Pentecost 18 A: A Different Answer
Dear Partner in Preaching,
I think I know what Matthew’s up to here and, quite frankly, I’m not a fan. This parable, quite similar to that in Mark and Luke, has one major and one minor difference from its sibling accounts. First, the major: after telling the story of violent tenant farmers who not only refuse to give the landowner the portion of the produce lawfully owed, all three synoptic gospels portray Jesus as asking a question: “what will the landowner do to those tenants?” But whereas Mark and Luke depict Jesus as answering his own question – “he will destroy those tenants and give the land to another” – Matthew intensifies the answer and places it in the mouths of Jesus’ audience: “He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time.”
But who is Jesus’ audience? This is the minor difference among the various accounts. In all three, the chief priests and elders (Mark and Luke also include the scribes) question Jesus’ authority, leading Jesus to respond with a question about John the Baptist and two parables (the two sons, that we touched on last week, and today’s parable of the wicked tenants). At the close of Mark and Luke, the audience remains the same. Matthew, however, changes it slightly. Whereas it is “chief priests and elders” at the front of the narrative, it is now “the chief priests and Pharisees” who want to arrest him.
Taken together, and given that Matthew is writing about fifty years or so after the events he recounts in order to encourage his congregation, especially in the face of disputes with Pharisees, I think Matthew places such harsh words on the lips of Jesus’ opponents in order to have them condemn themselves. In this way, Matthew suggests, is not Jesus’ rendering judgment; rather, they themselves witness to their heinous rejection. This is not unlike Matthew depicting the crowds before Pilate similarly condemning themselves in the harshest of terms a bit later in the story, when “the whole people” say, in response to Pilate’s assertion of Jesus’ innocence, “His blood be on us and our children” (Mt. 27:25). This not only paints the Pharisees with whom Matthew is contending in a negative light but also explains, perhaps even justifies or even “baptizes,” the Roman destruction of the Jewish Temple (c. 70).
Keeping in mind that Matthew’s community is a distinct religious minority with little societal or religious power, is caught up in a bitter sibling rivalry with Jewish communities, and is uncertain and likely fearful of their future after the destruction of the Temple, we might understand these rhetorical decisions. But two thousand years later, and with centuries of anti-Semitic use of verses like these, they are painful to read and difficult to preach.
But… whatever we may think of Matthew’s rhetorical decisions, perhaps we can put them to a better use than he imagined. Because here’s the thing: the violent answer the audience gives Jesus is the right answer, at least according to the world. The landowner has every right to punish the tenants for their refusal to pay him his due and every right to destroy them, even put them to death, for their treatment of his servants and for their murder of his son. Yes, it is the right answer, the answer Jesus’ audience expects, the answer the world demands.
But in Matthew’s story, it is not the answer Jesus gives. Again, Matthew likely makes this shift to criticize his opponents. Nevertheless, according to this particular part of the narrative, Jesus does not give this answer. Which prompts us to remember that the parables are, I believe, pictures, insights, and gleams of what the kingdom of God looks like. By throwing everyday events and persons together in unexpected ways, Jesus’ parables point to who God is, how God acts, and how we are expected and invited to live in light of all this. Which means that while the answer the chief priests and elders and Pharisees give is the right answer according to everything we’ve learned from our life in the world, it’s not the answer God looks for. In fact, the rest of Matthew, and indeed, the whole biblical story, offers another answer that runs more like that famous line from John: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life” (3:16).
In the end, you see, this parable isn’t about wicked tenants… or Pharisees… or Matthew’s community… or even us. It’s rather about God. God the one who entrusted us with all good things, blessing us beyond the dreams of our grandparents. God the one who, even when disappointed by what we do with those blessings, yet comes to us in love. God the one who weeps over the injustices of the world, embraces those who fall short, and promises to never, ever give up on anyone. Not those tenants. Not Matthew with his penchant for violent rhetoric. Not even us, when we refuse to recognize others – all others! – as God’s beloved children and instead view them as competitors or threats.
Setting the parable free, for even just a moment or two, from its original context invites us to ask a more personal and pertinent (or perhaps impertinent) question: What will we do? Will we hoard our blessings or share them? Will we embrace those in need or shun them. Will we use our privilege to work for greater equity and justice for others or to secure our own future? Will we, finally, reach out to the Christ we perceive in our neighbor or only come to worship the Christ of the stained glass that adorn our comfortable churches?
Now let me be clear. I’m not saying our eternal salvation hangs in the balance in how we answer these questions. God who loves wicked tenants, Pharisees, overly zealous evangelists, and painfully comfortable Christians alike has already seen to that. We are saved by grace through faith for Christ’s sake, still and always! So I’m not saying this is a matter of our souls, but rather of the quality and character of our lives as Christians. Because now that we know ourselves to be those God loves unabashedly and shamelessly – now that we know ourselves, that is, to be the ones for whom God risked everything – we are free to live with hope, courage, and generosity. Having been healed, that is, we can now offer to heal others. Having been reconciled, we can be instruments of reconciliation. Having tasted the mercy of God’s justice, we can risk ourselves in working for greater justice for others. And having been blessed beyond measure, we can be a blessing to those around us.
This, Dear Partner, may be a fruitful set of questions to ask our people… and ourselves. Not easy questions to articulate, let alone answer, but ones we’re invited to address in the confidence that the landowner who owns all, has entrusted us with so much, continues to come to us in grace even when we’ve fallen woefully short, is eager to hear… and to help… and to heal. Which is why we preach.
Blessings on your proclamation this week and always, Dear Partner, and know how grateful I am to have you as colleagues as we not only read about Jesus from Matthew, but read Matthew in light of the God we know best in and through Jesus.
Yours in Christ,
David
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