Matthew 20:1-16

“For the kingdom of heaven 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.”

Tim was one of our neighbors at St. John’s. He and his brother slept on our property most nights, usually under a bougainvillea bush. Tim was about my age, I think, hard to tell with folks who have lived on the streets for some years. He had a lip ring, dressed in baggy clothes, and walked with a limp. Most days I saw him panhandling at one of the major intersections near the church, holding a sign that said “anything helps, God Bless” in one hand and his cane in the other.

Tim never said much but he was always kind, thankful for the coffee I’d bring out, and the peanut butter from the food pantry. It was common for our neighbors to drift, spend a few days on our property and then be gone for a while. One day I realized I hadn’t seen Tim at all that week and wondered where he’d been. I walked around to find him, sure enough he was there. I asked him where he’d been. With more energy than I’d ever heard from him, he said, “I am great! I was working yesterday.” “Tim, thats wonderful! Where were you working?” “Oh just as a day laborer for a construction job”.

Immediately, I thought of this parable.

If there was ever a parable, a teaching of Jesus that was counterintuitive to our culture, insulting, that smacked in the face of what we teach in schools, at home, in the workplace, it would be this one. We get what we earn; that's only fair. Which is why this parable infuriates us. For most of us, I imagine we identify with the laborers who went into the vineyard first. You got up early, went into town before 6:00am and were off working shortly after agreeing to the usual daily wage. You’ve worked all day, endured the heat, plucked more grapes, pruned more vines, and then when it’s time to get paid, you’re a little frustrated that the people who came last get paid first and get paid the same amount you agreed to.. for a 12th of the work.

In your head, you start to do the math, “wow if she’s got that much, I’ll get 12x times that, it’ll only be fair”. Then to your absolute shock, you get whatever else got. And rather than rejoicing that these fellow laborers have what they need to feed their families for another day, you are outraged at them and the landowner; Never stopping to wonder why the folks were picked over in the first place or why they showed up later, you think “how could these people get the same pay?! They didn’t earn it, they didn’t work hard enough for it, they are not worthy of it”. And that sentiment, that feeling right there, is something we’ve all felt.

We question the worth of others all the time, from little things to big. “Well they don’t really deserve $15 an hour, it’s just fast food. If they aren’t working, why do they get medicaid? And why put that beautiful new park in that neighborhood, it’ll just get ruined”. We try to say what people are worthy and unworthy of all the time.

Yet here Jesus tells us that the way he works, the way God works is opposite to how our world works. God doesn’t give according to worthiness, but according to need. In fact it is because we are unworthy that God so freely, generously gives love and mercy and grace. But, surely I am not the only one who has thought, “but that person doesn’t deserve forgiveness. Or how can God love me and that person the same?! They didn’t earn grace like I have!”

And there's the point to this parable, to the kingdom of heaven, to the way God works in this world… you can’t earn any of it! God’s grace is not dependent on you earning it through good deeds, or working hard, or how many hours you clock in at church. Everyone, regardless of how long you’ve been a follower of Jesus, how much or how little you think you sin, or the doubts you carry, everyone is offered the same grace, the same daily wage, including people like Tim.

I asked Tim how his day at the site went. He said “it was really good, especially because I got paid for a full day even though I showed up more than two hours late”… At first, I couldn’t help but think that Tim didn’t deserve that full day’s pay; he was late, given his physical condition he couldn’t have moved mountains at the construction site. But then I thought about all that Tim had to go through just to arrive at the job.

After sleeping outside under a bush, Tim had to wake up extra early so he could limp his way down to the bus stop. Hopefully he had some peanut butter or canned fruit left from the pantry to eat before standing in the phoenix sun all day. Then he had to take who knows how many transfers and pray the lines were running on time. No wonder he was two hours late, in fact it’s really an achievement he was only two hours late. And then I saw the large cup of coffee he had gotten from the gas station, the food from the Walmart down the street (enough to share with his brother and the others in his group). Why was I so quick to judge Tim unworthy? And unworthy of what, food? A Hot cup of coffee? He may not have deserved a full day's pay, but he certainly needed it.

