The Lord packed Sunday’s Gospel with plenty of fuel for reflection. I have a host of thoughts, but I’ll limit myself to diving into just one of them. I invite you to share your own in the comments section below. But first, let’s make sure we understand the literal sense of the text.
The parable of the workers in the vineyard is unique to Matthew’s Gospel. It follows immediately after the story of the rich young man and the difficulty of the rich entering the kingdom of heaven, like a camel passing through the eye of a needle. There, Peter notes that they’ve given up everything to follow Jesus and Jesus says that when he’s seated on the throne of glory, the apostles will also sit on thrones and will judge the tribes of Israel (Matt 19:28). That scene ends with Jesus saying: “But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first” (Matt 19:30).
Things pick up in chapter 20 at this point. Jesus is going to give a snapshot of what this kingdom looks like and how it is that the first are last and the last are first (see the repetition of this line in Matt 20:16). The parable highlights God’s generosity. It also highlights how hard he works. As Erasmo Leiva-Merikakis points out, nobody works harder in the parable than the master himself, who left his bed well before dawn and is involved in every aspect of the work in his vineyard all day. He is the first and, as such, he is among the last.1
The Ignatius Catholic Study Bible explains the overall meaning of the parable as follows:
It refers to Israel’s labor throughout salvation history and climaxes with the inclusion of the Gentiles in the New Covenant. Despite complaints, there is no violation of justice; God is not unfair to Israel, he is simply generous to late-coming Gentiles, making them equal members of his people.
Gentiles come into the fold late, yet they come in with equal standing. This more corporate outlook helps temper our own individualistic and capitalistic way of reading the parable. We do well to remember, also, that as a priestly people, Israel existed for the sake of the many — for the sake of the Gentiles. In that sense, that the Gentiles come into the fold, and whenever they come in, should be a cause of rejoicing.
Prayerful Reading
My own reading of this got stuck more in the sense that the hours in the workday refer to stages in life and to different times of conversion — some early in life, some at the midpoint, and some much later. Conversion rescues the person from the idleness that comes from idolatry (i.e., the idol makes one idol, usually), and allows the person to participate in God’s harvest before the sun sets on his or her life.2 For the person who has been slogging it out in the trenches of Christian living, this can seem like a tough pill to swallow. Why slog it out? Why try so hard to live as a disciple when perfectly wicked people can scoot in at the last minute and get equal (or better?) treatment?
This line captures this attitude so completely:
THEYMURMUREDAGAINSTTHEFATHEROFTHEFAMILYSAYINGTHESELASTHAVEWORKEDFORONEHOURANDYOUHAVEMADETHEMEQUALTOUSWHOWORKEDBEARINGTHEWEIGHTANDHEATOFTHEDAY
The murmuring (i.e., grumbling) of the workers reminds me of the older brother in the Parable of the Lost Son (see Luke 15:11–32). That son became angry with his father for the festive reception his father gave to his prodigal brother. The older son refuses to party. Here’s the scripture passage:
He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, “Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.” (Luke 15:28–30)
The older brother never left. He (presumably) worked hard and did what his father asked. The younger brother leaves, then swoops back in and gets the fatted calf!
A similar thing happens in the Gospel. Hired workers work all day. They bear the whole burden and heat of the day. They work for ~12 hours, while those who are brought into the work last put in ~1 hour. All get paid the same daily wage. I mean, who wouldn’t be incensed? I’d probably murmur a bit myself. My humanity seems particularly disposed to complaining…and to coveting.
How can we make sense of all this?
My thoughts turn to Psalm 73. Check this out:
Truly God is good to the upright,
to those who are pure in heart.
But as for me, my feet had almost stumbled;
my steps had nearly slipped.
For I was envious of the arrogant;
I saw the prosperity of the wicked.For they have no pain;
their bodies are sound and sleek.
They are not in trouble as others are;
they are not plagued like other people.
Therefore pride is their necklace;
violence covers them like a garment.
Their eyes swell out with fatness;
their hearts overflow with follies.
They scoff and speak with malice;
loftily they threaten oppression.
They set their mouths against heaven,
and their tongues range over the earth.
The psalmist wants to describe a deep, spiritual crisis. Confronted by the prosperity of the wicked, he almost loses his way. He was trying to live and upright life, trying to remain pure in heart, but he looks around and sees that seemingly wicked people have it made. They live the good life. They’re beautiful. They eat well. They speak nasty and get away with it. They take advantage of people. And so on. They’ve got it made.
Therefore the people turn and praise them,
and find no fault in them.
And they say, “How can God know?
Is there knowledge in the Most High?”
Such are the wicked;
always at ease, they increase in riches.
Everyone likes them! They’re glamorous. People look past their wicked faults. To top it off, these wicked people feel like they’re pulling one over on God, if God exists at all. They’re practical atheists living a hedonistic lifestyle. Sound familiar in our decadent, post-Christian culture?
