The kingdom of heaven – as it is described in our Scripture reading – seems patently unfair. Yes, we understand the landowner’s argument: He did agree on a wage of one denarius with those who were hired first. And that is what they got, so he is not “cheating” them out of what they earned nor is he reneging on what he said. And yes, we understand that the landowner is being generous in a way that really and truly blesses those who were hired at the last working hour of the day, so that they, too, can feed their families. And yes, it is true that, in the end, it is no skin off our noses if someone else happens to catch a break far beyond what they have earned. All of that is true. And still, there is a part of us – perhaps I should just own it and say, there is a part of me – that understands the grumbling of the first hires, that shares with them their sense of indignation, that agrees with their complaint that – despite all of the good that we can see in this story – it’s just not fair. It’s just not fair for someone who has been toiling all day in the sweltering sun to look and see someone who had hardly begun to work up a sweat get rewarded in the same way that they have.

If the story had been that at the end of the day the first hires came and received their denarius and went away content, then the second group of hires came and received the same and went away a little surprised, and so on until the very last hires, who only worked one hour, came and received their denarius and went away as if they had won the lottery, and that the foreman was astounded at the landowner’s generosity – then this would have been a great story our reaction would probably not be that it is unfair, but only that it is very generous.

But, that’s not how the story unfolds. The first hires – because the landowner sets it up this way – watch the last hires receive an incredibly generous wage and they begin to get their hope up. That is why, when they get the wage to which they had clearly agreed, they feel that, although in absolute terms it is a fair exchange, in relative terms it is not. In relative terms, these payments seem patently unfair. That’s the complaint of the first hires and – frankly – I simply cannot fault them for saying that these payments are unfair.

However, there is more to our story than the simple parable itself. When we look at the way that Matthew tells this story – and particularly the timing that Matthew gives this story within the flow of the Gospel itself – I believe that we’re supposed to hear this parable with a visceral sense of unfairness. The flow of Matthew’s gospel surrounding this story goes like this. A wealthy young religious man came to Jesus and asked what good deed he must do to have eternal life. When Jesus answers with a brief review of the commandments, the young man declares that he had kept all of them, and asked what else was needed. Jesus said, “If you wish to be perfect then go sell all of your possessions, give the money to the poor, and come follow me.” The young man went away grieving while Jesus said to the disciples that it would be extremely difficult for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. That episode and the declarations that followed prompted Peter to point out to Jesus that they – the 12 disciples – had left everything in order to follow him. And Jesus declares that one day, when the Son of Man is seated on his throne, the 12 disciples would sit on accompanying thrones to judge the 12 tribes of Israel. Jesus also said that anyone who has made great sacrifice in his name will receive a hundred fold return and eternal life. Then, Jesus says something that he will repeat again: “Many who are first shall be last and the last shall be first.”

All of that happens just before Jesus begins to tell the story that we have read together, which also ends with the words, “So, the last will be first and the first will be last.” In other words, as Matthew’s gospel unfolds, the occasion of our story is the recognition that the 12 disciples have indeed made tremendous sacrifices to follow Jesus and that those sacrifices will be duly rewarded. But, there is also something about the kingdom of heaven that takes our typical sense of who is first and who is last and turns it on its head. There is a “law of inversion” that is operative in the kingdom of heaven, where the first become last and the last become first.

Of course, Matthew’s gospel continues after our story and as we follow it, we will encounter this law of inversion again, only this time in a different form. After our story ends, Jesus and the disciples begin to travel toward Jerusalem. Along the way, Jesus takes the disciples aside and tells them – for the third and final time – that when they get to Jerusalem he is going to be handed over, condemned, tortured, crucified, and then raised on the third day. What follows is very curious. James’ and John’s mother came to Jesus with her sons, knelt before him, and asked that, when Jesus took his throne and when the 12 disciples were enthroned around him, that her boys could sit in the honored spaces on Jesus’ left and his right. When the other disciples hear of it, they get angry with James and John. Then Jesus – I imagine a very exasperated tone here, since they seem to have missed the point of our parable and the law of inversion completely – tells them that they are acting like Gentile royalty, like tyrants, who do anything to gain control over others. They are to be different. If they want to be great, they must become a servant; if they want to be first, they must become a slave. That is, they must take on the same role that Jesus is taking on as he goes to his death in Jerusalem.

There it is, the law of inversion again. Only this time, it is less of a declaration and more of an imperative. Just like the rich young man was invited to take on poverty in order to inherit eternal life, those who wish to follow Christ are invited to become servants in order to be great. This kind of discipleship baffles the mind; it boggles the imagination; it is contrary to everything we’ve grown to expect throughout our lifetime; and it is the road by which one follows Christ.

When the law of inversion becomes the imperative of following Christ, something dramatic happens to our parable. It becomes less a question of whether or not we think it is fair and more a question of whether or not we are able to follow the road that Christ is taking. In other words, we are not in the position to judge the parable; the parable judges us and finds us wanting. Are we convinced that wages ought to be based on what one has deserved, rather than on what one needs? Then we have not yet embraced the journey to the cross. Are we offended when someone who is not as deserving as we are is treated as our equal? Then we have not yet embraced the journey to the cross. Are we unable to celebrate the good fortune of one who receives their daily bread, because we feel as though somehow their good fortune is the cause of our misfortune? Then we have not yet embraced the journey to the cross. It not that the journey to the cross is completely void of questions – that would be fundamentally dishonest. It is, rather, that in the end, all of the indignant questions that we might throw at this parable say less about the parable itself and more about the assumptions and value systems that we bring to it. We think we are reading this parable, and in fact it is reading us. And here’s what it sees:

We like meritocracy. We call it fairness and we believe in it more than any manner of justice that values daily bread above what one earns. We like the way that the Gentiles lord themselves over one another. We call it “moving up in the world” and we readily accept that tyrants can be effective leaders. We like competition and are willing to accept that the prospect of failure is one of the primary motives for individual incentive. And, in the event that some people don’t “deserve” reward, don’t “move up” in the world, or “lose” in the great competitive struggle – we simply accept, both as “the way things are” and “as the way things ought to be.” Somehow, we’ve even baptized all of those values and named them our “Protestant work ethic,” that has God’s stamp of approval. When we stop evaluating the parable and let it evaluate us, we realize that we are no more ready to accept the kingdom of heaven than the grieving rich young man, the grumbling first hires or the squabbling disciples. But friends, take heart. It is these for the likes of these very grieving, grumbling and squabbling folk that Jesus Christ came to bring the kingdom of heaven. Thanks be to God. Amen.