26th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezek 18:25-28; Phil 2:1-11; Mt 21:28-32

VIDEO

St. Paul exhorts the Christians of Phillipi 
to be of the same mind,
united in one love and concern for one another.
He then tells them to have “the same mind 
that is also in Christ Jesus.”
Christians are to be one mind
by letting Christ’s mind be our mind.
“Mind” here does not refer 
to some thought processor locked up in our heads,
but is what is revealed in the pattern of our lives,
a pattern that can be perceived not in a moment
but only in a life-story that unfolds over time.
To say that Christ’s mind ought to be our mind
is to say that his story ought to be our story.

And what is his story?
Paul gives it to us in brief:
It is the story of one who, 
from before all time,
is in the form of God,
yet does not grasp 
and hold tight to that status,
but empties himself to the point 
of embracing the shame of the cross
and the annihilation of death.
This, however, is only 
the first act of the drama.
For in a surprising turn of events,
the one who emptied himself 
out of love and loyalty to his Father
is filled with life and glory,
is raised up from death to receive 
the name above every other name—
the name of the great “I am” 
whom all creation worships.
It is a story of glory that grows
not from seeking what is in our own interest
but from saying yes to the divine will,
which seeks the common good 
of the entire cosmos.

What does it mean to make this story our story?
Paul says it is a matter of 
doing nothing out of selfishness or vainglory,
regarding others as more important than ourselves,
looking out not only for our own interests,
but also for those of others.
We make this story our story
through the life of the body of Christ,
into which we have been drawn and reborn,
freed from self-concern by the grace we receive,
trusting that, if we are truly united in one heart,
the love and concern we show to others
will be the same love that they show to us.
To have the mind of Christ
is not to have a set of correct ideas
but to have a shared pattern of life 
that embraces cross and resurrection
out of love for God and neighbor.

The mistake of second son in today’s parable,
and of the chief priests and elders of the people
to whom Jesus addresses the parable,
is to think that it is enough 
to know the right answer 
without living it out in our life-story.
The second son knows the correct answer
when his father orders him to go out
and work in his vineyard: it is “yes sir.”
But as the story unfolds it becomes apparent
that this is mere talk, mere verbal obedience,
not the obedience that Jesus 
will display on the cross,
not the obedience of those 
who have the mind of Christ
and do nothing out of vainglory.

But the first son, 

who clearly does not know 

the right way to answer

and so insolently refuses 

his father’s order,

is subject to a sudden swerve 

in the plot of his story,

in which disobedience 

becomes obedience.

Jesus’ parable is not simply making the point
that deeds are more important that words,
though it is clearly making that point.
It is also making the point that 
the process of attaining the mind of Christ, 
the path by which his story becomes our story,
is a long and twisting one that can only be judged 
once the whole story has been told.
Were we to stop the parable with only 
the two sons’ initial replies,
we would badly misjudge which of them
had done his father’s will.
We don’t know what events intervened.
Perhaps the first son, who said “no,”
began to think of all that his father 
had done for him,
or reflected on the commandment 
to honor your father and mother, 
or was inspired by some else’s example.
Perhaps the second son, who said “yes,” 
remembered something else he wanted to do
that seemed more important or more fun,
or a better use of his time.
We don’t know what events intervened,
but we do know that their stories,
like each of our stories,
are subject to plot twists and sudden reversals
that make it difficult to read their pattern
before their telling is done.
We know that who we are at the outset
is not who we end up being at the end.
This is why Jesus tells the priests and elders,
somewhat shockingly,
that “tax collectors and prostitutes
are entering the kingdom of God before you.”
But if we take the story of Jesus—
the story of cross and resurrection— 
to be our pattern,
then we ought to expect
things to turn out unexpectedly,
and we should never be surprised 

if it is those that are despised and rejected,
that seem dishonorable and disreputable,
who in the end are raised up and glorified by God.

As we strive to attain the mind of Christ,
as individuals and as a Church,
as we seek to make his story our story,
we ought to feel both challenged 
and the comforted by this parable.
We ought to feel challenged 
to respond to God’s call
not only with our lips 
but with our lives,
by conforming them
to the pattern of his life,
emptying ourselves 
into love of God and neighbor.
But we also ought to be comforted
to know that life is long 
and all our stories are still being written,
and the twists and turns that lie behind us
and those that still lie ahead,
are never beyond the power of God
to guide the humble to justice, 
and teaches them his way.
So let us pray that God, who is merciful,
would have mercy on us all.

