So, I really dig the Book of Jonah...and not just because it's so short. I like it because it's essentially about a guy throwing a series of fits against God. God wants Jonah to preach judgement against the people in Nineveh, and Jonah throws a fit and runs the other way.
Then God, well, let's just say, God convinces Jonah to see the error of his ways. Jonah then goes through the city prophesying doom, and the people repent. And, lo and behold, God forgives them. And Jonah throws another fit and stomps off pouting. God simmers Jonah down a bit and sends a huge vine out to shade Jonah from the harsh sun while he stews. But then God takes the vine away, and Jonah throws his third fit of the story. And God essentially ends the story by looking at Jonah and saying, “Dude, what's your problem? What's it to you if I forgive these people?”
Jonah just can't get this through his head. Here he is, a prophet of God, being contradicted after he puts it all on the line, calling on Nineveh and her king to repent. And he does have a point: showing up in a foreign town and badmouthing everyone – even the cattle – does not win you any friends. To do this, you have to have gone above and beyond the call of duty. And then God goes and forgives them – even the cattle? I don't get it, he thinks. I just don't understand.
This story reminds me of a line from George Orwell’s Animal Farm: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” As the pigs and their canine police slowly take more and more power, this maxim becomes strangely real: “All animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” For so many people, that saying seems all too real.
And we chalk it up to unfairness, corruption, the uneven wielding of political or financial power. Of someone above us who can act capriciously whenever he wants...and does. And I think we, like Jonah, tend to bring this attitude into our interpretation of the world around us, even into our relationship with God.
So here we are in Matthew, working in the vineyard. The workers arrive, ready for the usual daily wage for a usual day’s work, then another wave, and another, all expecting to be paid what’s right. But that deal is never made explicit; “what is right” isn’t clearly defined at the outset. We all know how it should go. We all know how it probably would go if things were fair.
So when the last workers to arrive get paid first and receive a full day’s wage, we know something’s up. Jesus doesn’t just tell parables to fill the time. The next wave steps up, and the next, and the next, and they all get paid the same. Imagine if you were one of those that had worked all day, sweating in the hot sun, knowing you’ll never clean all that dirt from under your nails, never get all the splinters out from under your skin.
You’ve heard that the last folks got a full day’s wage, and you trust the landowner to do what’s right. But then the man hands you the envelope with just a fair day’s wage for a fair day’s work. I know I for one wouldn’t shrug and say “fair’s fair.” I’d be indignant. I’d want to know what happened to my money, comparing what I got to what they got. “What happened to my fair share? Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for equality, but shouldn’t my share be at least a little more equal?”
And that's how Jesus reels us in. He's got us identifying once again with the losing side of the parable, with our own sense of what’s fair, what’s equal, begrudging someone else their equality as if my experience of fairness is somehow lessened by yours.
But we should have seen this coming. This landowner goes out looking for workers and keeps bringing them in. This landowner is motivated by something different. This landowner reaches out arms of welcome and offers purpose, at least for a day, at least for a few hours.
And this same landowner pushes back: “are you envious because I’m generous?” You see, God’s Grace cannot be calculated, should never be expected, never presumed. And I'm reminded of the line in the Second Song of Isaiah in our Morning Prayer liturgy: “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor your ways my ways,” says the Lord. And there we sit, like Jonah, pouting a little and trying to make sense of it all.
But that's ok. Paul’s letter to the Philippians urges us to “Live your life in a manner worthy of the Gospel of Christ.” He doesn’t say, “Live like Christ.” He doesn't say, “Be God.” And thank God. We are released from doing the impossible. We’re given permission to be human, and that permission catches us up in parables and surprises us with grace.
But, even so, we ought to feel the twinge of shame when Jesus says, “Are you envious because I’m generous?” And we ought to feel the twinge again, because instead of living lives worthy of the Gospel, we try to force the Gospel to live in a way worthy of us.
But it’s God’s grace that brings us together. It’s God's grace that pops up when we least expect it, that changes when we aren’t looking, changes us when we think we’re closest to grasping it. God’s generosity with that grace is unfailing.
And while Jonah may still be coming to grips with it, all of heaven rejoices when a sinner repents, when a demon is driven out and an evangelist born, when a woman sees Christ and upends her life to follow him, when a thief confesses on a cross with his dying breath.
And they all taste God’s Grace, taste at God’s invitation, at God’s table...and on God’s terms – not ours. These are lives lived hard but never so hard that they’re out of God’s reach. Lives that don’t deserve forgiveness but get it anyway, didn’t earn grace but get it anyway.
Now, I don't know what happened to Jonah after God upended his worldview. But a man who spent three days in the belly of a fish probably has a good idea of what God can do, so I imagine sooner or later what God said sunk in.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, *
so are my ways higher than your ways,
and my thoughts than your thoughts.
For as rain and snow fall from the heavens *
and return not again, but water the earth,
Bringing forth life and giving growth, *
seed for sowing and bread for eating,
So is my word that goes forth from my mouth; *
it will not return to me empty;
But it will accomplish that which I have purposed, *
and prosper in that for which I sent it.
And that y'all is grace.
Amen.