Then we have the psalmist’s complaint. He grumbles, saying:
All in vain I have kept my heart clean
and washed my hands in innocence.
For all day long I have been plagued,
and am punished every morning.
All day long he’s burdened by the Lord’s commands. Is the life of the follower of God all for naught? All in vain? The wicked seem to scoot by just fine. Sounds a lot like…
THESELASTHAVEWORKEDFORONEHOURANDYOUHAVEMADETHEMEQUALTOUSWHOWORKEDBEARINGTHEWEIGHTANDHEATOFTHEDAY
So we’re dealing, here, with an age-old problem of how God seems to treat his friends badly, to intimate St. Teresa of Avila’s grievance against him. I think anyone who is striving to follow the ways of the Lord, and who is honest with him or herself, has probably grumbled in this way when looking around at the lives of others.
What does the psalmist do?
If I had said, “I will talk on in this way,”
I would have been untrue to the circle of your children.
But when I thought how to understand this,
it seemed to me a wearisome task,
until I went into the sanctuary of God;
then I perceived their end.
Truly you set them in slippery places;
you make them fall to ruin.
How they are destroyed in a moment,
swept away utterly by terrors!
They are like a dream when one awakes;
on awaking you despise their phantoms.
He was stuck, thinking himself in circles. He was angry with God and about ready to abandon the way of faithfulness. Precisely at this point of despair he turns to God in prayer. Actually, he physically goes into the sanctuary. Physically putting ourselves before God can help break through all the barriers posed by our thoughts. There, in the sanctuary, God helps him to penetrate things deeper and knocks down mental hurdles. It may seem like the wicked have it made, but, in reality, they’re on a slippery slope. They’re on the broad and wide and easy highway to hell that C.S. Lewis describes in The Screwtape Letters. In fact, it’s a way so easy and so wide you don’t even realize you’re on it. This may be helpful, but it doesn’t address the existential crisis: What’s the point of laboring so hard for the Lord?
I appreciate how the psalmist addresses the issue without collapsing all the internal tension here. He doesn’t simply resolve it away with sentiment or piety. Look at this:
When my soul was embittered,
when I was pricked in heart,
I was stupid and ignorant;
I was like a brute beast toward you.
Nevertheless I am continually with you;
you hold my right hand.
You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will receive me with honor.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And there is nothing on earth that I desire other than you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.Indeed, those who are far from you will perish;
you put an end to those who are false to you.
But for me it is good to be near God;
I have made the Lord God my refuge,
to tell of all your works.
This is the kicker. Maybe the psalmist is dumb. Maybe he doesn’t understand the ways of the world. Maybe he doesn’t know how to get ahead in life. Maybe he’s thickheaded. Nevertheless, he’s continually with God. God is so close he holds the psalmist’s right hand. Jesus once asked his apostles if they were going to leave, too. Simon Peter replies, “Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life” (John 6:67–68). The psalmist says something similar: “Whom have I in heaven but you?” Where else is he going to go, really? Even if he’s weak in his flesh and stumbles and falls, even if the affection of his heart falters, God is there and God is his strength.
So the psalmist accepts his place as God’s beast of burden. In the eyes of the world, he might be nothing but a donkey, God’s fool, but at least he is near God. And if being close to God means shouldering God’s load, he’s okay with that. These are his circumstances, and he’s accepting them. This is where he is and it’s where God is. No sense looking around at the apparently favorable circumstances of others. Regarding others, isn’t God free to do what he pleases? I think of Jesus’ rebuke of Peter when Peter was so concerned about Jesus’ plan for the Beloved Disciple’s future: “What concern is it of yours? You follow me” (John 21:22).
Perhaps he says to you and to me: “You follow me, right here and now. Don’t worry about the others. They are my business. These are the circumstances I’m giving you. This is my will for you, my call for you. Will you answer it? Will you be faithful?”
So the tension remains: The people who have it made keep having it made, and psalmist’s workload doesn’t get any lighter. But he comes to realize that bearing the load means being close to God and sharing in God’s work. He’s okay with the load because that’s his lot in life and how God sticks with him. He accepts his circumstances as a gift. He receives the gift of his own story as his own. He’s not going to get caught in the comparison game anymore. Does the prodigal son’s older brother come to realize he was there with his father always? Do the laborers in the vineyard realize they are blessed to be able to work for the master and, therefore, to be close to the master for the whole day and not just for an hour? More importantly, do we realize it?
Please use the comments to share your own lectio reflections if you’d like. It’s always a blessing to experience lectio within community — even online!
Leiva-Merikakis, Fire of Mercy, vol III, 231.
See the footnote in the Ignatius Catholic Study Bible for Matt 20:1–16.