Generous to a Fault?
Sermon by James W. Crawford
September 19, 1999
During the course of the week I have been monitoring different compensation packages. Out in Denver, for instance, the teachers' union accepted a plan linking their pay to performance. Of course, there is some ambiguity, as teachers wonder how performance can be measured when so many variables are out of their control. As one teacher observed, "I was in the printing business for 15 years and you can't run schools like a business. If I bought paper in my printing business and it wasn't up to quality, I could send it back. You can't do that with students."
Back here in Boston, according to a Department of Labor survey, waiters, excluding tips, make about $14,000 per year; funeral attendants, $15, 000. And I noted down in Jonesboro, Arkansas, a secretary, neither medical, nor legal, makes about $18,000. And just this week, in Detroit, the United Autoworkers claimed a share of the record profits run up by General Motors, Ford and Daimler-Chrysler, negotiating for wages, job security, healthcare costs, overtime demands and the assignment of work to outside suppliers. The average person on the assembly line receives about $70,000 a year and 37 days of vacation, thanks to overtime and profit sharing. None of this, of course, compares with Sumner Redstone's two Lieutenants at Viacom, Philip Dauman and Thomas Dooley. They will float down during the Viacom-CBS merger in golden parachutes of 34 million dollars apiece and their respective bosses with a severance of 90 million dollars. All of this is compensation for value determined, fairly or not, in the so-called marketplace.
I
So when Jesus searches for an answer in response to a particularly pecuniary question having to do with the value he places on discipleship and commitment, he sets the marketplace and its wages at the center of things.
The pecuniary question comes from Peter. Remember now, he has been with Jesus from the very beginning. Peter traipsed through the Galilean countryside with Jesus. He has taken the sideswipes, he has heard the cheap shots, he has lived off the land, he is alert to conspiracies dedicated to shut Jesus up, wreck his credibility, put him out of business. Peter has stood the gaff, been loyal, endured with Jesus, so far so good.
But enough is enough. And with his eleven colleagues it is time for payback. We can almost hear Peter whining, "Hey Lord, what's in this for us? What's in this for me? When you're in charge of the your promised new world, can I claim a title? How about The Right Reverend Rock? You know I'd love a villa on the Sea of Galilee? Or could you at least afford a new fishing boat and a dock? And since I've been around the longest, won't you recognize my seniority and offer a bonus, a merit pay raise, a fat percentage? These three years have been a hassle," Peter asserts. "I know you'll make them worth my while."
Just so, answers Jesus. He tells Peter and those clowns traveling with him, each of them hungry for recognition and status, claiming in one way or another to be a special case, pretending, of course, not to listen to Peter's plea and Jesus' response, but alert to every word . . . Jesus tells Peter that when the proper time comes, they will get their reward big-time. And then he launches into a parable, describing to Peter and his clamoring buddies just what they can expect from joining him on this difficult, challenging and often seemingly futile mission.
Remember? The owner of a vineyard needs some grapepickers. He goes downtown to the unemployment office first thing in the morning and hires a batch. He promises them each a fair day's pay. As the morning progresses he returns to the market place, at nine o'clock, hires some more, indicates he will do right by them; then, at noon, at three o'clock and at five, he follows the same procedure. The day wanes, evening falls. The vineyard owner calls his manager. He asks him to gather the grapepickers and pay them, beginning with the crew that began late in the afternoon and going back through the whole contingent until everyone is paid off, including those, of course, who began at sunrise.
And what happens? Astonishing! The crowd who arrived at five, near the close of the day, find in their pay envelopes, a full day's wage. I am sure Jesus pictures these latecomers in the story getting this terrific deal so the early-birds can see it. And as the story plays out, I think Peter and the disciples, who hear Jesus tell of this astonishing and bizarre act, simply quiver with anticipation. In light of the latecomers' salaries, the early birds surely rate a concession. "Oh, baby!" speculate those disciples, "If those late comers deserve a full day's wage, we're going to walk out of our Lord's kingdom building project with a bonus, a commendation, a letter of reference, our names at the top of the rehiring list, privileges, perks, the whole kit and caboodle." Peter and his cohorts cannot wait till the manager calls the sunrise gang and plunks a worthy bounty in their hands.
