Saturday Night Specials
Many of you know that, before her health prevented us from continuing the practice, I used to walk around Jaycee Park each morning with Kathy Smith for exercise. In the weeks that we did that, we talked about a lot of different things. And, from time to time, we shared personal concerns with each other. One morning, I remember sharing with Kathy my concern that, due to other commitments at the church, I would not have time to actually type my sermon until late Saturday night. She laughed and said that her father encountered the same problem from time to time. She said that their family used to call those last minute sermons his “Saturday Night Specials” – written late on Saturday night… just in time for Sunday morning.
I am here to confess to you that some of the sermons I have delivered in the past few months have been “Saturday Night Specials.” I will also tell you that I do not like “Saturday Night Specials” and I work hard to avoid them. But sometimes the level of activity in the church… or the number of people who need pastoral care in any given week… sometimes fill all the hours that I would normally invest in crafting a sermon for Sunday morning… and then I find myself up late on Saturday night completing the task.
As much as I dislike “Saturday Night Specials” – because there is always an increase in my stress level when things come together at the last possible moment – there is one thing about those rare, last minute sermons that I treasure as much as it frightens me. Those are the sermons that I do not have the luxury of the time to tweak… to reread… or review… or edit in my human wisdom before they are preached… and, thus, those are the sermons that are preached raw and untouched… the ones that come straight from the heart of God, who is the source of each message that I bring. Some of you have told me that those “Saturday Night Specials” – and I never announce which ones they are – are some of the most powerful sermons I have preached… and I know that is true when I hear you talk about them days or weeks afterward. I take no credit for that… for I know that in the wee hours of the night, I am definitely not at my best – morning person that I am – and, thus, without the power and wisdom of God, I would have nothing to say.
Jesus told his disciples a story of the workers in the vineyard… and most of us are outraged when we hear it. How unconscionable it is that those who come at the last hour of the day should be paid at the same rate as those who have worked hard since dawn through the heat of the day! How can a God who condones this be a God of justice? This is not justice… this is a travesty of justice… a mockery of all that we believe is good… and right… and fair for everyone! How can this possibly be Christian? Let me see if I can shed a little light on this parable today.
Part of the question revolves around who the characters in the story are. We usually see ourselves as the workers who arrived early in the day… those already hard at work in the Kingdom of God. However, some commentators have claimed that Jesus was talking about the Jews and the Gentiles… the Gentiles being the ones who arrived late in the day. Or he may have been talking about the Pharisees and what we would call the “common man”… with the “common man” being the one who arrived late in the day. We could spend quite some time discussing who the modern day Pharisees are… and whether we are Pharisees or we are the “common man.” But that may miss the whole point of the story.
Perhaps, instead, we should spend more time looking at the needs of the workers who were hired late in the day. Would they have waited in the marketplace all day long if they had something better to do? Doesn’t their willingness to wait all day indicate how desperate they were for work? Yet no one had hired them and they needed the work. Perhaps, when the landowner was paying to his workers, he knew that these workers were in desperate need… and that their lack of work was no fault of their own. Perhaps then, he paid them what they needed to survive… to feed their families … that was a day’s wage. (P)
The rewards of working in the Kingdom of God are not measured by any standard that we hold as humans. God has his own standards for the work that his laborer do… and, while there may be hints about what those standard are throughout the gospel, we cannot say that we, as humans, fully grasp them. Furthermore, mere obedience to God will should not give us a sense of entitlement. For God does not owe us anything and no one has the right to any special privileges in the Kingdom of God, save Jesus Christ alone… the perfect Lamb of God. You see, according to the Apostle Paul, we have all sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.
In a sermon at the end of July, I shared with you briefly the story of John, one of my hospice patients. He was the man who was dying of cirrhosis of the liver and emphysema who did not want to speak to a chaplain. Respectful of his wishes, I never visited him. But his daughter called me and asked if I would visit him. I told her that I would stop by his room only to ask if he wanted to speak to me, but that I could not impose a visit on him if he did not want one. I visited him three times and each time, he put me off for another day, until finally, he decided to allow me to stay and talk. On that third visit, I told him of his daughter’s love and her concern for him… and a tear slid down his cheek. He told me that he was an alcoholic and that he was not worthy of her love. All his life, he had said and done things under the influence of alcohol that alienated people. He had abused his family and burdened them with his debts. At the time that I spoke to him, he was convinced that even God could not forgive him for all the wrong he had done.
