Before God, we’re all equal. There is no first, there is no last. It's about how we live our lives.

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday October 29, 2023

Reformation Sunday

This morning’s gospel hits a note that I imagine all of us can relate to: the idea of fairness in life. We hear a story about a landowner who is paying people to work in his vineyard. He finds people at the start of the day, ready and willing to work, with no persuasion required, and he agrees to pay them a wage. At noon, he finds more workers at the gate, and he hires them as well. Again at 3 pm. And at 5, just when the work was ending. When evening comes, and it is time to get paid, the workers line up. The ones who started at 5 receive the same wage as those who started at 9. The all-day workers are angry – and who could blame them? They worked all day and ended up exactly the same as those who worked for a couple of hours. How is that fair? But the landowner is unrepentant and can’t be persuaded to reverse his decision. Instead, he says to the 9 am workers – you got exactly what we agreed. You gave up nothing so that others could get a wage. So why do you care? Are you envious of my generosity? And this, Jesus says, is the Reign of God: where the last may be first, and the first last. In other words: the landowner in the kingdom may not be fair – at least as we see it. Because this landowner is more concerned with being equal.

Now let’s be honest with one another: this still chafes. Just ask anyone with a little sibling who is always getting out of the dishes or getting special treatment, while they, as the eldest, are asked to do more chores. That’s not fair. Or ask those people who believe refugees shouldn’t be allowed a shortcut into our country, with health care and benefits and support from taxpayer dollars, while the rest of us work to get ahead. That’s not fair. Or what about the people who get social assistance but could get jobs if they just weren’t so lazy? That’s not fair. Or just ask any woman who has learned that the men in her office get paid more than her for doing the very same work. That’s not fair. No, seriously, that last one is really not fair – but we’ll get back to that.

Here’s the thing: and doesn’t every parent eventually get around to telling their child this: Life just isn’t fair. You learn it at school when the mean but pretty girl gets all the attention. You learn it at work, when the charmer who shops online all day at his desk gets promoted. You learn it in life when you stay healthy, and still get cancer. Life is not fair.

But actually, this is not the point of our gospel. We already know that life isn’t fair. The gospel is trying to get us to look at what’s behind that perceived unfairness – context, and perspective. Sometimes what seems unfair is just. And what looks fair is an injustice.

For one thing, I bet when you heard that gospel, you probably saw yourself as the worker who showed up at 9, and did the right thing, and still came out the fool at the end. But, come on now: have you never been the person who showed up at 5, who sneaked in the door, and received just as much benefit? Maybe you’ve been the person whose parents knew someone that helped you get a job. Maybe you benefited from a friendship, or a random circumstance? Maybe you just lucked out on genes, something no one can control. Even if none of those examples apply, we can’t say no, that’s not me: because we were born here in Canada, so right away that random circumstance puts us ahead of most of the rest of the world. A while back I was listening to an interesting radio conversation about whether the United States should have to pay reparations for slavery. One of the guests made an interesting observation: in the U.S., the discussion often focuses on the long-term disadvantage that African Americans suffered because of racism and slavery. But what is less often pointed out is the long-term advantage that White Americans gained by being the ancestors of plantation owners, or people who could always vote, and always had access to the best schools. To make things equal, you would want to consider not just the losses of one side, but the gains of another. We could have the same discussion here in Canada about the history of Indigenous Canadians. Non-Indigenous Canadians could do the same. The point is that maybe the worker in our gospel who arrived at 9 am had a car, and educated parents, and was the right sex, with the right-coloured skin and spoke the right language. And maybe the worker at 3 or 5 had no child care for their sick baby at home and couldn’t get to work on time, or didn’t know where to go for the job. The landowner in the gospel balanced their fortunes.

Does this mean we never have to fight for what is fair? If it all works out in the end, why does it matter? Of course it does: this parable doesn’t negate the call of the gospel to right injustices. But what it reminds us is that fairness and equality are complicated, and oftentimes so are the solutions. As parents, we instinctively know this: we don’t always treat our kids exactly the same because we see them as individuals who don’t always need the same thing. But we also need to remind ourselves that what is fair and equal changes with time and circumstances. We have to ask ourselves: what’s behind this picture? What am I not seeing? How does being seemingly unfair in this circumstance make life, my family, or society more equal and just? That’s why many argue that quotas – for gender and diversity – are fair even when they might not seem that way – they remove the disadvantage to the worker who showed up at 3 through no fault of their own and no true measure of their ability. Or why we allow in refugees to share our benefits – they came late because of wars they didn’t start and disasters they didn’t cause. Someday, we might be the ones late at the gate, looking for an unfair hand to make things better.

