just like every idea
wants to be like no other
What do you think, which of the two did the will of the father?
It’s a big question, isn’t it?
It certainly is not innocuous. Truly, these kind of questions, keep us awake at night. “Am I doing the will of the father?” “What is God trying to tell me?” “Is this what God wants me to do?” “Why is God doing this?”
Yes, the question, “who did the will of the father,” is a big question.
In fact, it is a question that Luther wrestled with. It is a question that was the cause for so much of Luther’s unrest, and paradoxically, it is the question that ended up becoming the cornerstone to Luther’s ‘Reformation breakthrough.’
In today’s Gospel the chief priests and elders, basically pastor and council, have a tussle with Jesus.
See Jesus and John have shown up, and they’ve been making a mess of all churchly niceness. So these custodians of the religious orderliness, confront Jesus. “Hey, where do you get off?!” They protest. “Who do you think gave you the right to just ride in here anyway?”
These church professionals thought they were just keeping the order, making sure everyone was on the same page and doing the right thing. In their question, in their approach and attitude, though, Jesus sees all too clearly that these folks are asking the one question that everything hangs on.
Jesus’ first attempt to address what’s really at stake doesn’t go anywhere.
Jesus asks these religious experts about John’s baptism of repentance, was it a “God-thing,” or what it just a man pretending.
When the stakes are laid out so blatantly, these church-leaders realize they don’t really want to play the game. Their choices consist of implicating themselves, provoking the crowds, or finally realizing what’s really at stake.
Tragically, though, it turns out these church professionals can only imagine faith as a thing to be managed. Jesus’ question makes little sense to them, and matters even less. “IDK, I don’t know” these so-called authorities retort.
So Jesus tries again.
“Well then, what do you think,” Jesus says. “A man has two sons, and going to the first, says ‘go to work in the vineyard,’ but the little brat refuses. So the father goes to the second. Unbeknownst to the father, though, the first son changed his mind and went to the vineyard. In the mean-time, the father tracked down the second son and told him to get to work. Now the second said, “Yes, sir! No prob” but never actually bothers to go to the vineyard. So then, which of the two then did the will of the father,” Jesus asks.
I can just see these head-honchos squirm at Jesus’ question.
The elders and chief priests imagine, if they were in the parable, they would have been the nonexistent third child, the one who said they would go to work AND went to work!
Jesus, however, knows that kind of complete obedience isn’t on the menu when it comes to sinful folks like us. These so-called leaders, in their own self-delusion, can’t see who they really are, and whom they really need.
These religious superstars confronted Jesus, thinking they were just keeping the wrong fella from the pulpit. In their question, their approach and attitude, though, they’ve finally touched on the one thing that everything hangs on. It turns out their question to Jesus, was more than just trying to keep the sanctuary in order.
This parable, for as simple as it seems, lays out the stakes of faith much more blatantly than any of us would prefer.
Luther knew this, too.
In fact, Luther was surrounded by folks like the chief priests and elders, folks who didn’t understand what was at stake, folks imagined faith as a thing to be managed. Luther struggled with this popular approach to the faith, as he struggled to get pass the irreparable breach between him and God.
Luther’s parents knew he was smart, and sent him off to study law. One day on his way home for a visit, though, lightning struck a little too close. In the clap of thunder, Luther saw all too clearly what’s at stake when it comes to faith. So, he cried out, “save me St. Anne and I will become a monk.”
And Luther put himself to exactly that. Luther tried the solutions of the folks who imagined faith as a thing to be managed nicely. Here the thing, though, although Luther did everything the order required, he could never shake the echo of that thunderclap from his head.
Luther, though, through his own experience, realized what Jesus was up to in today’s parable.
The option of saying yes to the father and then actually doing what the father asks, is never on the menu when it comes to humanity. In his own efforts, Luther saw this all too clearly. In his own attempts to do God’s will, Luther realized Jesus was right when he laid the choices so starkly, we’re either that first bratty child or the second, liar.
Here’s how; Luther took God’s commands seriously. Much more seriously than the second child in the parable who says “sure, pops,” and then goes right back to doing what he had been up to before.
As Luther did each dot and tiddle of the to-do list for perfection, he realized he couldn’t bring himself to do the one that everything else rested upon; loving and honoring God. Luther was caught between fear and hate, never love, though; never honor.
