Radical Return

Sermon for the Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost

Saint Peter's | Arlington, VA

Matthew 21: 33-46

Our Gospel lesson this morning uplifts the familiar image of a vineyard.

Agrarian references like this are repeated throughout scripture—but especially those

relating to the cultivation of a vineyard. And it is applied in many different forms: as

language for erotic poetry, as a descriptor of admirable character traits, and as an

example of abiding love. Even in the very first book of the Bible, we read that “Noah, a

man of the soil, was the first to plant a vineyard.”

But it is much more expansive than a reference applying only to individuals... Instruction

is also provided for the sustainable care and preservation of land, particularly in the

observance of jubilee. As this practice is outlined in the Hebrew Bible, a landowner ought

to faithfully sow and prune their field for six years and then—when the seventh year

arrives—“there shall be a sabbath of complete rest of the land.”

And this agrarian-rooted practice also includes social implications, as well: “You shall not

strip your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard; you shall leave them for the poor and the alien...” Jubilee was intended for the renewal of people as much as for land.

The vineyard and the good fruit it produces is well storied; throughout the Bible, it is used

to describe a place of vitality, of safety, of joy, of God’s blessing. With layers that are

profound, practical, and playful, the tendrils of this meaning-laden allegory are

interwoven throughout the words of sacred scripture.

So, for Jesus—who as a faithful child of the Jewish tradition was nurtured and guided by

its rich stories, teachings, and ritual observances—this a quite familiar theme. And his

own life is even shaped by it; in the very first miracle of his public ministry, Jesus turns

water into wine so that a time of jubilant celebration might be extended.

Even in these last two weeks in our lectionary readings, we have heard Jesus’ parables use

the vineyard as an example of faithfulness, and as an illustration of the abundance of grace

known within the economy of God.

It is an exceptionally hefty image because it carries great cultural significance. Like Jesus,

those he teaches in the Temple are also quite familiar with its rich context. So, in using it

yet again in this parable, Jesus does so to both invoke a tradition steeped in the allegory—

and to evoke a response in his listeners.

Now, it’s worth pausing for just a moment to reflect together...

Imagine a vineyard: 1) the sight and smell of long rows of grapevines carefully seeded in

rich soil, 2) the sound of gentle breezes rustling through green leaves, 3) the color of

bright grapes turning to deep ripening hues...

...and as you imagine this scene, I wonder what words come to mind? How might you

describe this image?

Perhaps, some of those descriptions might include: colorful, lush, delicious, faithful

stewardship, delight, vitality of life... As we consider this parable together, hold onto this

image.

The fundamental purpose of a vineyard is to produce good fruit that it might be enjoyed.

The gifts it bears nourish the whole human person, bodies as well as souls. It is a symbol

of great abundance—and at the very center of the allegory exists a concern for human

need.

...But in the parable we have just heard, this is sadly not the case. Something has gone

amiss—and the scene is quite far from the serene one we just envisioned together. One

clue suggesting something’s a little off comes with the absence of the landowner...

As one religion scholar, Andrew McGowan has observed, “Jesus speaks at a time when Roman and local elites were pushing small farmers off their subsistence-level holdings and creating large estates, using cheap labor in the forms both of slavery and of insecure day labor. Vast fig orchards and large vineyards made production and profit easier, at the expense of the small-holders.”

Essentially, the bigger the vineyard, the more production, the greater the profit—and any

landowners displaced in the process are merely an inconvenience. Jesus’ listeners understand all of this all too well because it is the reality they are living. But the small

farmer isn’t the only thing forgotten in the story he is telling; it would seem concern for

the land’s wellbeing, the shared delight in its gifts, and a delicate reciprocity within all

created order has also long since been discarded.

Rather than producing an abundance of joy, this vineyard Jesus describes has devolved

into chaos. What might have begun as a heartwarming, serene image, has taken a sharp

turn—and it is now defined by greed and enmity, violence and destruction. This sobering story looks nothing like the original intention of a vineyard.

So, at this point, we might be wondering, what comes next? Just where do we go from here?

Which is precisely Jesus’ question as he turns to those gathered and asks: “Now, when the

owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants?” And with a hint of glee and any hesitation the people respond: “He will put those those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.”

Now, perhaps this is exactly what an indifferent landowner might choose. Retaliation.

Retribution. We can only imagine... And in the end all that would seem to remain is an

utter wasteland. But, of course, this is not how God views the situation...

Br. Curtis Almquist of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, an Episcopal monastic order

located in Cambridge, MA, is fond of saying the following: “God is frugal; wasting

nothing.”

This is not the kind of frugality shaped by scarcity, though. Rather, it is one of lavish

generosity. Where we are all too prone to see brokenness as total waste and desperately

work to excavate and discard it from our presence, God sees something far greater: the

makings of good soil. Whether it be in the inevitable shortcomings of our communities,

the failings of the society in which we live, or even the great disappointments and painful

letdowns in our own lives: nothing is wasted.

The invitation then, as Br. Curtis would suggest, is to become proficient mulchers.

To dig up those parts of ourselves we cannot possibly fathom being of any good use, to

dig up those deep wounds and historic harms in our common life, and humbly offer them

as an oblation to God. And as we do so, trust that what we can only see as mere waste will

be mulched, redeemed, made new—and used to bring forth new life.

...And this is just what Jesus points us toward in this parable.

After posing the question “What is to be done?” in response to the “bad fruit” produced

by “Wicked Tenants,” he then quickly shifts the focus of the story. And what he suggests is

profoundly radical:

“The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this is the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes.”

In this reorientation back to the cornerstone of all creation, Jesus’ summary is “radical”

according to the truest, agrarian-based origin of the word, ‘radicchio.’ It is the same word

from which the root vegetable ‘radish’ is derived. To be radical literally suggests a

returning to the root, to the fundamental core—or, we might say, to the cornerstone.

While this parable describes a sad reality that has long since gone of the rails, it then

redirects the focus of our attention back to the foundation of faith—to a familiar story of

rejection and redemption which animates our lives.

It is the story of a loving Creator who calls everything into being—and then sets human

life in a meticulously tended garden overflowing with goodness! And in this story, even

when its tenants rebel and wreak havoc upon the vineyard, God continually pursues the

restoration of relationship—that they might be redeemed, know life and have it in

abundance.

This is the direction toward which Jesus’ story points. His response to escalating violence

is not to perpetuate it, as the people listening seem to crave. Rather, he suggests this

endless cycle of will be shattered to pieces on the cornerstone of of the Kingdom of God

— or, as we might say, the Eternal Vineyard of God.

God desires good fruit. And even when we hunger for vengeance in the presence of bad,

“wicked” fruit, God never ceases to delight in giving this gift!

So, Jesus’ parable sets before his listeners, both those ancient and modern, an opportunity

for reflection... How are we tending to the vineyards of our lives? And what “waste” is

merely in need of mulching?

But, even more pressing, before the whole people of God Jesus extends an invitation:

return to the cornerstone so that you might be radically, firmly rooted in love—and there

produce the fruits of the kingdom.

May it be so.

Amen.