And ultimately, that’s what God, the landowner in the Reign of Heaven, is really saying when we find ourselves arriving early or late at the gate: You made it, and that’s what matters. It’s not that the first person gets bounced to the back of the line, or that the last person gets to sneak up to the front. That the last become first and the first become last is a way of saying, that before God, we’re all equal. There is no first, and there is no last. Our stories shape us, our lives define us, but they don’t decide our spot in line. A line – a rank, a title – are all human inventions. Not divine ones.

Listen, life isn’t fair. If it was, why would we need the gospel? But God wants us to remember to think carefully so we don’t mistake equality for unfairness, and to look clearly so we see unfairness that we can make more equal. And also to know that whether we arrive first or we come last, whether we get lucky or misfortune falls, in our relationship with God, there is always a place saved for each of us. We don’t need to get in line for it. Amen.

Copy of God gives us powerful tools in order to be active workers for Love, Peace and Hope in the wo

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday October 22, 2023

So this morning, we have one of the most political stories in the gospel. The Pharisees, the incumbents in power, have approached Jesus, the Upstart in the hope of tripping him up. They try to butter him up with false flattery about his wisdom and then they gently spring their trap and ask…about taxes, of all things.

First, let’s put this in context. At this period in Jesus’s ministry, taxes were very controversial. There was, in fact, a revolt underway against a head tax that the Emperor Caesar had leveled against Jewish citizens. There were riots, and even executions for some of the ring-leaders. When the Pharisees pose the question of the “lawfulness” of paying taxes, they are assuming that Jesus falls into the anti-tax camp.

So, right away, they think they have him: if he supports the tax, he risks losing supporters - both the powerful ones, who objected to it, and the poor, who could barely afford it. Plus, he would appear to be contradicting scripture, which warns against worshipping false gods.

If he says no to paying the tax, he could be arrested by the Romans and possibly executed.

Either way, as the Pharisees see it, they win.

Ah, but Jesus was wily - and in this passage we see how clever he was. He does not answer right away. He responds to the question from the Pharisees with another question - a savvy rhetorical trick. Instead he asks to see the coin, likely the denarius that would be used to pay the tax. These coins were relatively rare - used in higher circles and by the emperor to pay his soldiers. When the Pharisees readily produce one, Jesus has already linked them to Caesar.

“Whose head is this, and whose title?” Jesus asks, an answer he surely knows already. The Pharisees are forced to reply: “The emperor’s.” On the denarius was a picture of the emperor, with the included inscription: “Caesar Augustus Tiberius, son of the Divine Augustus.” Jesus gets the upper ground: the coin includes a “graven image” and describes Caesar as God-like. And the Pharisees haven’t just produced such a coin; they have done so in a temple.

Jesus’s answer is remarkably simple, seemingly vague, and yet at the same time clear: “Give to the emperor the things that are the emperor’s,” he says, “and to God the things that are God’s.”

Amazed, we are told, the Pharisees went away. More likely, they were stunned at being so cleverly outmatched.

So what was Jesus saying with his answer and what does it mean for us? This text has been interpreted, throughout history, as a case for paying our taxes - but many scholars have questioned whether Jesus intended his response to be about support for taxes, or even taxes at all. For one thing, as we learn later, when Jesus is arrested, one of the charges against him was that he opposed the head tax - rather than supported it. This was essentially a tax targeted at a particular group of people, and the money would be used, not to improve the lot of the poor, but as a war chest for Rome; it’s hard to imagine Jesus’s rallying in favour of it. He was hardly one to go along with authority for the sake of authority.

