Sermon Archive
The Fullness of God
Sermon preached by Amanda Wright at Holy Communion on 21 September 2008
Exodus 16:2–15 ; Philippians 1:21–30 ; Matthew 20:1–16
Last week on a radio panel game one of the comedians described his relationship with money as being very similar to his relationship with his cat; he liked it, he felt better when it was around, but he had no idea where it went.
Our Gospel this morning seems to be about money, about the just reward for labour, fair pay for a fair day’s work. This was in an era before trades unions and collective bargaining as such, where seasonal workers would travel to the nearest town centre or a convenient crossroads and wait to be called by an employer to go and do some work, one day at a time. In the story Matthew records, gathered into his writing to encourage and strengthen a community of converts to Christianity from the Jewish tradition, the landowner represents God.
He is the owner, the land is his to use and to manage, the harvest depends on his timing and he calls workers to gather it. And he goes on calling them, first around 6 in the morning, offering to pay them what is right for the job, then at 9, then noon, then 3, even up to one hour before the end of the working day. ‘Why are you standing here idle all day,’ he asks them, to which they reply, ‘because no one called us to work.’
Then we come to the wages. Starting with those who came last to the work, the landowner instructs his manager to pay that fair day’s wage, not just to those who worked the whole day, but to all, however long or short their time in the fields. The first to start work grumble, as the Israelites in the desert did when their food or water was running out, ‘These have worked only one hour but you have made them equal to us.’ ‘I paid you the fair wage we agreed,’ the landowner replies, ‘are you envious because I am generous?’ (Literally, is your eye evil or jealous because mine is good?)
Whether we see this story aimed at Matthew’s community, longstanding religious faithful, unsure of recent converts to the tradition that separated into Christianity, or, as it is arranged in the Gospel itself, Jesus speaking to his most longstanding and faithful disciples away from the swell of the ever-changing crowd, this is a parable of the end of times, when all we can do is done, when all we are is revealed, when we stand in the presence of God and are rewarded. And the same reward comes to all. And some feel distinctly not pleased, thank you very much!
But as we look back to the reading from Exodus we find that God has been doing this before. In the verses just after this morning’s reading the wanderers in the desert find that whether they gather lots of the manna that they find on the ground, or whether they only gather a little, when they open their baskets each has just the right amount for that day. Whether they scoured around for ages collecting or ran out at the last minute God provided what they needed, no more, no less.
The Gospel story is not primarily about the workers, or the disciples, or Matthew’s Jewish Christians, or even us. It is a story about the nature of God, whose nature is to give everyone the fair amount, the equitable reward for the day’s work, our life’s work. This may give us the opportunity to say to ourselves, ‘why do I do this, why do I follow so closely, try so hard, do my best for the same reward as someone who literally arrives at the 11th hour?’
This story is telling us something about God, about the God who gives us enough - because – He gives us everything. God offers us his whole self, impossible as that seems, unlikely as that seems. St Paul prays that the Ephesian Christians should be ‘filled with all the fullness of God’. How scary is that! And in the reality of that ‘enough’ God dwelt with us in Jesus, and continually feeds us, together, with a little bit of bread and a sip of wine. In that crumb or that sip we receive the whole of Christ, these tokens are the sign of the wholeness that is offered.
This story is not primarily about us but we would be very odd if it did not make us feel some response, cause us to identify with some character, the grumbling day-long worker, feeling unappreciated, the latecomer feeling unsure of his position. Anthony De Mello, a 20th century Christian monk from India, wrote of words heard outside a concert hall.
‘What a singer, his voice filled the hall,’ said one.
‘Yes,’ joked the second, ‘several of us had to leave the hall to make room for it!’
This was an illustration of how love does not work. Just as when we say a voice fills a venue it does not exclude the people in the seats, gradually pushing them out as the singer gets into their stride, so God’s love for one person does not diminish His love for another, each has enough because each is given the gift of everything.
In the same way, when God asks us to respond to his self-giving with our own self-giving this will not push out all the other ways we give ourselves, the love, the care, the patience, the concern, the concentration, the just being there that we give. Our response of love to God encompasses all our love because all that we are and all that we can be is loved and valued by God.
Paul says to the Philippians, ‘Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the Good News of Christ.’ In Christ we are offered the fullness of God, not a counted payment for services rendered, but an overflowing. We are freed to serve and love and respond and that is our gift from the Generous One, freedom to be ourselves, the best day’s work that we could offer to God.
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