Matthew 20

A teaser for those who still know some German: discern the import of this old song!

It's true. The Christian Church of which mine is one denomination proclaims itself to be guided first and foremost by the Word of God: the Bible. It's probably also true (arguably) that if early church fathers like Matthew, Mark or Luke, later ones that canonized and compiled the writings that we now call The Holy Bible had not done their work, that there would be no Christian Church, that my denomination would not exist.

You could speculate similarly on the existence and growth of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints without The Book of Mormon, or the Islamic religion without the Qu'ran. Some major religions, denominational gatherings thereof, are firmly anchored to holy books sometimes indistinguishable in portent from the idols before which other religions bow down. Their holy books are that central to many faiths.

Maybe that's why the actual reading in the Qu'ran, the Book of Mormon, the Holy Bible can surprise you as seeming as mundane as a page from the local weekly newspaper, to be about minimum wages, traffic bylaws and cows that fell into wells; holy books should deal in loftier themes than we do in our day to day discourse, shouldn't they? Or have we just placed them on pedestals so that we ever and always compare the inspirations we get, the things we do walking on this earth in our own day to them in a way that gives neither the credit they deserve?

A Bible is, for one, old reading. Its images, its phraseology, its knowledge base is antiquated. None of that means that its value is therefore less; it simply means that a modern-day reader needs to do the work of transposing its wisdom into a world that is vastly different from the one in which it was conceived. And this involves adding to it inspiration and knowledge of the present day and a great deal of what we call discernment, prayerfully applying the wisdom that's there to a new setting.

Take Matthew 20's parable of The Workers in the Vineyard. I, for one, can only imagine in broad strokes what this day was like when the grapes were ready for picking, when itinerant workers were sought and found and the single-denarius wage was paid to each worker at sundown. They all got the same pay even though some worked hours longer than others! Not a union shop, obviously.

So this isn't a parable about the work place per se. So what generated the story and what does it say to us? I think back to Chapter 19 and the question of “who will be greatest in the Kingdom?” and begin to think that this parable is a continuation of the idea that the Kingdom is horizontal, not vertical. That one doesn't earn one's way to the top, nor does inherited privilege get you preferential treatment.

The import of the parable is underlined by placing the wife of Zebedee's bizarre request shortly after the vineyard story. “Grant that one of these two sons of mine may sit at your right and the other at your left in your kingdom.” Jesus reply leaves no doubt about the nature of the Kingdom, a lesson we do well to study in depth whenever questions of leadership, “followship,” hierarchy and moral authority are under discussion: “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their high officials exercise authority over them. Not so with you. Instead, whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

That there may be no special honour, no cache to reward us if we work harder or longer at Kingdom stuff than the next guy actually takes some crow-eating, doesn't it? But knowing this could at least make a difference when churches become political.

I've been in many a potluck line-up. The last do not get to eat first, or vice versa, but we do all get to eat. Although sometimes, the Caesar salad is all gone by the time you reach the buffet. Or the dark chicken. Sigh.