“And he [the landowner] said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went.” – Matthew 20:4
You’ve given me heavy lifting, Jesus.
How shall I understand this tale?
Do you applaud the naked use of power
that’s used by rich and haughty men
(and yes, I do mean men) to stratify
and separate the workers who might,
joined together, change the world?
Oh, that would pain me, Jesus.
Or should I see in this landowner’s
strange caprice the startling love
that cannot be provided less to one,
and more to one, for love unmeasured
cannot be decreased or increased?
This lifts my heart to hope.
Do I perceive a stern rebuke to those,
like me, who act as if they know your will
much better than the ones whose faith
is newly growing, newly shining?
It is a painful arrogance to think that you
have set me on a throne to rule.
Is this a welcome call to nations
who could never comprehend your word,
O Jesus, in that ancient Aramaic?
Those who, like me, are grateful for
the pen of Matthew to record your parable,
and translators to share this text?
Where shall I find my place, O Christ,
in this strange tale? Am I the powerful one?
I, long ago, put off my entry to the Church,
so have I come late in the day, or have
so many days passed now that I have worked
the morning, noon, and afternoon?
I guess I’ll have to let your Spirit move.
These things, and more, are… “obvious.”
And when I struggle with the obvious
your prompting steals on stealthy step
to prod my heart and soul. Impel me, Christ,
to find my place, from first to last, in you.
A poem/prayer based on Matthew 20:1-16, the Revised Common Lectionary Gospel Reading for Year A, Proper 20 (25).
The image is part of an illustration from the 11th century Codex Aureus Epternacensis, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10315166. One of the things that fascinates me about this image (and two companion paintings of the beginning and end of the Matthew 20 story) is that the faces are so alike. I’m certain that’s an artistic choice, and I’m letting it work within me.
ordainedgeek 
I love the searching, questioning reflection in this poem, and how it relates to your own experience.
Thank you, Barbara. I’ve read this passage so many times, but this year I’m seeing so many possibilities, and it’s both invigorating and unsettling.
I agree with Barbara exactly … and this does help me wit my own struggle with the passage … and I am aslo doing the JOnah … maybe bit off more than I can chew.
We’re reading Jonah as well. I haven’t decided whether to include that in the sermon – if I do, it will be because I’ve settled on a point of view for this story, and I may be farther from that on Sunday than I am even now.
You can’t get away with “we basically want God to be generous with us and no one else” ???
It would be short. Yeah, I might be able to get away with that!
Lucky me – I’ve only got to play the piano!
Lucky you, you can play the piano. Lucky Eric, he can play the guitar and …? I have to play on people’s sympathies and empathies.
I have to say, Maren, that you evoke people’s sympathies and empathies with great skill and compassion.
And just for the record, I play ukulele, too.
I love the ukulele!
I only play the piano approximately. When I fill in for the pianist at Bridgewater, I practice messily, leave out most of the inner parts, trust in the Spirit’s help on the day, and just aim to keep going at all costs – a bit like life really.
Since I can’t play the piano, I admire the skill and talent you’re bringing this week!
And, Barbara, I am sure the singers are grateful for you!
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