And that, that struggle was the one that really mattered, the one that everything hung on. Luther knew that until he could get his will to love God, he could never do the will of the father…
This insight isn’t so far from us. Think of your own life…
In our constant efforts to do God’s will, we betray the fact that we don’t trust God’s promises.
It turns out that in our never-ending attempts to follow God’s commands, we all too often neglect one of God’s commandments; ironically, the very first one: “you shall have no other gods before me.” That was the one commandment Luther was never able to do on his own. That was the command that separated Luther from God, it was the commandment that evoked fear and hatred from poor old Luther.
Luther saw, for himself, that in our never-ending pursuits, in our constant need to do God’s will ourselves; we push God out of the picture. In our faith management projects we, like all those other experts in the the faith, reveal who we trust most; ourselves. We break the first commandment over and over again in our certainty that we’re the one capable of keeping God’s commands.
We, like the chief priests and elders, bristle at the two choices Jesus offers in today’s parable. Of course our very umbrage reveals all too clearly that we’re truly the second child in Jesus’ parable, the one who honors God with his lips, but in his hearts is far from God.
As Luther would put it, with our trust placed firmly in ourselves, not God, everything we do is actually a damnable sin. Each of our acts betrayed the fact that we don’t trust God, but rather doubt God. Our pursuits of perfection end up making God into a liar. It’s Adam and Eve all over again. It’s the second child in today’s parable.
Here’s another thing Luther said, though, ’When we feels ourselves most condemned, we’re actually closest to God’s embrace.’ When we finally stop trying to be God, God becomes God for us. When stop trying to be God, we, at long last, keep the First Commandment; God’s will is done.
Here’s the Good News in today’s Gospel. When Jesus puts the question that’s really at stake in the air, “what do you think, who did the will of the father;” we all know, between the two choices, it must be the first child.
“Exactly!” Jesus replies. “That’s right, and guess what, folks like that bratty, little first son, folks like cheats and whores, these folks are being ushered into the kingdom of God.”
To which, of course, these religious professionals protest. And so do we.
“Jesus, you’re not being very churchy.” we complain. “Don’t you know that first-child talked back. Don’t you know the swindlers don’t belong.” Finally we cray, “why it’s all too easy!”
“Bingo!” Jesus says.
We imagine that God’s Will, will finally be done by our efforts. That’s never how it works, though. In fact, the machinations of our heart, consistently break that first command, the one everything hangs on.
See, what the hustlers who can’t hustle already know, what the street-walkers who don’t have a leg to stand on realized long ago, is that the jig is up. Our efforts, rather than do the will of God, make things worse - betray God’s will.
Don’t you know that? Isn’t that what you pray? “Your kingdom come, your will be done.” Although we can’t believe it, in the simple act of praying and asking God to do God’s will for us, God’s kingdom comes, God’s will is done!
The truth is, we can’t do God’s will on our own. All our attempts to do it ourselves, have only put us at odds with God, revealed all too clearly we don’t love or honor God; but rather doubt and hate God.
That, finally, is the Good News of today’s Gospel, that is the reformation breakthrough, and our only hope. If God is to be loved, God must do the loving, because on our own, we’re quite incapable.
Like the first child, we need a God who lets us into the vineyard although we’ve already disobeyed. Like the swindlers and call-girls, we need a God we can believe in, a God who is powerful enough to forgive, to make us lovable by loving us.
Don’t you just have to love that kind of God? Can you keep your heart from leaping for joy at the kind of God who loves us like that?
That, sisters and brothers, is the promise of the Gospel. That is the absurdity of the Son of God saying things like, “cheats and tarts” have the red-carpet rolled out for them as they enter the kingdom of God.
So hear this: Jesus has done the will of the father. As Saint Paul reminds us, Jesus was obedient, obedient even unto death. And now Jesus gives this obedience to you. You don’t have to do a rotten thing.
Indeed, that’s too easy. For those of you who have tried to make yourselves love and honor God, though, you know it is the only way the first commandment can ever be fulfilled.
In the name of the father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit; Jesus fulfills the first commandment for you. As your heart can’t help but love and honor this God who would do that for you, you are ushered into the kingdom of God.
Amen
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