Matthew 20:1-16              

When in my early days of ministry, a young mother came to speak with me about having her three-year-old son baptized. Her name was Julia. As is my practice, I asked Julia why she wanted her son baptized. Julia told me she had not grown up in the church and wasn’t baptized, that she always felt she had missed out. Her friends who went to church seemed to possess a foundation she wished for. But that summer something happened that compelled Julia to do something about it.

Julia had been inside the house moving the laundry while her 12-year-old daughter and her son Ray were outside playing. Suddenly, Julia had the overwhelming sense that something was wrong. She ran outside to find Ray on the ground, turning blue. Her daughter was bending over Ray, calling his name. “Call 911!”  Julia screamed to her daughter, and immediately Julia began CPR. The ambulance came, and they were able to revive Ray. 

When Julia finished her story she said, “someone told me that day to go outside. If I hadn’t gone out, Ray would have died. If the ambulance hadn’t come so fast, he could have suffered brain damage. I don’t know why he was saved, but I am so grateful! I am here today because I want to know who to thank.”

I was moved by Julia’s story. Her honest spiritual question captured my heart, and we scheduled the baptism. I invited Julia to worship regularly and get baptized herself.

She promised she would, and Ray was baptized. Julia kept her word—for a while. But after a few months, she stopped worshipping. I didn’t see her for two years, and then she came back, with baby in arms. She wanted her new baby baptized.

I was offended. What happened to the promises she made? Didn’t she remember how she stood in up front of the congregation and promised to bring her son to the services of the Lord’s house? How she promised me she herself would be baptized? I can’t just go around dispensing God’s grace willy nilly, I thought. People have to do their part, follow through.

So when I met with Julia, that’s what I told her. She needed to consider her own commitments before I would baptize her new baby.  She had excuses for not coming, but we both knew that it was a matter of priorities. But she stuck to her guns. “My son was baptized here, and that is what I want for my baby. I will do what I need to do to make that happen.” And we left it at that, no baptism scheduled.

That night I tossed and turned as I thought over the situation. It seemed to me that if I just let her baptize her child, no questions asked, then I would be dispensing cheap grace, nice words without any real substance. Some people make a mockery of the sacraments, I thought, not recognizing the incredible gift they are receiving. They don’t put in the effort to say thanks or pay it forward. My sense of justice was offended—it was not right.

My moral outrage at Julia’s getting all the benefits without effort is echoed by the servants who came at the early hour in today’s Gospel lesson. Like me, they followed through on their end of the bargain. They said they’d work the day for a certain amount of pay. They labored diligently, honestly sweated, and then these Johnny-come-Latelys cut to the front of the line and get paid first. Not only that, but they also get all the benefits without any follow through! What is up with that?? That is not right.

I don’t know about you, but these passages in the Bible always work me up. This parable seems to be Matthew’s version of the Prodigal son. I identify with the older brother in that story—taking on the labor of his absent brother, Seeing the grief of his father, then hearing the sounds of the party when his good-for-nothing brother comes back. What is up? The kid who takes all his dad’s money gets rewarded when he comes home?? That is not right.

But we could be the other brother in that story—the one who came back recognizing what he’d done, knowing he shouldn’t even be allowed to be a slave in his father’s house. And yet who was welcomed home. We could be the laborers in the vineyard who wanted to work, but whom no one wanted. We could be the ones who would have been grateful even for an hour’s worth of wages and are surprised with the joy that they get a living wage instead.

You see, we can focus on how we are the ones left holding the bag, doing all the work, never being thanked. Or we can focus on God’s extravagant generosity, which, if we look closely enough, has indeed been applied not just to prodigal sons and Johnny-come-Latelys, but to us, too.

That night as I thought about Julia, I had to ask myself: Was I offended on God’s behalf, or my own? Don’t we all take for granted the ways that God has given us everything? Haven’t each one of us reneged on our baptismal vows, if not to “come to the services of the Lord’s house” but then on promises like to “strive for peace and justice in all the world?”

I had to ask myself: Who really measures up?  Are Julia and her baby any less deserving than I am?

The next morning, I called Julia.  I said, “I have rethought our conversation. God does not have a yard stick, checking to see if we measure up. Each one of us falls short of expectations. And if we had to measure up to receive God’s love and grace, none of us would have it. God’s grace is available to each one of us, no matter what. That’s the message I want to convey. I am sorry I was so hard on you. Let’s schedule the baptism.”

Friends, there are all kinds of people that we can judge for not measuring up—people who haven’t pulled their weight at work; family who should have known better; friends who let us down. That “other” generation at church who don’t step up like they should (I won’t say which one). How do we treat these folks when they come seeking connection to God? How do we treat them when we meet them in town, on the soccer field, or across the dinner table? Is it in the spirit of judgment, or a spirit of solidarity, that we are in the same boat? Which approach embodies the welcome that God has given you?

Today’s gospel lesson is about God’s extravagant and scandalous generosity in Jesus. We are recipient of that generosity, that priceless grace. Can we be as outrageous in our generosity?  In our welcome? What does it cost us, after all? Our egos? We can let that go.  Being right isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Some effort? Yes, but if you love what you do, what does it matter? And if you don’t love what you do, then it’s time for a change. 

In the end, it is worth it. Sharing God’s generosity and grace is not a cost, but a reward—a reward because we see again how Jesus broke the measuring stick for us and how we have received grace upon grace.