Sunday, October 5, 2008

Sermon 21 Pentecost - Proper 22A Oct 5, 2008

21 Pentecost - 5 October 2008 - Proper 22A
Exodus 20:1-4, 7-9, 12-20; Philippians 3:4b-14; Matthew 21:33-46

James V. Stockton

Here’s a story: New to town, Kathy is walking through the countryside around the small village to which she has only recently moved. Kathy comes across a wizened old man sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch of his farmhouse. “Howdy,” she says to the farmer. “How’s the cotton coming along?” “Didn’t plant no cotton,” says the farmer. “Oh,” says Kathy. “Uh, why not, I wonder?” The farmer stops rocking. “’Fraid of the boll weevil.” he replies. And he goes back to rocking his chair. “Ah, yes,” Kathy says. “Well, then,” she continues, “how’s the corn?” “Didn’t plant no corn,” says the farmer. “Oh?” Kathy responds, “Um, why not?” The farmer stops again. “’Fraid of the drought.” He relaxes to rocking in his chair again. “Yes,” Kathy says, as she glances around at the tall green grass and the green leafy trees. Kathy tries again. “Well, then, neighbor, uh, how are the potatoes doing?” The farmer eyes her. “Ain’t got no taters,” he says. Kathy just looks at him, speechless. Motionless, the farmer replies, “Scairt of the tater bug.” And he goes to back to rocking. Kathy’s curiosity is piqued, now. What crop is the farmer growing? What seed is he planting? She must know.

In a sense, what the ancient people of God experience a curiosity similar to Kathy’s though with far greater consequence to its answer. On their way out from slavery to freedom, the people witness the Sea parting itself into to walls of water, and dry ground opening up for them to escape the Egyptians trying to capture them again. When they are desperately hungry, they witness a huge flock of quails appearing from nowhere so that they have food. They discover an unknown substance on the ground every morning that turns out to be a miracle food, and shows up to feed them wherever they go. When they’re dying of thirst they witness water gushing out of solid rock to supply them with drink.

It’s true that the people are in awe. But it’s also true that for many generations, the people have been slaves. Occupied simply with staying alive, the people have lost touch with their sense of themselves as a people. And they’ve lost touch with the God of their fathers and mothers. Apart now from the strict regimen of slavery, from the routine of having someone constantly telling them what to do and when to do it, the people are unaccustomed to not knowing exactly what the next day holds; with not knowing exactly what lies around the next bend; with not knowing exactly and literally where their next meal is coming from. It is not an excuse for their persistent panic. But it is a reason for it, and, I think, a good one. But, for all their fears and desperation, the people are nonetheless glad to be free. They wish to be God’s people. And now, the problem is: they don’t know how to do that. And this is what the Ten Commandments are for. ‘God, guide us. God, help us know what to do. God, help us learn to live.’

I read a story about a couple of friends. Bert and Harold are talking at dinner one night. “I visited a small chapel last week,” says Bert, “that had the Ten Commandments painted on two boards and mounted up front where the congregation could read them.” “When I see that kind of thing,” says Harold, “I always think there should be a third board mounted beneath the other two.” “What do you mean?” asks Bert. “The third board,” Harold explains, “should read: ‘it is recommended that members not attempt more than six of these.’”


Meant to hold up an ideal, yes, but to indicate an ideal that is achievable only to the degree that humanity persistently turns and returns to God. The first commandment is the key. “I am the Lord your God.” Without the first, the other nine commandments become vulnerable to abusive interpretation and clever violation. The irony, I suppose, is that without the first commandment, the other nine become poison to both collective human freedom and personal human integrity. It will take the Israelites a long time to learn, and maybe we’re all still learning it today, but these are not the Ten Condemnations; these are not God’s seeds of human failing. These are the Ten Commandments: God’s seeds of human faith and faithfulness, seeds of the knowledge and love of the Lord.


“Listen to another parable,” says Jesus. And he tells of an owner of a vineyard and of some tenant farmers who work the land for him. The owner is a long way away. And here, distance does not make the heart grow fonder. To the contrary, his absence leaves the tenants with a sense that they are no longer accountable to him. Jesus’ parable assumes that the owner’s claims to a share of the harvest are right and fair. For the vineyard is God’s Kingdom and its owner is God.


It’s no wonder, then, that the religious authorities, “the chief priests and Pharisees” as the scripture reads, want to arrest Jesus and stop him from saying these things. From their perspective God indeed is not around. From their perspective, God has indeed put them in charge. In their view, they own the religion of the people of God.


Jesus’ words are threatening to take all that away from them. And they resent it. And as the disciples of Jesus now recall this parable from the vantage of their own leadership of the Church in its infancy, they know that their emerging ministry is going to be regarded in exactly the same way. And you and I, of course, can do the same. We may look at our collective ministry as the Episcopal Church of the Resurrection; we may each of us consider his or her own ministry, either here in the parish or simply as a Christian person at large in the world. As we do so, we will be well to recognize that anyone with a sense of ownership of the Kingdom, of their ownership of and authority over the mission and ministry of the Church may well feel challenged by your custodianship, by mine, of the harvest of God’s Kingdom.


And the parable tells us why. The owner of the vineyard sends slaves or servants to collect some of the harvest. And rather than give to them what they come for, the tenants abuse them, punish them, and even kill them. When finally the owner’s son himself comes, the tenants are so far gone in their zeal to enforce their right by might, that they have no thankfulness left. They have no sense of what it once was like for them, when they had no place in which to settle, where they could live and work, and rest and play, and even pray. They have no recollection of what it once was like, or of what it might have been for them, to have no share at all in the abundance of the harvest. And so it means nothing to them that those who come are sent to them by God.

Anyone with a sense that God’s Kingdom somehow belongs not God, but to him, to her, to them, will be challenged, by those who come to them saying ‘we’re here for a share of it.’ Anyone with a sense that the Kingdom of God somehow belongs not God, but to themselves, will be threatened by your ministry, my ministry, by our ministry together, of welcoming in those whom God sends to us, welcoming them in the same way that we welcome the Son of God himself.

Trying to be good neighbor, Kathy is also very curious about the farmer. What crop is he growing? What seed is he planting? “No cotton, for fear of the boll weevil, no corn for fear of drought, no potatoes for fear of ‘tater bug,’” Kathy says. “Yep.” says the farmer. “So, what did you plant?” asks Kathy. “I didn’t plant nothin’,” the farmer answers. “I’m just playing it safe.”


You and I, I’m convinced of this, know that God did not send us to play it safe. We know that God sent us to risk the inconvenience of it, and plant the seed of God’s mercy. We know that God sends us, today, tomorrow, to trust that we have already all we’ll need to grow the seed of God’s grace. We know that God sends us, now, next month, next year, to meet the challenge with outstretched hand, and warm smile, and gentle words, and welcome embrace, and to plant and to grow in the hearts and lives of family, friend, and stranger alike, that seed whose blessed harvest we already know: the harvest of God’s Love for each of us and for us all.


And so may Almighty God, who manifests the presence of God in the servants of God, grant that by the grace abounding among us, all may, with us, look to Christ the Son of God, and be saved; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

© 2008, James V. Stockton

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