How is the Vineyard Doing?

How are we doing with the vineyard today?

It would be easy to begin with the tenants in the story Jesus tells. They agree to work the land while the owner is away. When the harvest comes, they refuse to give the owner what is due. They beat and kill the servants sent to collect it. Then, when the owner sends his son, they kill him too, imagining somehow that the inheritance will become theirs.

What kind of people would do that? We might wonder about their greed, their fear, and their willingness to use violence to hold on to what was never theirs. We might shake our heads at the terrible choices they make.

It would also be easy to point to the chief priests and Pharisees who hear Jesus tell this story. They know what should happen to the tenants. They can see the injustice clearly, at least until they realize that Jesus is speaking about them.

We have read the parable. We know what happens later in the Gospel. We can stand at a safe distance from the story and say, “Surely we would have listened.” But I am not sure Jesus tells this parable so that we can feel certain about ourselves.

So let me ask again: How are we doing with the vineyard today?

Jesus tells this story in the temple, during a series of exchanges about his authority. Last week we heard him ask the temple leaders about John’s baptism, and we heard the parable of the two sons. One said no and later did what was asked. The other said yes but never went to work. Now Jesus tells another story about a vineyard. The question of authority has become a question about what people entrusted with responsibility actually do.

The vineyard would have sounded familiar to those listening. Isaiah had already sung a song about a vineyard lovingly planted and carefully tended. The owner cleared the ground, planted choice vines, built a watchtower, and prepared a winepress. Everything needed for a good harvest was there. Yet the vineyard produced fruit the owner had not hoped for.

Then the song changes. What begins gently becomes a prophetic challenge. Isaiah names what God had hoped to find: justice and righteousness. Instead, there was bloodshed and a cry of distress. Rebecca Hancock reminds us that the image of planting and harvesting creates an expectation. We expect good fruit from a well tended vineyard. Isaiah asks what it means when people have received such attentive care and the community is still unable to flourish, especially because those with power have acted unjustly.

Jesus draws on that familiar image. His listeners would have heard the echo of Isaiah. Yet there is an important difference between the two passages. In Isaiah, the vineyard itself represents the people of Israel and Judah, and the prophet calls attention to injustice within the community. In Jesus’ parable, the vineyard is still precious. The focus falls especially on the tenants, those entrusted to care for it and return its fruit. Jesus directs his challenge toward leaders who have failed in that trust.

That distinction matters. These readings must never become an excuse for Christians to say that God abandoned the Jewish people or replaced them with the church. Jesus is speaking within his own Jewish tradition, drawing on the sacred words of Israel. Matthew’s Gospel treasures those scriptures. As Carolyn Sharp observes, Matthew presents Jesus as one who comes not to abolish the Law and the Prophets, but to fulfill them.

Andrew McGowan reminds us that neither Isaiah’s song nor Jesus’ parable calls into question God’s continuing love and loyalty to Israel. The failures named in these texts are serious, but God’s faithfulness is not withdrawn. The vineyard is not discarded because its caretakers have failed. God continues to seek its fruit.

That is a word of caution for the church. If we use this parable only to condemn religious leaders from long ago, we miss the invitation to examine our own leadership and our own lives. If we imagine that Christians have taken someone else’s place in God’s favour, we have learned the wrong lesson entirely. We too can fail to care for what has been entrusted to us. We too can enjoy the benefits of a vineyard while resisting the claim that its harvest is meant for more than ourselves.

Someone once described parables as stories that wait for the moment when their meaning finally clicks. Jesus’ parable has a short fuse. The leaders recognize what he is saying, and they do not welcome it. A story that exposes the misuse of authority is rarely comfortable for those who hold it. In the unfolding Gospel, we know that the conflict will deepen and that Jesus will be killed.

The story’s violence should trouble us. The tenants respond to every approach with more violence, as though force could secure their future. Yet killing the son does not make the vineyard theirs. Their actions only reveal how badly they have misunderstood their place in it.

