We all like equality, right?
That’s one of those values that seems so obvious. Everyone should be equal. Yet, if we think about it long enough, we
know that the method of carrying out equality matters. In Kurt Vonnegut’s short
story, Harrison Bergeron, legislation
has been passed to ensure complete equality of all people. Those who are beautiful must wear ugly masks
in proportion to their beauty. The more
intelligent a person, the more distractions they are subjected to via a government-controlled
headset. The strongest people wear heavy
weights on their bodies; those with the best eyesight are subjected to
distorted glasses. And everyone is
equal. Everyone, that is, except for
Harrison Bergeron. A strong,
intelligent, and handsome young man, the government is unable to sufficiently
handicap him. When he tries to liberate
people from their “equalizers,” he is killed by government agents and quickly
forgotten, thanks to the new (and significantly lower) “average” intelligence
of the nation. And although we may
sometimes wish for similar equalizers when walking in to the Hebrew final or
standing up to preach, for instance, we recognize that not all equality is,
well, equal.
Matthew 20: 1-16: “For the reign of God is like a landowner who
went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After
agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his
vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle
in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard,
and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out
again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five
o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why
are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has
hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening
came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and
give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the
first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received
the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would
receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And
when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These
last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne
the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of
them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual
daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the
same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what
belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will
be first, and the first will be last.”
And so, let us as brothers and sisters think together. Does this
parable sit well with you? Does it
encourage you? Bring you comfort? Or do you, like me, find yourself unsettled
by it? It seems more than a little
unfair. It pushes on my sense of
justice. It makes me uncomfortable. Why should others, people who have not worked
as hard as me, receive the same wage as me?
How on earth is this Good News?
And why is the injustice of it such a problem? Similarly to the landowner’s retort, can God
not do whatever God wishes? And yet, I
cannot let God “off the hook” so easily.
In the interpretation of a text…any text!, everything hangs in the
balance. There was a time in my life
when I believed that God was rash and arbitrary, and I struggled to reconcile this
arbitrary nature with God’s supposed goodness.
And I was unable to do it. So
long as I understood God’s actions that way, I could not call God good. Until I first made a commitment to an
intentional God, texts like this one were lined up as ammo, evidence against a
God who cares. Every passage must be
accounted for. Every passage must be considered, allowed to “poke at” and
“tweak” my way of understanding. If, at
the end of the day, it still does not fit, then I must change. And so, as it does for every passage,
everything hangs in the balance here.
Does this passage present an arbitrary God who will bless some and cheat
others, as it seems the parable’s land owner does? Or does it present a God who is good and
intentional?
This message would certainly have been unsettling to Jesus’s
original audience, though it is unlikely that they heard it in quite the same
way that we do. Traveling from Galilee
to Jerusalem, Jesus focuses on painting a picture for the disciples of what
Matthew terms “The Kingdom of Heaven,” in other Gospels called “The Kingdom of
God” or the “Reign of God,” a radical way of doing and being in the world which
is in direct conflict with the ways we typically understand the world to work. In the preceding chapter, Jesus handled a
challenge concerning divorce by redirecting his audience to God’s intention for
a marriage relationship: a “one-flesh” relationship, radical to the ears of his
hearers. He welcomes children, needful
people who are unable to contribute to society and considered to be of little
worth, explaining that the Reign of God belongs to people like these. He explains to a rich young ruler that the
Reign of God looks like selling all that he has, giving to the poor, renouncing
his status to follow Jesus. He
elaborates that those who give up their homes, their status and follow will be
receive one hundredfold. The first shall
be last and the last shall be first.
And this is where we pick up our parable. We receive it as a further illustration of
the idea he has been trying to help the disciples understand the entire
journey. The last shall be first and the
first shall be last. Yet, still, how is this good news? I find myself unable to
be excited over being slighted. It seems
that God has simply chosen a single group to bless, and another to treat with a
sort of bare minimum of respect or kindness.
I find it difficult to find the goodness, the intentionality here.
Who are the first? Who are
the last? I do not want to identify with
the last, with the valueless, with the powerless. I want to be seen as having something to
offer, as capable, valuable, even indispensable! And in many areas of life, I am. I am valued as a wife, respected by my peers
and professors (at least it seems!) and am given voice by a wonderful and
supportive group of friends. However,
when I am courageous enough to face the whole of my life, I see that I am, in
fact, one of the last in some areas as well.
In our parable, we see the last as those who waited in the market place,
anxious to work, contribute, and provide for family in whatever pitiful way
they may be permitted. Even when
entering the vineyard to work, they are given no promise of acceptable
compensation, only that they will be paid “whatever is right.” And they are forced to accept. When I am brave enough to examine my own
self, my world, and my story, I realize that there are places in which I am
also among the last. As one who, by virtue of the absurdities of physical
gender, has been denied the opportunity to speak, been seen as having little to
offer, been refused the chance to work. I find myself in good company among
those who were hired last. And there is
good news here: those who are last will be first.
But what for the ones who are first? Will this remain a tale of God’s
injustice? Is there no redemption for
those who are first? Are they simply
doomed to be last? If the first are
indeed hopeless by virtue of their position, how can I continue to call God
good? And so I must return to the
question that I always go back to: what is God doing here? What is the point? The motivation? Why is Jesus telling this parable? What does he hope to accomplish?
This parable is more than a mere illustration; it is a call. It is a continuation of the call that Jesus
had begun making at the beginning of this journey: to participate with the
Reign of God. It is a call to accept the
little children, to honor your spouse, to cease the exploitation of the poor…it
is a call to make oneself last, as Luke’s Gospel puts it, to sit at the foot of
the table, in the place of the least honor.
It is an illustration of and call to a dramatic reordering of things.
So then, where is the good news for the first? Firstly, in that God offers choice. Unlike in the equality-gone-wrong world of Harrison Bergeron, God offers the
opportunity for each of us to become part of this radical community which
chooses to lower itself, chooses to be last.
Also, that by choosing to participate in the Reign of God, in choosing
to make oneself last, something beautiful happens. The last are made first. The one who sits at the foot of the table is
called up. And we are all called
to this posture.
Where are you first? Where
is it that you have a voice? Where are
you honored, respected, and valued? It
is here that you must make yourself last.
It is here that you must in humility, value others above yourself (Philippians
2:3b). It is here that you may
participate in the radical new order of things, in the Reign of God.
Where are you last? What is that place where you are not
valued? Where is it that you are
silenced, dismissed, or demeaned? Take
heart. It is here that you may,
following in the footsteps of Christ, make yourself nothing, take on the very
form of a servant (Philippians 2:7a). Agree to be the worker in the vineyard
who comes in late and accepts whatever pay is offered. It is in this submission that you too may
participate in the Reign of God.
Jesus begins and ends this parable by saying that the last shall
be first and the first shall be last.
And yet, within the story, all the workers are paid the same. When we, as Christian brothers and sisters, sit
at the foot of the table together, those who were placed there and those who have
chosen it, we may all be called up together.
We may all be made first.
In
this paragraph, I rely heavily on Warren Carter’s
Matthew
and the margins: a sociopolitical and religious reading. Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 2000. 376-393.
