Matthew 21:23-32

Throughout this season of Green Sundays, of what we call “Ordinary Time,” we don’t always take the time to delve into the context around our Gospel readings. We hear parables or teachings or stories of miracles and oftentimes take them at face value. It’s not that the events leading up to them are unimportant—they’re just not always important enough for me to point out in my sermon each week.

This week, though, the previous events are crucial. Last Sunday we were in Chapter Twenty, as Jesus told the parable of the laborers in the vineyard. In between last Sunday and this Sunday, though, a lot has happened in only about forty verses.

First, Jesus foretells his resurrection and worries the disciples in the process. He deflects the mother of James and John when she asks for him to show her boys special treatment. He heals two blind men as he and his disciples are leaving Jericho…but all of that is only the build up to the main event: Jesus actually entering Jerusalem. He comes into the city on a colt and a donkey, greeted by a very large crowd that surely sparked some interest in him. He then went to the temple and drove out money changers, cured the sick and the lame, and cursed a fig tree. All of this proceeded this encounter with the Chief Priests…and it’s clear that they aren’t happy with the attention he’s getting.

“By what authority are you doing these things?” they ask Jesus. “By what authority are you entering Jerusalem like a king; by what authority are you healing people; by what authority are you saying things should be cursed?”

The tension here has been building and Jesus is well aware of the stakes. Seven chapters earlier, Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist. Do you remember how Jesus died? Do you remember what got him in trouble? In John’s preaching against sin, he had the ruler Herod in his sights. John challenged the authority of the land and paid the price with his life. Jesus knows the same could happen to him. If he threatens the authority of the powerful, he could put himself and his followers in great danger.

So when the Chief Priests ask, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?” Jesus must have felt how serious things were getting. But these questions get at the heart of Jesus’ identity—what authority does Jesus have and who gave him that authority?

To us, it’s obvious. We have the benefit of scripture and almost two thousand years of Christian witness to tell us who Jesus really is. For the people living at Jesus’ time, though, it’s not terribly surprising that they don’t get it: it’s completely counterintuitive.

Rome was the largest power on the landscape at that time. All over the territory Jesus and his disciples covered, they would have encountered statues and memorials to Caesar, supreme ruler of the world. Caesar was considered divine. He was Lord of All. He was all-powerful. And he used his power to subjugate and control, to amass wealth and power. This was who had the most authority.

Jesus was the total opposite, as the text from Paul’s letter to the Philippians tells us. Today’s reading from this letter contain what we believe to be an early Christian hymn, an early proclamation of faith and an early testimony of who Jesus is. And who do we say Jesus is?

Jesus is the person “who, though he was in the form of God,
  did not regard equality with God
  as something to be exploited,
 ⁷but emptied himself,
  taking the form of a slave,
  being born in human likeness.
 And being found in human form,
  ⁸he humbled himself
  and became obedient to the point of death—
  even death on a cross.”

Most people didn’t immediately begin following Jesus, or accepting him as God, because he acted to wholly different from anyone who had made those claims before. Sure, we have accounts of several of the disciples and others, but for a lot of people, it took some time. Jesus didn’t act like Caesar. