For five weeks now, we’ve been exploring the

parables of Jesus together—these subversive,

surprising stories that shift our perspective and

reframe our responsibilities. And each Sunday,

we’ve considered how the parables turn the world

upside down and invite us to do the same. As my

teacher and friend Will Willimon has written, “To be

a Christian is…to be reminded, on a weekly basis,

that we are meant to employ different standards of

judgment than those that operate in the world.” i

Different standards of judgment. A parable does just

that, reframes our vision of the ordinary world. And

each one, we’ve found, has a punch line, a moment of

revelation, an epiphany, a surprise that shocks us (or

even offends us), a twist, and a turn. Often the story

is going along exactly as we would expect. Nothing

remarkable. A shepherd trying to keep track of one

hundred dumb, aimless sheep, and no surprise—one

of them slips away and gets lost. But then, the punch

line: the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to chase

after the one. And in the unexpected, in the surprise,

we see the difference between our priorities and

God’s desire for us. Different standards of judgment.

The turning point in this morning’s parable is

impossible to miss. The day laborers, they’re all

lined up. They’re ready to receive their pay. Some of

them—some of them—are exhausted from a full day of

work under the hot sun, and others have just finished

a single hour. They’ve barely even broken a sweat.

The landowner begins with those who arrived on the

scene last, and he gives each of them a denarius—

that is the fair wage for a full day’s work. Now, you

can imagine the excitement that must have been

building in the line as news travels from one worker

to the next. “Can you believe this guy? He’s giving

out full day’s wages for an hour of work. Just imagine

what we will receive.” Those who had completed

a whole day of work, eager for their just reward.

And here is the punch line of the parable: “Each of

them received the usual daily wage.” Please note

that what would have been an acceptable payment

only moments before is now an outrage. Those who

worked all day receive the same amount as those

who worked for one hour. And then, Jesus says, “Oh,

this is what the kingdom of God is like.”

He can’t be serious. That is the kingdom of God?

There’s got to be a better metaphor.

I remember it like it was yesterday. A hot summer

afternoon. I was maybe eleven years old, and my

younger brother was five. We had shared a room

since he was a toddler out of his crib, and we had

shifted to bunk beds when he turned five. That

morning when we woke up, our parents had given

us our orders. Grammie and Poppa were coming to

visit, and, to get ready, we needed to clean our room.

Our room was a disaster zone. We both resisted the

order, but the expectation was made clear to us. I,

the elder brother… I, the dutiful son… I got to work.

My brother—at least in my memory—did not. He

lay in his bottom bunk bed taunting me. He played

games on our Sega Genesis (the original Sonic the

Hedgehog). I even remember, though perhaps it

is my imagination… I even remember him playing

outside, just outside our bedroom window so that I

could see him as I kept cleaning. I protested to my

parents. I complained. I cried. I pleaded with my

parents, but I, the dutiful son… I, the elder brother… I

kept cleaning, and eventually, thanks to my hard work

and dedication, the task was complete.

When Grammie and Poppa arrived, we all went out

to Dairy Queen for ice cream. My parents told me

that I, the dutiful son… I, the elder brother… I could

order whatever I wanted—surely a just reward for all

my hard work. And so, I went for broke. I ordered a

banana split. The first bite was delicious, until little

brother was also invited to make his order. A large

Oreo Blizzard. For what? How could they? No fair! I still

remember the burning in my ears. I remember how,

filled with blinding anger, I took that banana split, and

in dramatic fashion, at the trash can just in front of my

parents, I dumped it. Meanwhile, Josh sat at the table

enjoying every last bite of his Oreo Blizzard.

That is the kingdom of God?

You see how this parable offends our sense of justice,

of fairness, of what we all know and agree is right?

Along with those workers who came early in the

morning, many of us read the story, and we find

ourselves both mystified and perhaps even angry.

Those people—those people—got something for

nothing. A handout. They were taking advantage of

the system. And with such a sense of entitlement,

they just walk right up to the landowner and take a

full day’s wage for one hour of work. You can hear the

grumbling…maybe even in your own voice.

“I don’t understand why my hard-earned money

should help those who don’t seem to care whether

they make it or not.”

“Why are our dollars being spent to feed and clothe

people who haven’t done anything to deserve it?”

“If they wanted to make more money, they could. Just

go get more education. Just work harder.”

Oh, the durability of these stories that Jesus tells.

They still sting, don’t they?

The early morning laborers are indignant at the

injustice of their equal pay. It is no longer enough

that they received precisely what they expected.

The landowner gets it. “Are you envious because I

am generous?”

And here is the key to unwrapping the meaning of

the parable and its picture of the kingdom of God:

The world is upside down. The landowner does not

claim that his action is fair. He defends himself on the

grounds of generosity.

Titles matter, and they can be deceiving. Most of us

know this story as “The Parable of the Laborers in the

Vineyard.” Such a title highlights the workers and the

location. Laborers and vineyard. But lost in this labeling

is the landowner whose action is central to the story.

Indeed, Jesus introduces the parable with the words,

“The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner.”

So, what if we were to rename the parable, “The

Parable of the Generous Boss?”

Afterall, Jesus tells a story about a landowner who

chooses to be generous, who wants everyone to have

a place at the vineyard, who returns time and again to

the marketplace in search of those still seeking work,

who cannot abide the thought of anyone left behind.

And so those who had been waiting all day for the

chance are given the opportunity to go and work.

And not only that, they are given a full day’s wage,

which means they have enough to get by for one

more day. Daily bread. This boss’s chief concern

is not the crop or the bottom line but the laborers

themselves. And Jesus says, this is what God’s

kingdom looks like.

It looks like a justice that sees people, not profit. It

looks like an open invitation to join the joyful labor of

the gospel. It looks like radical hospitality for all who

show up—no matter when they arrive. It looks like

justice redefined by mercy.

Whose justice? God’s justice, which begins at

the end, with those who are most forgotten, at

greatest risk. You know who they are. They are your

neighbors. They are children who go to bed with

empty stomachs. They are mothers who skip meals

to keep their family housed. They are workers whose

wages don’t pay the rent. You know who they are

because they are your sisters and your brothers.

If we allow it, this offensive parable can redefine our

understanding of what makes for the good life. Often,

we’re taught to believe the most important thing in

life is fairness, impartiality, just reward for hard work.

But what if the world is upside down? What if a

life worth living is defined not by fairness but by

generosity? What if followers of Jesus are invited to

embrace this truth? Take it from the kid who missed

almost all of a banana split. Our obsession with

what we deem fair can spoil our joy, even corrode

our hearts.

As we close five weeks with the parables, the

question remains: Can we imagine a different world?

Can we imagine a world that resembles the kingdom

of God, where everyone has opportunity and hope?

Can we imagine a different world where generosity

is the default setting? What would it take? It would

take a movement driven by compassion. Different

standards of judgment.

Listen to this. It would take a church more interested

in caring for neighbors in need than judging their

worthiness to receive it. And we can be that church.

Much of the time, I wish he hadn’t said it. But he did.

The last will be first, and the first will be last.

It is the ultimate parable punch line.

It is justice redefined by generosity.

And, if we allow it to be, it is good news…for all of us.

Amen.