As I sat beside him and held his hand that day, I told him that I did not know his past. I only knew that his daughter loved him… and I knew that God loved him. I asked him whether he remembered the story of the Prodigal Son and I shared that story with him again. When I finished, tears were rolling in a steady stream down his face. “I want to change,” he said, “but it’s too late for me. I don’t have time to make things right now.” Then I told him this story of the workers in the vineyard… and how those who arrived at the end of the day still got a full day’s wages. The vineyard, I told him, is the Kingdom of God and God is the master… the owner… who hires whomever he chooses and pays whatever wage he wants to pay. In the story, the workers who were hired at the end of the day received the same wage as those hired earlier in the day. “But that doesn’t make any sense,” John said. “I know,” I said, “but Jesus told this story who that we would understand what our heavenly Father is like. You see, you can’t earn your way into heaven. Salvation is a gift… a gift of grace… a gift of mercy… a gift that makes no sense at all.” John died on Saturday night and, several days later, his daughter called me to tell me that she was with him when he died and that he was at peace. I smiled as I listened to her share the story of her final hours with him, for I knew that John was a “Saturday Night Special” – a work of God perfected just in time for the day of the Lord.
I wish that I could tell you that John’s story is an unusual one. It’s not. I have sat beside the beds of many who were dying… and over and over again, I have heard the same pain… from those who were drug abusers… alcoholics… perpetuators of violence in their homes… those who never attended church… those who neglected their responsibilities toward their families… many, in other words, whom we would consider sinners. But, amazingly, I also heard from many whom we would consider saints. They all shared the same fear… the fear that they had not done enough to merit salvation.
Lucille was another hospice patient of mine, one who had been a faithful member of the church all her life. She read her Bible and prayed every day. She even taught Bible study in the nursing home where she was living when we met. Once a member of a wealthy, well-connected political family, she had given all her money away to those in greater need and now she was destitute and had no living relatives. She welcomed my visits and we had long, wonderful conversations about the Bible and the role of religion in people’s lives today. She was dying of congestive heart failure and, when her time came, I was there. Despite all that she knew of God and God’s love, in those final moments, she was afraid… afraid that there was something she had not done… someone she had offended… something which would keep her from meeting her Savior on the other side.
Lucille knew the story of the Prodigal Son, so I had her tell me the story and why it was so important. She whispered it to me between breaths and, when she reached the part where the father runs out to meet his son, she could not continue. She just looked at me and nodded, as tears rolled down her face. Then, as she closed her eyes, I shared with her the story of the workers in the vineyard and the promise of grace for all those who begin their work at last hour of the day. I watched her whole body relax as, with a smile on her face, she slipped quietly away.
Yes, we are angry when the workers who arrive at the last minute… those at the end of the line… those who have been sitting back and enjoying the pleasures of life without any thought of the need that surrounds them or the teachings of Jesus during his ministry. We are angry that they can slip in and bask in the full joy of God love… and enjoy the full measure of grace. Where is the justice in that? If they made a conscious decision to ignore the gospel… to avoid attending church… to turn a blind eye to those in need… shouldn’t they have to work a little to receive the same reward as those of us who are here today… who give to the church… who have taught Sunday School… or gone to Bible study… or given up a Saturday to build a playhouse for CASA? Don’t we all want God to dole out justice in the way that we would dole it out… using our standards? And then we hear the words of God from the Prophet Isaiah (55:9): “For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways… and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”
I love this story… the story of the workers in the vineyard… though I will admit to you that I did not understand it for years. I have told it many… many… many times to those who had no hope… and I have watched saints and sinners alike bask in the glow of God’s unbelievable love. Joyce Hutchinson is a hospice nurse with a deep love for dying patients and their families. Joyce Rupp is a hospice volunteer who writes beautiful prayers that I have used in funeral services. Together, they have written a book, entitled May I Walk You Home?, which is filled with stories of the terminally ill, and with meditations and prayers for those who are their caregivers. Their stories underscore the point of the message today… that very few are able to face death without fear… and that we who live on this earth… among humans who are fallible… and have doubts and fears about themselves… do the work of God when we simply tell the story… over and over again… of God’s amazing love and grace. Through the Prophet Isaiah (43:4), God speaks to each creature he has created and says, “You… are precious in my sight… and I love you.” It is a love that goes beyond justice… and beyond mercy… to grace … to God’s amazing grace for saints and sinners alike. Tell the story. Share God’s grace. Amen.