Fifteenth Sunday after Trinity

Lectionary readings: [Philippians 1:21-30 and] Matthew 20:1-16

[In our first reading, we hear Paul reflect on absence and presence, departing and remaining, fruitful labour, sharing abundantly in what Christ Jesus has done, and, included in all that, the call to suffer with Christ and not be intimidated by opponents. I do not intend to focus on these verses, but instead to view them as a lens through which to look at the Gospel.]

Our reading from Matthew is, properly, an unbroken continuation of the preceding verses. To back up a little further still, a rich young man had come to Jesus and asked what good thing he needed to make happen in order to hold on to a lasting sense of being alive that so far eluded him. We might say that, like many people today, this young man saw himself as a good person, trying to be the best version of himself; but Jesus deconstructs his assumptions around what it is to be ‘good.’ Goodness, just as much as life, is a share in what God gives to us; that is, to others. Jesus invited him to be free of the hold things had over him

(the man is literally possessed)

by surrendering his prosperity to God, in exchange for God’s greater riches. The young man, who already owned much property

(though hardly the whole world, to trade for his soul),

weighs up the proposition, and walks away in anguish; and Jesus observes how hard it will be for the rich to enter the kingdom of heaven.

Peter—who always represents the Church—points out that, in contrast to the rich young man, he and the others with him have left everything and followed Jesus; yet, betraying the same concerns as that young man, asks, “What then will we have?” In response, Jesus declares a coming renewal of how things are, in which the Church will model God’s justice for the watching world [1]. It is in this context that Jesus employs this parable.

It is a parable that makes use of familiar tropes, and unfamiliar suspects:

the landowner is (a relentless) God;

the vine and the vineyard, the descendants of Israel planted in the promised Land;

the labourers, those who do the will and work of God (which implies that being part of God’s chosen people—whether the Jews or the Church—is not, in itself, the same as being one who does the will of God); note: no-one else wants or values them;

the manager, one entrusted with oversight and service (presbyter and deacon?), a role the religious establishment saw as theirs, but which, arguably, Jesus claimed as his own in his parables.

And at the culmination of the day, this landowner ensures that every day labourer has received the day’s wages, that all have what they need to live. There is, here, concern for equity over equality. There is a plentiful harvest, within which all can find fruitful labour, and all can share in the abundance.

And at the end of the day, there is a confrontation, in which the landowner asks, “Or are you envious because I am generous?” Or, in the Greek, are you giving me the evil eye, since I am intrinsically good? [2]

And here, Jesus the storyteller is referring to the Jewish folk belief in the ‘good eye’ and the ‘evil eye’ [3]. The ‘good eye’ looks at what it has with contentment and at what others have with modest celebration, recognising that God has blessed that person in this way. To give the ‘evil eye’ means to look at another, motivated by jealousy, in such a way as to unleash a magical power against them. Its biblical roots are found in the way Sarah looked at Hagar and despised her; or in the jealousy of Joseph’s brothers towards him. Such was the concern about the ‘evil eye’ that you needed to know how to deal with it. Ideally, one ought to live so as not to attract its attention in the first place—this was Jacob’s folly in singling-out one son with preferential honour. Thou shalt not be too extravagant. Thou shalt not, for example, pay a day’s wage for an hour’s labour. But once the ‘evil eye’ had been deployed against you, you could still counteract it by a variety of means: bouncing it back with a mirror; wearing a magical amulet; reciting the correct formulary; distracting the demonic angel summoned against you with some bright colour. In Jesus’ parable, the landowner’s ‘good eye’ is enough to protect him—and his short-day labourers—from the ‘evil eye’ [4].

Surely, we no longer believe in such superstitious nonsense as the ‘evil eye’? Well, Jesus acknowledged it as an issue, the malevolent power unleashed by jealousy. It is telling that the ‘evil eye’ appears in this parable in response to the seeds of envy Peter has for the rich young man who chose to keep his possessions, however much pain they brought him [5]. Do not multiply woe by adding your own curse to the pain he has brought upon himself. And, surely, we are not so naïve as to believe that coveting what others have for ourselves isn’t a driver of tragedy on a global scale?