As I walked away, I was glad that the construction manager, whoever they were, decided to be generous and not fair; just like the landowner, and just like God

If the parable tells us anything, it's that God isn’t fair. And isn’t that the best news we could hear today? Instead of being fair, God is generous. You can’t be both. God does not give to us as we deserve, but according to our need; giving more than we could ever earn, not holding back because of mistakes we made, the doubts we hold, the judgment we’ve passed on others, nor anything else.

The same decision lies before each of us as individuals and as a congregation. We can be fair, giving to others only what they deserve or what they’ve earned of our time, our trust, our money. Or we can be generous, and give more than what’s expected, meeting the needs of our neighbors.

The choice is ours.

Amen.

Matthew 18:21-35

Then Peter came and said to him, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?" And Jesus said to him, "Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times.

"For this reason the kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who wished to settle accounts with his slaves. When he began the reckoning, one who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him; and, as he could not pay, his lord ordered him to be sold, together with his wife and children and all of his possessions, and payment to be made. So the slave fell on his knees before him, saying, 'Have patience with me, and I will pay you everything.' And out of pity for him, the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt.

But that same slave, as he went out, came upon one of his fellow slaves who owed him a hundred denarii; and seizing him by the throat, he said, 'Pay what you owe.' Then his fellow slave fell down and pleaded with him, 'Have patience with me and I will pay you.' But he refused; then he went and threw him into prison until he would pay the debt.

When his fellow slaves saw what had happened, they were greatly distressed, and they went and reported to their lord all that had taken place. Then his lord summoned him and said to him, 'You wicked slave! I forgave you all that debt because you pleaded with me. Should you not have had mercy on your fellow slave, as I had mercy on you?' And in anger his lord handed him over to be tortured until he would pay his entire debt. So my heavenly father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart."

One of the last official acts of my summer’s sabbatical was to travel with my dad to the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, which may be another sermon for another day. On the way, we stopped for dinner near the top of the Lower Peninsula, at a place where we vacationed often as a family when I was a kid. We took my best friend, Dave, on as many of those family vacations as we did my own brother, and I was flooded with a ton of thoughts and feelings, a million emotions and memories, as my dad and I walked and talked and took a proverbial stroll down that Memory Lane.

And I don’t remember my friend Dave for very long without wrestling with and being reminded about the power and importance of forgiveness, like the kind Jesus is talking about in this morning’s Gospel. And I’ll come back to Dave, in a minute.

This morning, Peter wants to know, "Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often must I forgive?" "Is once enough?" "Twice?" "Will seven times, do it?" And Jesus tells him, not so subtly, that he’s not even close … that something like “seventy times seven” might do the trick – that he should forgive and forgive, and not quit forgiving.

Now, I don’t think Jesus is really concerned about the math of forgiveness, so much as he is about the aim and the quality of it. "What is true forgiveness … genuine forgiveness … real forgiveness?" “What does it mean to forgive someone – and mean it – sincerely – from your heart?” “And why is that what God asks of us?”

These are hard questions because there are so many things for which forgiveness can be offered. There are so many feelings that have been hurt, wounds that have been inflicted, words that have been said, hearts that have been broken, that forgiveness seems to be needed in so many different ways – large and small and everywhere in between. So, true … genuine … real forgiveness may be one of those things that can only be known when you see it… or feel it… or give and receive it … for yourself.

I think it’s like tearing up a scorecard. I think it's a burden that’s lifted. I think it’s like fear that disappears. It can be a very real, physical pressure in your chest that’s released. It's a peace that abides. I think that slave in this morning’s story must have felt some of these things when his lord released him, forgave him his debt, don’t you think?

But it seems we need to be reminded, over and over again, that when it comes to forgiveness, it has as much to do – maybe more to do –with the forgiver as it does with the one who receives forgiveness.

The forgiver – just as much as the one forgiven – also feels the pressure release, the burden lift, the relief come, the peace abide. And again, you may know that If you’ve ever seen it… or offered it… or experienced it for yourself ... for real.

For me, one of the most profound struggles with the practice of forgiveness came when Dave, who I mentioned a minute ago, one of the best friends I'll ever have, died in a drunk driving accident, when we were 22 years old. He was in the passenger seat of a car full of mutual friends – and they, along with the driver, were the ones who had been drinking.

