The Absentee Landlord

Another of Jesus’ parables. Last week it was the so-called parable of the prodigal son. Most of you will remember, I hope, that I talked last week about naming parables. Jesus, of course, didn’t name his parables, and when we do we have a tendency to limit the meaning or focus of Jesus’ stories. Many people would probably suggest that the parable of the prodigal son is really not the best title for the story we heard last week. I was interested and gratified to hear from many of you after church last week with alternative titles that for you better captured the significance of that particular story in your lives. The more fundamental point to remember, however, is that whenever we give a parable any title we tend to limit its meaning, to exclude other foci or significant elements within the story.

Ideally, we are challenged to simply experience the story in much the same way that Jesus’ original hearers did. We are to dive into it, as we might imagine entering into a picture on the wall and finding ourselves suddenly living in that landscape, participating in the events of that world. Or like Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy we are to go through the wardrobe into a world of a lion, a witch, and all of Narnia. And significantly, they returned to England from Narnia more mature and more faithful, even though, as C. S. Lewis tells the story, no time passed in England while they were in Narnia. In our experiences of the world of parables we may pray that we will see new things, be actually transformed by new experiences. And that we will return to our own world different, more faithful, people.

Parables are meant to be experienced, not analyzed. Which is also to say that, theoretically at least, parables are not allegories. They are not stories where each person or object in the story is deliberately meant to represent someone or something else. But the temptation to allegorize the parables is virtually irresistible. In fact, Luke tells an allegorized version of this morning’s parable. The allegory goes like this. The owner of the vineyard represents God, of course. The vineyard represents the people of God. The tenants to whom the vineyard is leased are the chief priests and scribes—the hereditary Levitical priesthood who controlled the temple in Jerusalem, the focal point of Jewish worship and communal identity. The slaves sent by the owner to gather the harvest are the prophets, including John the Baptist. They are beaten, insulted and sent away. In the allegory the owner’s son is Jesus, killed by the temple authorities, the scribes and chief priests. Ultimately, then the allegory goes, those authorities will be judged for their irresponsible and unfaithful stewardship of God’s people. They will be crushed. The Christians of Luke’s day had seen the Jerusalem temple destroyed by the Romans and they had seen the church become a Gentile church. The allegory described a reality they knew.

It does not describe a reality that I know. I am wary of this interpretation’s potential to foster anti-Semitism. But more fundamentally, it is just not a story that has great significance for me. The role of the Levitical priesthood and the fall of the temple in Jerusalem in the first century were very significant historically, but I have to say they do not impact my faith today in any significant way.

But what if I could put aside the allegory and enter into the world of the parable… step into the world of that vineyard. What would I see? Experience? Who am I in the world of the vineyard?

It’s a world where people are fighting over property. That piece of it is familiar. People are willing to kill for a share of the alcohol production syndicate in that area. It’s a world where a scarcity of resources leads to enmity and greed.

At this point, I feel like I should step down from the pulpit and just talk with you more informally. As I further explore the world of the vineyard, I am leaving the realm of any pretense whatsoever to authoritative proclamation on the interpretation of Scripture. In fact, the path I am going to pursue is really not an appropriate or defensible interpretation of this passage in Luke. This is not what these words of Holy Scripture are meant to say to us. But on a more positive note, I’d like to think that this parable of Jesus’ has precipitated for me a process of self-examination, self-exploration, that could help transform me into a more faithful person. That is part of our call and responsibility during Lent, so bear with me, come with me, as I wander about this vineyard a little more.

What if this parable were titled, not the parable of the wicked tenants, but the parable of the absentee landlord? It occurs to me that none of the violence and loss in the parable would have occurred if the landlord had just stayed home… if the landlord had taken some personal responsibility and been involved in nurturing and harvesting the growth of the vineyard. Why didn’t the landowner live on his land, build a home, keep an eye on the vines, worry about the weather, walk through the vineyard, prune, fertilize? In the allegorical interpretation of this parable, the owner of the vineyard is God, and the produce of the vineyard is God’s people. In that case, God has an odd way of showing care and love for the children of God. He comes across as more of a deadbeat dad who takes no responsibility for raising up the fruit of the vineyard. Only later, when it’s a matter of meeting his own needs, does he take any interest at all. The parable of the deadbeat dad.

But what if that deadbeat landowner isn’t God? What if that person is me? Or you? Or all of us who are called to be and nurture the Body of Christ?

It is our responsibility to tend and grow and harvest the produce of God’s kingdom. It is our role to raise up the fruits of God’s vineyard. That is the pledge or vow each and every one of us made at baptism (not at ordination, at baptism). We are the landowners. And just think how differently the story of this parable would have gone if the landowner had stayed home and fulfilled his responsibility to tend for the vines.

So what do you think of this way "outside the box" exploration of Jesus’ parable? The church is the vineyard and we are the landowners. In the parable the landowner was absentee… deadbeat… doing nothing to care for the vineyard, but expecting to receive his share of the produce when he needed it. And never mind the whole other point that God’s vineyard is meant primarily to sustain and bring life to the world outside the walls.

But even if we focus more on our own lives as God’s people, God’s children, on our role within the Body of Christ… what will it take? What will it take to shame, motivate, inspire us to really care for this vineyard? What will it take for us to quit behaving like deadbeat parents and become involved, loving participants, responsible for the life and growth of this vineyard, which is God’s church?

If only the landowner had stayed home and not gone away "to a distant country for a long time." He paid for his absence with the loss of three slaves and the life of his son. And if, indeed, the tenants were crushed for their transgressions, we can only imagine that the vineyard, too, was left derelict, and we are not told that the landowner ever got his produce.

What will it take to motivate us to come home and care for God’s vineyard, care with our own hearts and hands? What will we have to lose before we invest ourselves, our souls and bodies in the responsibility that is ours?

In Luke’s gospel, Jesus tells this parable very late in his ministry and teaching, after the final "Palm Sunday" entry into Jerusalem. Jesus and his disciples stand on the brink of the crucifixion. As do we in the liturgical life of the church. Very soon we will stand at the foot of the cross and look at Jesus’ lifeless body there. He gave his life for the life of the vineyard. Jesus died so that the Body of Christ might live. It is up to us to see that he did not die in vain.

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