But a parable is not information to file under ‘Things Jesus Said’; it is a story Jesus gives to inform our formation.

There is a disciplined rhythm to this parable. The landowner is up while it is still dark, and out to the labour exchange. Throughout the day we see him move between his vineyard and the labour exchange, towards the end of every three-hour shift, at nine, and noon, and three; and then, because he believes that he can get in one more visit before the end of the working day, again at five in the afternoon. Back and forth, absent, present. His concern is not exploitation of unprotected workers, but reaching agreement: on what they need; on a just reward; on a stake in the vision; with the aim of bringing as many as possible into the joy of his generosity, of goodness, reimagined.

What might it look like for us to be shaped by such a parable, as we gather, present, in this place, and disperse, absent to one another, following the heavenly landowner?

How might it shape our disciplined engagement in the public square, as it relates to equity of access to material resources, to wage security, especially in Covid 19 times? [6]

Or how about, as the public square pertains to spiritual hunger? [7]

Or to the complexities of human sexuality? [7]

Or geo-politics? [7]

How might the disciplined rhythm of the landowner shape our patterns of prayer, throughout the day?

Or how we look back over the day, with its burden and its gift, and build celebration into our lives, thanksgiving for what God has done for us and for what God has given others?

How might that train us away from greed and envy, and how, accumulatively, might that enable liberation for the natural environment we are so intent on destroying?

This is not simply a parable for our time (and every time), but a parable of the kingdom of heaven that speaks to every arena of our lives. There are so many ways we could discern how to live it out, personally and communally.

Let me suggest one concrete example. The run-down space in front of the Minster has been reimagined and newly opened as Minster Park. This week, I have spent time sitting in that space, praying, dreaming, having spatially distanced conversations with other people enjoying this public park. Residents of the tower blocks, who have no garden of their own. Students. City centre workers reading a book on their lunch hour. Friends meeting up—though for now, the local lockdown restricts that. Skateboarders (I am aware that there have been some skaters who have been inconsiderate towards others, including residents of the Alms Houses; but, also, that there have been friendlier, considerate skaters too). Various people who are making the space their own, as is right. A neighbouring space (or, neighbouring-space) we do not have possessive rights over, but in which we have a public stake. And I am aware that God has brought these various neighbours near to us, to bless—and as a blessing (rather than a curse). I am aware that various interested parties could become Us v. Them stories; or, could become an expanded Us, to the benefit of us all, depending on how we choose to respond. Might we, as a Minster community, commit to going out into Minster Park at regular times of the day, (once lockdown is lifted) to seek agreement with whomever we find there, both young and old and everything in between? Might that be the place to start discovering in what way the kingdom of heaven is like this parable that Jesus told?

 

[1] It could be argued that this is fulfilled in the victory of Christianity over the pagan gods of the Greco-Roman world, and the consolidation of Christendom; though alongside this we would have to speak of the seduction of wealth and power, of apostasy and judgement on the Church, and of our living, today, on the far side of the rule Jesus depicted.

[2] Intrinsic goodness being the matter in hand.

[3] As he has done before, in the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew 6:22, 23.

[4] Ultimately, God’s ‘good eye’ will counteract the effect of the ‘evil eye’ by raising Jesus from the dead, and with him, those who believe in his name.

[5] It is salutary to reflect that the Church, once seated to administer justice, became ensnared by entitlement—and still is, in many ways, despite loss of status.

[6] For example, for me, this parable provides theological rootedness for my belief that, as a society, we should replace most present welfare benefits with an unconditional Universal Basic Income, or citizen’s income.

[7] Or anything else for which there is a market place. And what does it mean, in practice, to be—as we proclaim—‘Open to God, open to all?’