The anger, frustration, regret and sadness that come along with a loss like that are impossible to anticipate. And I watched and felt it all as it consumed me, our friends, and Dave's family. And the easy target for all of that rage, blame, brokenness, and hardness of heart was Jason, our friend who was driving the car that night.

It took some time – some much needed and well-deserved time – before forgiveness started to happen for those who withheld it. It took longer for some than for others. I’m not sure everyone has mustered it, yet, and I can’t hold that against them. But once I began to let forgiveness win me over, it became clear to me that my anger and frustration, my regret and sadness, had more to do with my own connection to that night's events than it did with Jason's position in the driver's seat.

It was hard to admit all of the reckless behavior and stupid choices that led up to the one that finally caught up with us. It was scary to know that any number of slightly different circumstances could have put any one of the rest of us in Dave's place – or Jason's. And, as unexpected dying tends to be, it was overwhelmingly sad to wonder about missed opportunities, lost potential, and to regret all the things you wish you would have said or done – or could still be doing.

And those are the things that make true forgiveness hard to give and to receive. We do things like point fingers and place blame and cast judgment as a way of keeping our distance from the ugliness of sin or the difficulty of conflict or the hurt feelings and deep sadness of whatever and whoever needs forgiving.

We hold onto grudges because they keep difficult conversations at arms' length. We keep score of wrongs because we can create winners and losers that way. We let our fear get the best of us because it comes more naturally, sometimes, than faith. Maybe we withhold forgiveness because we like to think it’s a way to get even with or punish the ones who’ve harmed us.

And all of that is the kind of prison and torture I think Jesus points to in this morning’s parable. I don't think the torture that comes from refusing forgiveness – like that slave did with his friend this morning – has anything to do with some cosmic, eternal penalty that waits for us somewhere after we’re dead and gone. I believe the torture of unforgiveness finds and afflicts us right where we live – here and now – on this side of heaven. And it afflicts those of us who withhold the gift, just as much as it does the ones we believe need our forgiveness.

Have you ever let the hard work of unforgiveness keep you up at night? Let it impact your daily life? Harm your relationships? Have you ever let the anger and hatred of unforgiveness cause you stress and anxiety to the point that you can feel it in your body? Have you ever held an unforgiving grudge against someone you had to live, work or go to church with? Is there anything more awkward, painful or unholy than sharing space and breath and life with a person you can't forgive? It's a prison and a torture of its own kind which God calls us to unlock through the practice of forgiveness.

And forgiveness doesn’t always mean hugs and kisses and warm fuzzies along the way. It’s never a sign of weakness or of giving in. It doesn’t imply that another’s wrongs were justified or acceptable. It doesn’t even mean that relationships will always be restored on this side of heaven.

When I decided to forgive Jason, the friend who was behind the wheel when Dave was killed, I got his address and wrote him a few letters in prison, trying to let him know as much. It’s been 27 years and I’ve never heard back from him, even though he’s out now, married with kids and all the rest. He’s one of those people with no presence or profile on social media. He’s never reconnected with any of our friends from back in the day, either, as far as I know. That’s his prerogative and for which he must have good reasons I can only guess about.

And what I realized a week or so ago during my walk down Memory Lane is that my forgiveness was never so much about Jason as it was about me … that I was changed – and blessed and better – by forgiving him, whether it meant anything to Jason or not. I felt free and unburdened from my anger, from my self-righteousness, from my judgment. And I found some comfort in a deep hope that our friend Dave, himself, could see and would understand the bigger picture of what happened the night he died.

And I think this is God’s desire for God’s people: That we quit bearing burdens of anger, resentment, regret and remorse that torture and dismantle us from the inside, out. That we release ourselves from doing God’s work of discerning what holy judgement looks like. That, instead, we keep our hearts and minds focused on practicing grace, offering mercy, making peace – and extending true, real, genuine forgiveness – the way it has first been shared with us, and is meant to be shared with the world – thanks to the forgiveness that is ours in Jesus Christ, and from whom it matters most, in the end, anyway.

Amen

God's Not Fair

The Challenge and Gift of Forgiveness