Given that context, it’s more likely that Jesus’s answer was rhetorical. After all, what would Jesus say were “God’s things?” Were his followers to be so divided in their allegiance - between Caesar and God? Should faith in the gospel, as he defined it, tilt back and forth between earthly authority - and indeed, a questionable one at that - and God’s grace? If the answer to “What is God’s” is “everything,” then what is left for Caesar? The answer: nothing.

But does this mean we should all stop paying our taxes? Let’s consider that question more thoughtfully, from another angle. In his skirmish with the Pharisees and his dodge with Caesar, Jesus raises the question of leadership. The Pharisees, preaching one thing, have used Caesar as their ally, when it was convenient – doing what they needed to hold on to power. Jesus has cast a spotlight on their true motivations;- power for the sake of power. And he has virtually dismissed them: his answer, on the surface, is barely more than a shrug. You worry about what matters to you, he is saying. I will be over here doing the important work.

But to the wide audience – and to us – his question lands differently. What is God’s? And what is Caesar’s? And how do we, living in a complex world, manage that distinction.? We can say that everything is God’s, but we still have to live, and eat, and pay our bills. And what’s more, in a functioning democracy, paying taxes is our collective contribution to a larger, common good. We may not decide where every dollar goes, but we do have a say in who spends it; and we accept that with appropriate checks and balances. It is imperfect. But we aren’t perfect.

But take the taxes away: Pharisees made this the subject, not Jesus. Without the prop of the coin, then Jesus’s question broadens. Caesar becomes our stand-in for flawed human leadership. How do we balance what is God’s against what is Caesar’s? How do we give to both God and Caesar?

In that context, Jesus is posing a larger ethical challenge: how do we follow the gospel in a flawed world? Jesus is lobbing that question to us. Because it is complicated. We want to see an end to poverty, but how do we make that happen in a free-market system? We want to save the planet, but we are accustomed to an ever-expanding consumer economy. We want leaders who do only what is just and fair, but they exist in a system that requires them to please enough of the “right” people to get re-elected. So it becomes our job to ask how faith filters through the complexity of the world.

Jesus doesn’t answer that question for us in our gospel this morning: he leaves us to wrestle with it. So where might we start? We must ask the right questions. Questions like: why have we always done it this way, and is there a new and better way? Questions like: where did this information come from, and what is the truth? If the truth is not yet knowable, should we not wait to learn more? If we think some people are being left out, how do we include them?

For a large portion of his ministry, Jesus works within the “rules” of society, pushing at them, but not snapping them so hard that he falls outside of it. In the end, as we know, he takes the hardest stand of all. But his ministry also shows us how we can exist in a human world, while aspiring to a divine life.

Like Jesus, we must not only be alert to the misleading questions. We must ask the right questions. For chief among “God’s things,” as Jesus says, are God’s people - that is, us. And God’s call to serve others is neither political, nor rhetorical. It is our highest responsibility. Amen

workers for love, peace, and hope in our lives and in the world. Amen.

It takes strength to live by what is just and pure - strength to live with faithful discipleship.

Sermon by Pastor Joel Crouse

Sunday October 15, 2023

Well, that’s quite the gospel, this morning. Basically, we are offered a parable by Jesus that is essentially about God’s “cancelling” someone for wearing the wrong thing to a party.

Even by our current standards of outrage – legitimate and otherwise – showing up in the wrong robe isn’t likely to get that kind of reaction.

So let’s unpackage what is really going on.

In our gospel, this morning, Jesus offers us a parable. This King sends out invitations to a wedding party for his son. He invites some bigwigs, some landowners, powerful people. But they are too busy or can’t be bothered. Some of them even attack or kill those delivering the invitation. The king, in anger, responds by taking revenge.

He then decides to open the wedding up to everyone. Except one man is found not wearing the proper garb. When he can’t explain himself, the king orders the man tossed out of the party. We are to understand that his orders were followed. He was the king, after all. “Many are called,” Jesus says in warning. “Few are chosen.”

First of all, I wouldn’t consider this one of Jesus’s most successful parables. So many of his parables endure across time and traditions. But this one doesn’t so easily translate into our day. We’ve certainly seen our fair share, recently, of vengeful kings or petty leaders. We have seen quite clearly what happens to people who have the power to be “exclusive,” who decide who gets tossed and who measures up. We all heard the former president of the United States once spell it out baldly for us: that “When you are a star” people let you do things – egregious things – that other people couldn’t get away with. So, I don’t know about you, but upon first modern-day reading, my sympathy goes to the man who didn’t follow the dress code and got tossed out the door.

