27TH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME: THE UNGRATEFUL TENANTS IN US

The haunting question in today's first reading asks: “What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done?” That question carries pain and disappointment. But even more deeply, there is love in that voice. The lover is grieving the lack of reciprocity.

Perhaps you have experienced the pain of loving someone deeply: investing yourself in that person, sacrificing for them, praying for them, giving them your time and energy. And then wondering, “What else could I have done?” Parents know something about this. Spouses know it. Teachers know it. Priests know it. Anyone who has truly loved knows something about the vulnerability of giving oneself and hoping that love will bear fruit.

That is the image the prophet Isaiah and the Gospel of Matthew give us today. The Lord plants a vineyard on a fertile hillside. He does not plant it carelessly. He digs the soil. He clears away the stones. He plants the choicest vines. He builds a watchtower. He prepares a winepress. Everything necessary for the vineyard to flourish is provided.

Then he waits. He expects good grapes. But the vineyard produces wild grapes. And then comes the painful question: “What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done?” Perhaps we could put the question this way: What more could love have done?

WHEN TENANTS FORGET THE OWNER

Jesus takes Isaiah's vineyard and tells another story. Again, there is a landowner. Again, there is a vineyard. Again, there is a hedge, a winepress, and a tower. But now Jesus introduces tenants. The landowner entrusts the vineyard to them and goes away. When harvest time comes, he sends servants to collect the produce. But something has changed in the hearts of the tenants. They beat one servant. They kill another. They stone another. More servants come, and they treat them in the same way.

Finally, the owner says something astonishing: “They will respect my son.” Imagine the level of hope contained in that expression. After everything that has happened, the owner still hopes: Surely, they will respect my son. But everything crashes. When they see the son, they say: “This is the heir. Come, let us kill him and acquire his inheritance.”

This is the height of ingratitude and betrayal. The real sickness of the tenants is that they forget that they are tenants and not owners. And perhaps that is one of the greatest spiritual dangers in our lives: forgetting that the vineyard does not belong to us. We often behave as though we are owners of things we have gratuitously received from God. The trouble begins when stewardship becomes ownership. We begin to say: My life. My money. My body. My success. My position. My family. My ministry. I will do with it whatever I want.

The tenants did not merely reject the owner. They wanted the vineyard without the owner. And isn't that temptation still with us? We want the gifts but sometimes resist the Giver. We want life but not always the Lord of life. We want the vineyard but not always the Owner.

Then the story reaches its most painful moment. After everything else fails, the owner sends his son: “They will respect my son.” They seize him, throw him outside the vineyard, and kill him.

In this parable, Jesus is speaking about himself. God sent the prophets. They were rejected. God sent his messengers. They were persecuted. Finally, God sent his Son. And humanity took the Son outside the vineyard and crucified him. Now that question becomes even more powerful: What more could love have done? The evangelist John puts it this way: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son.”

And yet the Gospel does not end with the murdered Son. Jesus says: “The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” There is the surprise of God's love. Human rejection does not have the final word. The stone is rejected, but God makes it the cornerstone. The Son is crucified, but God raises him from the dead. Human beings say, “We do not want him.” God says, “This is the cornerstone.” Even our rejection cannot exhaust the creativity of God's love.

WHAT KIND OF FRUIT ARE WE PRODUCING?

Saint Paul gives us a beautiful way to examine the tenant in us today: “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” Through Paul's lens, we begin to see what good grapes look like and what faithful stewardship produces: True. Honorable. Just. Pure. Lovely. Gracious. Excellent. Worthy of praise. These are the fruits God desires from the vineyard of our lives.

So perhaps the question this weekend should be: What are God's blessings producing in me?

·       What is God's love producing in my marriage?

·       What is it producing in my family?

·       What is it producing in the way I treat people?

·       What is it producing in the way I use authority?

·       What is it producing in my ministry?

·       What is it producing in the way I speak, forgive, serve, give, and love?

Real-life experiences can help us understand this. Many immigrants know the sacrifices involved in supporting relatives back home. Someone works long hours abroad, sends money home for a particular project, and later discovers that the money was squandered. Worse still, the person entrusted with it may respond as though receiving that support were simply a right. The deepest wound in such situations is not always the money that was lost. Sometimes it is the realization that sacrifice was received without gratitude, and trust was treated as entitlement. Of course, no human example can compare with God's gift of his Son. But perhaps such experiences allow us to feel something of the question: What more could love have done?

This is why Paul's invitation becomes so important: “By prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God.” That word, thanksgiving, matters. Something is missing in the tenants: gratitude. Gratitude may be one of the greatest protections against becoming like them because gratitude remembers that everything is a gift. Entitlement says: This belongs to me. Gratitude says: This has been entrusted to me. Entitlement turns tenants into owners. Gratitude turns owners back into stewards.

So this week, look again at the vineyard God has entrusted to you. Look at your life. Look at your family and relationships. Look at your gifts and your faith. Look at the people God has placed in your path. Look at the opportunities God has given you. And then ask: What am I producing with what God has given me?

Perhaps, even before asking God for something new, we might stop and recognize what has already been given. The vineyard has been planted. The soil has been prepared. The stones have been removed. The servants have been sent. And finally, the Son has been given. What more could love have done? The question now is: What will I do with the love I have received?

Readings: Isaiah 5:1–7; Philippians 4:6–9; Matthew 21:33–43