In Jesus’ parable in Matthew, a landowner gives over the
operations of his vineyards to some tenants. He sends people to the vineyard to
retrieve his income and to get an account about how they are caring for the
vineyard. In each case, the messengers are beat up or even killed. Eventually
the landowner sends his son thinking that they will respect him. But the
tenants do to him what they did before: they murder him.
Now, notice what comes next: Jesus doesn’t end the story but
asks the ones to whom he is telling it to fill in the blanks. “What do you
think the landowner should do?” They say, “Punish these brutes and put them to
a miserable end!” Jesus then turns the tables of his critics and says, “the
stone which builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone.”
This parable was remembered by Matthew’s church as an
explanation for why the Church was becoming more and more Gentile, while
becoming less and less Jewish in their populations and in their traditions. In
short, Matthew is saying “you had your chance; now there is a new chosen people
in town!”
I always approach this passage with great care, because it
has been the vehicle and justification for two millennia of often violent
anti-Semitism and Western white supremacy.
So be careful! As soon as we begin to think that the Church
or the Gospel, is our personal possession, or that we have the right answer for
a “perfect” church, we are setting ourselves up to take the role of the
possessive stewards in this story.
If you don’t believe me, look at how the history of the
Church is filled of moments when otherwise faithful people have gotten the bit
in their teeth and have run rough-shod over the very church they were trying to
preserve or reform.
One hundred years ago, an Episcopal bishop named Paul Jones
was driven from his office for speaking words of peace during the First World
War.
Not ten years later, another Episcopal bishop, William
Alexander Guerry, was assassinated in his own office by a priest of his own
diocese of South Carolina, because Guerry bucked the Jim Crow segregation that
had taken hold of the church when he wanted to not only desegregate the
churches but elect a black suffragan bishop.
I love the identity statement of the United Church of Christ
and sometimes wish it were our own. It says, “God is still speaking.” But can we
discern that voice when it comes to us? Sometimes we refuse to attend to
that voice, and sometimes we interrupt that voice and talk over what God is
saying to us. In either case, we essentially kill the heir hoping to receive
the inheritance.
I think of this every January when Martin Luther King’s
birthday rolls around. How many of us participate with civic, religious, and
business leaders, replay a small portion of his 1963 Lincoln Memorial
speech—the “I have a dream” speech—tip our hat to racial equality and for the
rest of the year ignore how we both participate in and benefit from a system of
racial division that is still present 400 years after Europeans first set foot
on this continent? Yet, as soon as someone proposes something concrete about
addressing the roots of racism, let alone echoes a mere slogan, how often are we
are the first to say “Yeah, but… all lives matter!”
Looking back, we remember with shame the church’s response
to prophetic voices concerning racial injustice, the role of women, and the
full inclusion of LGBT persons. You don’t have to look far— everyone loves
Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the 20th century martyr, until we realize that
his critique of “cheap grace” is really talking about our complacent use of the
church and her sacraments to maintain the status quo. Everyone loves Pope
Francis’ warm inclusiveness until he starts to talk about economic justice and calls
on us (and his church’s hierarchy!) to live more simply. Suddenly, the cry is
“what does he know?” and “Why can’t he stick to ‘moral’ issues?” as if race,
peace, poverty, and economic power are somehow not moral at their core!
And every year, we come to the Feast of St. Francis and bless our pets, which is a good thing, but we do Francis an injustice if we stop there. If we really look at Francis and his view of animals in comes much more closely to what now call "creation care." And his attitude towards the poor was both radical and deeply compassionate. Some wonder if he did not come home from the Crusades suffering PTSD, which might explain some of his stranger behaviors (like going about naked in public) but also points us to an attitude toward peaceful relationships quite extraordinary for his day--and ours!
In a famous encounter, St. Francis of Assisi took a risk when he crossed the battlefield between European Crusaders and Arabic Muslim forces near Damietta, Egypt, and met with Sultan al-Malik al-Kamil and preach his faith in Jesus Christ. He did not convert the Sultan but he opened a dialogue that would eventually lead to peace between the warring sides.
So, if we simply domesticate Francis and restrict him serving only as a patron for our pets, we will miss the radical vision for the Church as a vehicle for peace and justice to bring about reconciliation among people and nations.
The behavior of the landowner in today’s Gospel in
confronting the wicked tenants may be hard to accept, but it is familiar! It is
the behavior of God! Like the landowner, God sent prophets to teach the
scriptures and proclaim the demands of justice, and that message was condemned
and rejected. God tries again and again until even his Son Jesus is met with
rejection and death. But the voice of their prophecy is never extinguished, for
nothing can stop the word of the Lord.
So how does this story of rebellious tenants and the
long-suffering landowner end? We are offered two conclusions.
The first comes from those who are gathered around listening
to Jesus. In their indignation and horror, they cry out that these rebellious
tenants be put to a miserable death – and then be replaced with honest
substitutes. They advocate exclusion and violence, an ancient and popular notion…
that leads absolutely nowhere!
Jesus has another idea. He quotes the psalms: “The stone
that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s
doing, and it is amazing in our eyes.”
So instead of fighting evil with still more evil, Jesus offers
a different way. He says that it is precisely the rejected stone is the
foundation something new! The Gospel, of course, is talking about the death and
resurrection of Jesus, who was rejected, betrayed, and abused by those around
him. Who, in his rising from death, becomes the cornerstone for a new creation
rebuilt from the ground up.
There are lots of more recent examples that show how
rejected stones become central to what is built.
During the Nazi occupation of Denmark, the Danish king, King
Christian the Tenth, rode his horse daily through Copenhagen streets,
surrounded by applauding crowds. He told the Germans that he would risk death
to keep the swastika from flying over his castle, and they relented from
displaying their flag there. These acts of defiance turned the king into the
cornerstone of the remarkably successful Danish resistance that featured
schoolboys, amateur saboteurs, and underground clergymen who kept the Nazi
killing machine off balance for years. The Germans wanted normalcy in Denmark,
and the resistance movement worked through strikes and other actions to deny
them that. A prominent indication of their success was how a majority of Danish
Jews were safely transported to neutral Sweden through the help of their fellow
citizens.
Back in 1986, Ferdinand Marcos was reelected as president of
the Philippines in an election tainted by widespread electoral fraud. Martial
law was imposed, and Marcos made personal loyalty the criterion for military
promotions and economic privilege. But the People Power movement led by Benigno
"Ninoy" Aquino, Jr., and, after his assassination, by his wife Corazon,
stood up to the regime. When civilian protesters met military units that
refused to fire on their fellow citizens, it was not long before Marcos went
into exile.
Remember Nelson Mandela, who for decades was an inmate in a
South African jail? He became the first elected president of the new South
Africa. When he was sworn in on May 10, 1994, the former prisoner who became
president vowed that “never, never, and never again shall it be that this
beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another.” Once
rejected, he became the cornerstone.
An Australian aboriginal activist named Lilla Watson said, “If
you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. But if you have come
because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.” How
will you and I put this truth into practice, not simply in what we say, but in
how we live?
We might start by recognizing that whomever we call an enemy
comes to us bearing a gift, and that we when meet our enemy we are meeting
ourselves. Because each enemy comes to us bearing some broken, rejected part of
ourselves. By accepting that enemy, we accept back that part of ourselves. By
continuing to reject that enemy, we remain in a fragmented state inside.
Acceptance of our enemy, welcoming the other, embracing those we would cast out,
means we are changed and so is our enemy as we are together propelled toward a
new and unexpected creation.
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