The sunrise gang finally get their turn. The manager distributes, in an orderly fashion, their day's wage. And those early hired grapepickers stare at their wages in shock and disbelief. No bonus. No gratuity. No special recognition. No big deal. They slink over to the cover of some vines and consult. They organize. They elect one of their own to deal with the owner. Their shop steward collars the owner. "Hey," he grumbles. "What kind of a stunt is this? No fair. That gang who worked one hour got a day's wage. You made them equal to us. We dragged in here early, accomplished a lot more, nearly passed out in the scorching heat to reach our quotas, stuck it out to the end, and nothing. No appreciation. No gratitude. Not a pat on the back, not even a little tip. Come on. No fair." With that he throws his pay on the ground in fury and contempt.
Who can blame him? It is a rotten deal. And then, under the circumstances, the answer he gets is hardly satisfactory. "My good sir," says the owner, "I do you no wrong. I paid you what we agreed on." Then spotting the contemptuously rejected wage lying on the ground at his feet, the owner continues. "Pick it up. Take what belongs to you and go. I choose to give to the last the same I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I wish with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous? So the last shall be first and the first will be last."
II
What, for heaven's sake, is going on here? What egregious injustice does Jesus perpetrate? I doubt there is anyone here this morning who does not believe those early morning, scorched and exhausted grape pickers deserved a bonus, time and half, double-time, job security, health care—something! And I doubt, even if you cling to the principles of property rights and contracts, there is anyone here who does not begin to think the vineyard owner pulled a fast one on those early morning grapepickers. He surely can do what he wants with what he owns. If he wants to introduce socialism he can, even if, in this case, it does appear unfair. What turns out to be a bonanza for the latecomers turns out to be an insult to the early birds. It's not right. It's not fair. He needs a new personnel policy. He may think he is generous. But if so, he is generous to a fault.
III
Really? Is this parable a complicated lesson in economics, payroll systems, business ethics? Do we need an MBA, or a brush-up in contract law? Is this an introduction to the need for labor organizing in order to provide for countervailing power against the arbitrary actions of an employer?
No! No! This parable is not about injustice, but about generosity. It is not about marketplace shenanigans; it is about the nature of grace. It is not about capital and labor, it is about the dynamics, the scope, the depth of Divine love. It is not about the necessity for unions, it is about the joy, the exuberance, the ecstasy, the thrill, the inexhaustible source of love, as our hymn says, of love "that will not let us go" as we pursue the kind of world the God of Jesus Christ wishes for us. This parable answers that query of Peter's, "Hey what's in this for me?"—a question so sad and so symptomatic of human nature, it answers Peter's question so richly and deeply that we can hardly comprehend it.
Peter's question is sad, you see, because, as we said, Peter has been with Jesus from the beginning. He knows what it is like to share the mission, the challenge and the mystery of our Lord's unique and gracious ministry. He has been at Jesus' side when a frightened and chronically ill woman gains healing and wholeness. He has been among those who hear a description of joy as being the consequence of standing up for truth and right for Christ's sake; he has encountered the skeptics, the resisters, the religious fundamentalists, the xenophobes, the racists who accuse Jesus of blasphemy, ethnic betrayal and national subversion. Peter has been there, witnessed it all and rather than bask in the opportunity and joy of working side by side with the master, he counts his chits, he balances accounts, he charges Jesus with debt: "So, I've stood by, I taken the risk, I've hung in there. Now—now—give me, give us a break and tell us how you plan to compensate us for all we have been through with you."
