September 20, 2026
Matthew 20.1-16
+ I love this story Jesus shares in my
our Gospel reading for today.
Actually, I don’t love it.
But I get it.
And it certainly resonates with me.
Because I’ve been there.
A lot.
And I think that’s the point of the
story.
I think it’s suppose to resonate with
us.
More importantly, I think it’s
supposed to bother us and get under our skin and irritate us.
And challenge. . .us.
I really do think Jesus intends just
that in this parable..
Because most of us understand
immediately why the workers who had been
in the vineyard all day were angry.
They worked since morning.
They carried on in the heat of the
day.
They’re tired.
They’re sweaty.
They’re aching.
And then, at the end of the day, they
watch the landowner hand exactly the same wage to people who
worked only an hour.
Of course they grumble.
I would!
You would too.
Because somewhere very deep inside us
is this conviction that life ought to be fair.
If I work longer, I should receive
more.
If I behave better, I should be
rewarded.
If I have sacrificed more, followed
the rules more carefully, showed up more consistently, then surely I ought to
receive something extra.
But then Jesus says this,
“The kingdom of heaven is like this.”
And suddenly everything gets turned (as
always!) upside down.
Because the kingdom of God does not
operate according to our carefully constructed accounting system.
Hate to break that news to you today.
. ..
The kingdom of God operates according
to grace.
And grace is almost never fair.
Now, we should say, thank God.
But I do so with gritted teeth
***Ok.***
***Yes.***
***I agree.***
***Thank God***
But let’s take notice of something
important about the workers who come late.
When the landowner finds them standing
around, he asks them,
“Why are you standing here idle all
day?”
And they answer,
“Because no one has hired us.”
It’s not because they’re lazy.
It’s not because they didn’t want
to work.
It’s not because they were
irresponsible.
No one had chosen them.
Maybe they were too old.
Maybe they were too young.
Maybe they were sick.
Maybe they were disabled.
Maybe they simply weren’t the kind of
workers anyone wanted.
Whatever the reason, they had spent
the day waiting.
Waiting for someone to see them.
Waiting for someone to hear
them!
Waiting for someone to choose them.
Waiting for someone to say,
“There’s a place for you too.”
And eventually someone does.
The landowner comes back.
Again and again.
At nine.
At noon.
At three.
And finally, almost absurdly, at five
o’clock, when there’s hardly any working day left.
Still he comes looking for them.
Still he invites them.
Still there is room in the vineyard.
That is what the kingdom of God is
like.
God keeps coming back.
God keeps looking.
God keeps calling.
God keeps making room.
Even when everyone else has decided
that it’s too late.
We human beings are very good at
deciding who exactly has arrived too late.
Too late to change.
Too late to belong.
Too late to be forgiven.
Too late to make something meaningful
out of a life.
Too late to become the person God
created them to be.
But God it seems doesn’t own a watch.
God’s time is not our time!
God simply keeps going out into the
marketplace saying,
“You too. Come into the vineyard.”
And when evening comes, everyone
receives the same amount.
Everyone receives what they need to
live.
And this is where grace becomes
difficult.
Because most of us are perfectly happy
with grace when it is given to us.
We become considerably less
enthusiastic when grace is given to someone we don’t think deserves it.
That is the scandal at the heart of
this parable.
The landowner says to the complaining
workers,
“Are you envious because I’m
generous?”
That question reaches across two
thousand years and lands directly in our laps.
Are we angry because God is too generous?
Are we offended because God refuses to
love according to our categories?
Or the Church’s categories?
Because God loves the person who got
everything wrong?
Because God welcomes the person who
showed up at the last minute?
Because God forgives somebody we haven’t
forgiven?
Because God makes room at the table
for someone we would rather keep out there?
The uncomfortable truth of the Gospel
is that none of us owns the vineyard.
None of us owns the Church.
None of us owns the world.
None of us controls the guest list.
None of us gets to decide when someone
has arrived too late for grace.
That belongs to God.
And God is extraordinarily generous.
Of course, this doesn’t mean that
justice somehow doesn’t matter.
Quite the opposite.
Notice what the landowner actually
does.
He makes certain that even the people
who stood unwanted in the marketplace all day receive enough to live.
He sees the people everyone
else overlooked.
And he gives them what?
Dignity.
That’s not cheap grace.
That’s mercy becoming justice.
It’s the kingdom of God breaking into
a world that constantly assigns human worth according to productivity,
usefulness, success, wealth, stats, race, sexuality, age, health, achievement,
or respectability.
Jesus says,
That is not how God measures a human
life.
In God’s vineyard, human worth is not
earned.
It is given.
Because you are God’s beloved child. .
Or as we will hear toiday at Lucelia’s
baptism,
“You are Gods’ work of art!”
You are God’s own.
You belong to god.
Period.
And perhaps that is why this parable
ultimately leads us to this table.
Because here, at the Eucharist, the
same thing happens.
Nobody receives a larger piece of Jesus
because they have been faithful longer.
Nobody receives more grace because
they prayed harder this week.
Nobody receives a better cup because
they’ve made fewer mistakes.
We simply come forward.
All of us
The lifelong Christian and the person
barely holding onto faith.
The certain and the doubtful.
The joyful and the grieving.
The happy and the bitter.
The righteous and the messy
Which, of course, is every single one
of us.
We stretch out our empty hands.
And God gives God’s very self to us.
The same Jesus.
The same grace.
The same mercy.
The same astonishing love.
Some of us came to the vineyard early.
Some came at noon.
Some of us may have arrived only five
minutes ago.
It doesn’t matter.
The invitation is always the same,
Come.
There’s still room.
There’s still work to do.
There’s still enough mercy.
There’s still enough grace.
There’s still a place for you.
Because the kingdom of heaven is not
something we earn.
It is something God gives.
Freely.
Lavishly.
Almost scandalously.
All we can say in response—this time
without gritted teeth—is
Thank God.
