The Vineyard

“A certain landowner planted a vineyard, built a wall around it, dug a pit for pressing out grape juice, and built a lookout tower.” Matthew 21:33

I love the introductory lines of Jesus’ parables, because they often do so much more than introduce the story. They introduce us to ourselves.

In prayer this morning, I was so captivated by the way Jesus introduced the Parable of the Tenant Farmers that I didn’t even get to the tenant farmers. I couldn’t move past the strange details St Matthew chose to include: the wall, the grape press, the lookout tower.

For me, this Parable had always had a pretty cut-and-dried meaning. God gave us the earth to steward; we didn’t do a very good job. He sent prophets to try to correct us; we rejected them and tried to silence them. He sent his Son; we nailed Him to a cross. Moral of the story: listen to the Gospel rather than chasing the televangelist down the street with a pile of rocks. Cool, Lord, I understand.

But today the Lord had other plans for my understanding.

This is a story about your soul, He whispered, so look at how I created it!

He planted a vineyard

Emphasis on the “yard” bit. Sometimes I feel like there’s way too many different vines happening in my soul – strands of passion for different mission fields, a motley crew of hobbies and interests (what Emilie Wapnick would call being a ‘multipotentialite’), jobs, studies, relationships. But in the kinds of vineyard He plants, all the different vines yield one kind of fruit: holiness. Love. The fruits of my daily labours aren’t actually the accomplishments themselves, but the Love that He reaps from them. And every single vine in my complex soul can and should bear the fruit of holiness. If I’m a wise steward – tending the vines, watching from the tower to ensure nothing falls prey to disaster, pressing the grapes in their proper season – the vineyard will produce high yields. Even if some vines aren’t currently bearing fruit, I can take heart in the fact that they’re green, and in a stage of preparation that is normal and healthy. I should delight in every harvest, no matter how small; but out of love for the Landowner, I will seek out advice to help the vineyard flourish even more than my own resources can engineer.

He built a wall around it

The wall isn’t just to keep evil things from getting in. It’s there to help me understand that I am finite. The experience of my limitations sows humility in the vineyard. Humility’s a rich fertiliser that comes in small quantities. The larger my vineyard of natural gifts and opportunities is, the more I need to invest in humility if I want the crops to bear fruit. The wall also reminds me who built this vineyard in the first place. If I just looked at the vines of my own gifts, I might think they were simply according to nature. But the wall reminds me that all is gift. When I confront my limitations, it’s an invitation not to despair of having finite potential, but to rejoice! I have been created exactly the right size by an all-loving God who wants me to have enough humility to fertilise the soil of every plant in the vineyard. It’s great to take a walk around the perimeter of the wall to understand who I am and who I am not.

He dug a pit for pressing out grape juice

This is the deepest part of the vineyard – the corner of my life reserved for contemplation. Every day will yield something good and beautiful, but those grapes will spoil on the vine if they’re not picked and pressed in a special place. From that deepest place where everything is processed and clarified, I can store up good wine to ponder in my heart and preserve for the day the Landowner comes back. It’s beautiful to begin each day in the grape press – because it’s there that I can taste the fruits of the Love that is being grown; there the I remember the reason for the upcoming day’s work; and there that I prepare a space to process and preserve today’s yields.

He built a lookout tower

The watchtower, my conscience, is a vantage point that lets me see the whole vineyard clearly and identify what needs to change to bear the most fruit. A good steward goes up into the watchtower several times a day to survey the bigger picture and make sure nothing is amiss. If something has gone wrong, the good steward lets the Landowner or one of his servants know straight away so that it can be fixed. If I don’t tell him, I’ll probably start concealing other things – until my harvest is spoiled by neglect. It’s most important to go into the watchtower when I’m most scared of what I’ll see – because the Landowner is merciful. All He wants is to know when things are broken so that by helping me fix them I can become more fruitful.  Mistakes don’t last forever, as long as I keep communicating with the Landowner. A wise steward can help others see that honesty – even in poverty – is better than the violence of a guilty conscience.

It’s (probably) not the only vineyard He built

Should a wise steward always be in their own vineyard – either among the vines, or in the watchtower, or in the grape press? Obviously I should see to them regularly to keep them thriving. But a truly wise steward is aware of the wall that surrounds their vineyard. There’s only so much I can yield on my own, and I’m aware that the Landowner has other properties elsewhere. If I truly love the Landowner (and not merely my own pride), then I should desire the maximum total yield from every property, not just my own. Wise stewards do what they can to help others tend their vines, sharing freely the strategies that have caused their own vines to flourish. It’s a symbiotic relationship: we learn from each other. Logically, I’d begin by sharing wisdom with my closest neighbours – not only are they the most convenient to talk to, they’re also tending vines in similar conditions and we can expect the same strategies to be effective in our vineyards.

And finally (a point that Jesus doesn’t mention in the parable, but did in my prayer this morning): Vocation compromises the original vineyard

In marriage, two vineyards become one: it is joint wisdom and resources that cultivate the harvest. Married people empower each other to go forth with the wisdom of the good harvest to other stewards, knowing that the home crop will always be tended and virtue cultivated in their united souls. Alongside this, parenthood is a call to steward a crop that isn’t your own. A young child, not yet knowing how to tend the vines or press the grapes, relies on her parents to show her the role of the watchtower, the point of the wall, and the knowledge that one day the Landowner will comes home. Holy celibate life means selling your vineyard itself to go labour in the common one – where there is no personal gain and there is no perimeter wall. In either case, the integrity of the original vineyard will be compromised. That is what ‘death to self’ means. Single years are training to be a good steward. But permanent vocations are the stewardship of a crop that isn’t just ‘mine’ to tend. Vocation reminds us that we’re just one among many all bearing the fruits of love for the Landowner.

Look, I liked the introductory line. I should probably go read the rest of the Parable now.

Have a blessed Sunday, and peace be upon you and your cotton socks!

AMDG