Do you know people like that? It is those who are always making deals. It is those in some kind of personal relationship where mutual trust and confidence, appreciation and grace should be the order of the day, but somehow they are always looking for a quid pro quo. Always chalking up points, always saying, "I did this for you, now you do this for me;" always trying to get the upper hand, keep score, turn the relationship into some kind of ledger. Good grief, more courtships dissolve, more marriages topple because of adding this, subtracting that, calculating credits and debits, messing around with what we owe each other, turning our hearts from springs of grace and love into a cold matter of accounts receivable. Sad. Sad!
We know love is not like that. It is not something traded like a commodity. It is not something we earn. It is not something we deserve. It is not something we make deals for. We know the marketplace is not love's home. We know it acts sometimes in surprising and unaccountable ways. It can be irrational. It sometimes breaks the laws of logic. It operates from time to time outside the rules. It can set some tricky precedents. It can know the right thing to do and the right time to do it.
A colleague of mine tells of a particular woman being interviewed on television. She happened to be one of that kind you often read about in Sunday's Parade Magazine or the Readers Digest or see on afternoon TV. She is one of those incredible women heroically raising a large family single handedly. No doubt there are a few of those wonderful mothers among us this morning, or perhaps you were a child of such a mother. In any case, each child of this amazing mother in his or her own way turned out to be a credit to society at large, achieving status and success in a chosen career and vocation. Whenever I meet such a woman I stand in awe. Whenever I hear such a story I am humbled by it. Just so the interviewer. As he brought the program to a close he sought to elicit a generalization, a formula from this radiant and stalwart mother and offered an illustration. He said, "I suppose you loved all your children equally, making sure they all got the same treatment."
The woman pondered a moment. Then she replied, "I loved them. I loved them all, each one of them, but not equally. I loved the one that was down, until he was up. I loved the one that was weak, until she was strong. I loved the one that was hurt, until he was healed. I loved the one that was lost, until she was found."
There you have it. Just like that wonderful mother. That is the quality and depth of love available to all of us from the Divine heart all the time. It makes no difference when we come on the scene. Early. Midday. Late. It makes no difference who we are or what in human terms we think we deserve. Let me give you another analogy and I hope you will excuse this personal reference, I have always been grateful that from the very first my mother and father brought me up within the boundaries of the Christian church. I am glad I learned the hymns, became acquainted with the Bible, listened to consistently excellent preaching, knew some wonderful human beings who taught church school. I received a head start I have always cherished. And here is the nub: for those of you who may have come lately to church, lately to an encounter with the love of God through the face of Jesus Christ, lately to a community where we identify ourselves as a family rooted and grounded in the love undergirding the whole of creation, for those of you who wish to be claimed for the mission and ministry of Jesus Christ and live by a hope that not even death on a Cross can crush—indeed, a hope the Cross, in faith, guarantees—for those of you coming midday, in the heat of the afternoon or the approach of dusk, from those of us lucky enough, fortunate enough, blessed enough through choice and circumstance to come to the vineyard at sunrise, let me say, "Welcome. No grumbling here. No sour grapes! It's great to have you on board. Some of us got an earlier start, and we know it made a tremendous impact on our lives, but not for one moment do we begrudge your presence among us, your seeking some connection with the Divine, your eagerness to put your hand to the plow and to join with us as laborers in Christ's vineyard, eager to make of the human race a human family, all of us prepared to put our convictions and our substance on the line for a world desperate for grace and peace, a world, as Miriam Therese Winter sings, "a world where everyone respects each other's way; where love is lived and all is done with justice and with praise."
And you see, in that kind of condition, regardless of when we come on board, the joy and expectation are the same: we are one in faith and commitment. The last knows the joy of the first and the first the joy of the last."
Indeed, you see, it is like the owner of a vineyard who hired workers to pick his grapes. Some began at sunrise, others midmorning, still others at noon, others at mid-afternoon, and lastly some at dusk. At the close of the day each received the same wage. How fortunate, how lucky, how blessed they all were to experience the generosity, and compassion, the love and hope of the owner. No one grumbled, because all knew the joy of service in the Gospel. It was just as if the first were last, and the last, first.
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