his or her duty to give a rationale for it, to enable the community to examine attitudes more than actions; to make, through the Scriptures, an invitation to transformation whose effects will go far beyond a pledge, while striking at the heart of our relationship with God and what God has entrusted to us. It is the rector’s duty, through the Scriptures and the Tradition, to invite people into the struggle with difficult questions. At the end of the day, stewardship is about whose world you really think this is, whose you think you are, what you perceive you are entitled to. The Scriptures tell us clearly that the world is God’s, it was created and is ultimately sustained by God. Like the tenants in Jesus’ parable, we have been entrusted with its care. It is safe to say we have been pretty poor stewards. The Scriptures tell us clearly that we are God’s. Not only were we created by God, but in his image; and through the prophet Isaiah we are reminded: “Thus says the Lord, he who created you,…he who formed you…:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.” (Isaiah 43:1) Yet, how often are our decisions and choices utterly self-determinative, with only a pretended interest in the bigger picture of God’s will and purposes? How often have we chosen to grow wild grapes? How often do we take care of ourselves physically, emotionally, spiritually as if we really are God’s? The Scriptures are clear as to what ultimately belongs to us in terms of physical possessions – absolutely nothing: “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21) All that we have or may have is gift. Yet, when all we have is ultimately from God and usually undeserved, how often do we make demands for our “rights”, stand on some kind of pretended entitlement, make the argument that we somehow “earned” our good fortune? To what extent do we continue amassing goods, in the sub-sonscious hope of erasing the reality of our ontological nakedness? When we engage with the difficult questions of of Scripture and the Tradition, we may find ourselves wanting.
I am not here to tell you how much you should pledge, or how to exercise your own ministry of stewardship. I am hoping that the honest and challenging encounter with the Scriptures and the Tradition will enable for us all a daily transformation shaped by the difficult questions and images offered by them; marked by three profoundly biblical truths: the world is God’s, you are God’s, all is gift. Stewardship is more than simply what one gives in church or how one supports the church. It is about an attitude which is informed chiefly by the reality of who God is as creator and source, and who we are as God’s creation. Stewardship, like so much of the Christian life is ultimately about a relationship, a right relationship, a transforming relationship with God, creation, each other and ourselves.
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