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ezekiel 18:25-28; Philippians 2:1-11; Matthew 21:28-32

It is hard to be entirely unsympathetic
to the second son in today’s Gospel—
the one who,
when asked by his Father
to go out into the vineyard,
responded “Yes, sir,”
and then did not do it.
We should not presume
that he was lying when he said, “Yes, sir.”
I can easily imagine that he meant what he said,
but then began to think of what
a long, hot day laboring in the sun would be like,
and decided he did not want to help his father after all.
Or maybe he would have gone,
but other things got in the way:
some unexpected guest showed up
who need to be entertained,
the kids needed to be driven to soccer practice
and his wife had to be somewhere else,
the cable guy didn’t show up when he said he would
and so he spent the entire day waiting for him.
Or maybe, having said “yes” with the best of intentions,
he simply forgot,
procrastinated a bit,
got caught up on Facebook or Instagram,
let it slip his mind until the end of the day
when he thought, “Oh shoot,
I forgot to help Dad in his vineyard.
I hope he isn’t mad.”

But perhaps the point of the parable
is that in responding to the call of God
the right words and a passing good intention
are not really what’s called for.
The Gospel calls us to something more.
Perhaps this is why the first son
initially said “I will not.”
Perhaps he knew that a day in the vineyard
would be long and hot.
Perhaps he knew that there were other things
that he had to do that day.
Perhaps he knew that if he said yes,
then making himself available to his father
would have to be his first—
indeed, his only—priority.
So initially he says “I will not,”
but then perhaps he thinks
of all that his father has given him,
of all the love his father has shown him,
of all the times his father
has made himself available to him,
and he has a change of heart,
because suddenly it seems
that the only proper response
to so great a love,
is to make himself available to his father,
to go out to labor in his vineyard,
even if the day will be long and hot.

I don’t think this parable
is primarily about obedience—
at least if we mean by “obedience”
merely submitting to the command of another,
perhaps in hope of winning their favor.
It is about making ourselves available to another,
in response to a love
that has always already been given to us.
In our second reading today,
St. Paul too calls us to such availability:
“humbly regard others
as more important than yourselves,
each looking out not for his own interests,
but also for those of others.”
And Paul tells us that our model for this
is Jesus himself,
who, though possessing the fullness of divinity,
emptied himself in carrying out his Father’s will,
dwelling among us as one of us
and even accepting the humiliation of the cross.
Having received all things from his Father,
Jesus empties himself of all things,
making himself available to the Father
by making himself available to us.

There is a mystery here.
Jesus possesses the fullness of divinity
precisely in emptying himself
for us and for our salvation.
And this mystery is our own mystery
as baptized members of Christ’s body.
In joining the command to love God
to the command to love our neighbor,
Jesus has given us a way of life
that he himself lived among us:
a life in which love of God
is lived out through love of neighbor
and our love of neighbor
is rooted and grounded
in the faith, hope, and love
by which we give ourselves
to the God who has always already
given us everything.
We make ourselves available to God
by making ourselves available to each other,
and we can only make ourselves
available to each other in a truly radical way
when we make ourselves available to God.
Because when we put ourselves at God’s disposal
the Spirit of God comes to dwell in us
and the infinite love of God bursts open
the narrow confines of our hearts,
emptying us of all that holds us back,
transforming our “I will not”
into Jesus’ “not what I will
but what you will.”

Of course, such availability is difficult and risky.
The vineyard of God is the entire world
and our labor there is long
because the need is so vast.
How can we answer “yes”
to every cry for help:
cries that come from distant lands
and from within our own families,
cries for material sustenance
and spiritual consolation,
cries that tear at our hearts
even as they deplete our resources?

But when our Father calls us to labor in his vineyard
we cannot let the vastness of the world’s need
make us say “I will not”;
we cannot let our inability to solve all problems
prevent us from doing what we can,
or tempt us to make ourselves unavailable.
Even we tax collectors and prostitutes,
reluctant children and unwilling disciples,
can, through the grace of God’s Spirit,
have our “I will not” transformed into “Yes, Lord,”
and take a step into the risk of availability,
trusting that same Spirit to keep us afloat
as we are swept along by the torrent of love
that Jesus has emptied into our world.