This parable is challenging, so let’s break it down. In some ways, it’s a bit on the nose. The King is God, the son is Jesus. God calls the leaders to follow the gospel, and they reject the offer or ignore it. Worse, they kill the messenger – that is, the prophet, such as John the Baptist, who was sent out to “invite” us to hear Jesus. So, God opens up the Kingdom of Heaven to everyone, no matter who they are, and waits to see who shows up.

First, let us consider this parable against the parables that surround it. In the previous chapter of Matthew, Jesus tells the crowd of a father who asks his sons to help him: one says no but changes his mind and does it.The other says yes but doesn’t help. Which one, Jesus asks, did what his father wanted? The first, the crowd answers. And so Jesus teaches that even when we choose wrong, our mistakes can be corrected. That what we say does not define us, but ultimately our actions do.

The next parable we hear is of a vineyard owner who rents his land to a set of farmers. When it comes time to collect his share of the harvest, he sends his servant, who the farmers beat and kill. A second meets with the same fate. Finally the land owner sends his son, who is also killed. And in the crowd, we hear that the chief priests and Pharisees squirm – for they know that the parable is about them, who hold on to power for the sake of power.

Now the parables of Jesus always have to be balanced by the message that resonates with us today, and the historical context we need truly to truly understand what is happening. In Jesus’s time, a wedding thrown by a King or very wealthy person would have included the host’s providing wedding robes for the guests. Not to wear one, would have been an insult and affront. So, the man is not bounced from the party for his ratty clothes. He is kicked out for not accepting a gift. The wedding robes in this sense are meant to represent grace. The man is not wearing a robe of character, and it costs him his invitation.

But is that fair? Is that even our understanding of the gospel? If many are called, but few are chosen, doesn’t that lead us to a community of faith where some pass, and some fail? This, for me, is a troublesome part of this analogy. It appears to contradict so many of the other teachings of Jesus, which are about grace and forgiveness. In the end, don’t we all want the same chance -- to learn from our mistakes?

But just as I would question anyone who uses one line from the Old Testament to decide their views on a matter, we have to remember to take the gospel in its entirety. Each parable should be seen as a kernel of wisdom; taken together, they give us the nuanced wisdom of the gospel.

It makes no sense that Jesus would be saying, if you mess up and forget to put on the robe this one day, you are out. Or, if you realize your error, and put on the wedding robe, you won’t get back into the party.

But some of the parables of Jesus guide our actions, such as the one about the Good Samaritan. Others make us see how even in our failings, we are accepted, such as the story of the two sons that precedes it. And some of the parables, like this one and the one before it, remind us of our obligation to the gospel. In these parables, of course, Jesus is speaking without much disguise about his own role on earth, to upend and unsettle the powers that be, even if there is a cost.

In doing so, Jesus is reminding us that getting invited to God’s table isn’t something to take lightly. It comes with risk. It comes with effort. Collecting the harvest won’t be easy. We don’t just wake up one day and wander over to the party. This invitation comes with a calling to live with character.

What was the character that God wanted the man to instill by his presence? A character that would be as visible as the clothes he was wearing. Surely it was the humility that the wealthy landowners did not show. But also kindness and generosity -- not looking away when we see wrong. The cloak of character comes with sacrifice. At times, it is a heavy cloak to wear.

But let’s not forget that other story told today. The exchange between Moses and God is one particularly worth noting. God is angry about the golden calf, ready to call it quits on the Israelites. But Moses, in essence, talks God down. And eventually, we are told, God changes God’s mind. Think about that: in a moment, a calm human voice, asking for mercy, was heard by God, and brought change, another chance to wear the cloak of character.

Are we the many who are called, or the few chosen? Faith is, by its nature, aspirational: a goal to which we strive, a cloak of character we try to wear as much as can. Jesus is impressing upon us the cost of the cloak of discipleship, even as he reminds us that the price of the invitation to the party is not perfection. Let us hear the call. Let us be mindful of false idols and Kings. And let us leave the choosing to God. Amen.