I wonder where we see that misunderstanding today. Where do we act as though what we have received belongs to us alone? Where do we protect a comfortable arrangement rather than ask whether our neighbours can flourish within it?

I want to say plainly that I have seen good fruit among you. I have witnessed your kindness to one another and the welcome you offer to people coming through the door. I know there are people in this congregation who give their time and energy to care for others, often without seeking attention for it. Those acts matter. They change lives, sometimes in ways we may never fully know.

And yet the vineyard is wider than our congregation. When we look beyond our own doors, it is hard not to feel grief. We see the devastation of gun violence in the United States and hear, again and again, how difficult it is to move beyond familiar arguments toward changes that might protect lives. We see people in Canada struggling to find housing they can afford. We know that some First Nations communities still live with drinking water advisories, while many of us turn on the tap without a second thought.

We remember reports of people gathering near the former Kamloops Indian Residential School to promote white nationalist views. At a place that calls for truth, mourning, and respect, such an act reminds us how much work remains.

We see war and suffering in Ukraine, Palestine, and other places where families long for safety. We see the strain of food insecurity, both close to home and in communities facing famine and drought. None of those realities can be solved by one person or one congregation. But neither can we decide that they have nothing to do with the vineyard God asks us to tend.

American sociologist and author W.E.B Du Bois wrote, “A system cannot fail those it was never meant to protect.”

I do not name these things to leave us overwhelmed. I name them because Isaiah’s words still ask us to pay attention. What kind of fruit is growing where people have power? Can those without power live and flourish? Whose cries are we hearing, and whose cries have we learned to tune out?

Those are questions for governments and institutions, and they are questions for churches. They are questions for each of us when we consider how we use our time, our resources, and our voices.

Sometimes shame makes those questions harder to face. If we suspect that we have failed to do what love requires, it can feel easier to turn away. We may tell ourselves that the problems are too large, or that we have already done what we can. We may offer kind words and hope they will be enough.

But I do not believe Jesus tells this parable to trap us in shame. A prophetic word names what is wrong because change is still possible. Isaiah’s song asks the people to see what injustice has done. Jesus’ parable asks its listeners to recognize a failure of care while there is still time to respond differently.

This is where I find hope. God has not stopped loving the vineyard. God has not given up on renewal. And we are not being asked to produce a perfect harvest by our own strength. We are being invited into a covenant of grace and faithfulness, where receiving God’s love also means taking seriously the well being of our neighbours.

That invitation reaches us whether we are new to faith, have been part of the church for decades, or are not quite sure where we stand. No one here needs to have every answer before they can begin. We can begin by listening more carefully. We can begin by noticing a need we have passed by. We can begin by asking what support people have requested, rather than deciding for them what they ought to need.

Prayer belongs in that work. I hope we will continue to pray for those who are grieving, those who are hungry, those living with violence, and those who carry the weight of injustice. But prayer should open our hearts and move our feet. If we pray for the hungry, we can also help make food available. If we pray for people seeking safety, we can also welcome them. If we pray for justice, we can ask what changes justice requires of us.

A bumper sticker puts it simply: “The world you desire comes not by chance but by change.” Change can begin with small ordinary choices. We heard that in the parable of the two sons and we hear it again today in the story of the tenants. What matters is the fruit.

Friends, you have a place in this work. Every one of you has something to offer. Some will speak up when a neighbour is treated unjustly. Some will offer practical care. Some will ask difficult questions of institutions, including the church. Some will make room for a person who has wondered whether they would ever be welcome. None of us will do everything. Together, with God’s help, we can do more than we might imagine.

So how are we doing with the vineyard today? It is a question worth carrying into the week ahead. We can give thanks for the good that is already growing without pretending that all is well. We can tell the truth about what needs to change without believing that change is beyond us.

The vineyard does not belong to us alone. It has been entrusted to our care, and its harvest is meant to be shared. May we tend it with humility. May we listen for those whose cries reveal where justice is still needed. And may the grace of God lead us, together, toward the fruit of a world in which all can flourish. Amen.