The Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, which takes the place of the memorial of Saint Francis of Assisi, the poor man of Umbria, sets before us a vineyard planted with care and waiting for its fruit. We know how easily a gift received turns into a possession defended, and how quietly the Giver is pushed outside the fence. The readings follow that vineyard in three steps: a song, a letter, and a son sent last.
Listen to another parable. There was a man, the father of a family, who planted a vineyard, and surrounded it with a hedge, dug a press in it, and built a tower. And he loaned it out to farmers, and he set out to sojourn abroad. Then, when the time of the fruits drew near, he sent his servants to the farmers, so that they might receive their fruits. And the farmers apprehended his servants; they struck one, and killed another, and stoned yet another. Again, he sent other servants, more than before; and they treated them similarly. Then, at the very end, he sent his son to them, saying: 'They will revere my son.' But the farmers, seeing the son, said among themselves: 'This is the heir. Come, let us kill him, and then we will have his inheritance.' And apprehending him, they cast him outside the vineyard, and they killed him. Therefore, when the lord of the vineyard arrives, what will he do to those farmers? They said to him, "He will bring those evil men to an evil end, and he will loan out his vineyard to other farmers, who shall repay to him the fruit in its time." Jesus said to them: "Have you never read in the Scriptures: 'The stone that the builders have rejected has become the cornerstone. By the Lord has this been done, and it is wonderful in our eyes?' Therefore, I say to you, that the kingdom of God will be taken away from you, and it shall be given to a people who shall produce its fruits." (Mt 21:33-43)
The first reading, from Isaiah, the prophet of Jerusalem, opens not with a threat but with a love song for a friend and his vineyard. Every gesture in it is a gesture of care: the ground is fenced, the stones are picked out, the best vines are planted, and a tower and a winepress are built. So the owner waits, as every vinedresser waits, for the season of grapes. Nothing has been left to chance.
But the song breaks off, because the harvest is not what such care deserved: "he expected it to produce grapes, but it produced wild vines" (Is 5:2). The owner then makes his listeners judges in their own case, asking what more he could have done. The prophet finally names the vineyard, which is the house of Israel. He names as well the fruit that was awaited, which is judgment and justice. What came up instead was iniquity and an outcry. God does not complain of a poor soil. But he grieves over a good soil that has kept its fruit for itself.
The second reading turns from the song to a letter. Saint Paul, the apostle of the nations, writes from prison to the Philippians, and he speaks of another cultivation. "Be anxious about nothing," he writes, and in the place of worry he sets prayer, supplication and thanksgiving. In a heart that no longer clutches, Paul names what may grow: "whatever is true, whatever is chaste, whatever is just" (Ph 4:8). These are not ornaments hung on the vine from outside. But they are the grapes that God expected from Judah. Now they are asked about a small community in Macedonia.
The Gospel according to Saint Matthew, the evangelist of the Church born in Israel, takes up the same vineyard. The hedge, the press and the tower are all there again. Jesus tells the parable in the Temple, a few days before his Passion, to the leaders of the priests and the elders of the people. This time the fault lies not in the vines but in the farmers, who want the vineyard without its owner. When the fruits are due he sends his servants, who are beaten, killed and stoned. A larger group after them fares no better.
The owner then sends his son last, with a hope that sounds almost defenceless: "They will revere my son" (Mt 21:37). The farmers see in the heir only an obstacle between themselves and the inheritance, and they cast him outside the vineyard before they kill him. Matthew places the expulsion before the death, and the order is not idle, since the Son will indeed die outside the walls of the city. The patience of God is measured here by the life of the one he sends.
But Jesus does not end the story of the murder. When his listeners answer with a sentence of ruin, he opens the Scriptures instead: "The stone that the builders have rejected has become the cornerstone" (Mt 21:42). The rejected one is not simply avenged. But he becomes the stone that holds the whole building together. And the vineyard itself is not destroyed but given, since the kingdom passes to "a people who shall produce its fruits". From Isaiah to Matthew, what God looks for has never changed. He does not want a vineyard that looks well kept; he wants grapes that can be gathered.
A grain has to go down into the dark before anything comes up. Bethlehem knew it from the first night, when the Son came without defence into hands free to refuse him. The parable says the same thing out loud: the heir is pushed outside the vineyard, and it is from outside that he becomes the cornerstone. The Child of the manger and the Son cast out of the vineyard are one. His rejection is the ground in which the harvest of God begins to grow.
The vineyard is still entrusted to us, in our families, our parishes and our places of work. Its owner still waits for its fruit. Today the Word of God invites us to stop defending it against its owner and to let him gather what has ripened. Let us give back the fruit in its season, since a vineyard that yields its grapes becomes what it was planted to be.
Scripture text: Catholic Public Domain Version (CPDV), public domain.
Prayer of the Day
Lord Jesus, at Bethlehem you let yourself be seen first by shepherds, and not by the wise of this world. We have heard of you with the hearing of the ear; open now the eyes of our heart. Teach us to rejoice not in what we accomplish but in our names written with the Father, and make us little enough to receive your light. Amen.
For Meditation
- Where is our faith still a matter of hearsay, received from others and never tested in our own sight?
- In what do we rejoice more readily: in what we accomplish, or in our names written in heaven?
- What would it cost us to become small enough to receive what cannot be earned?
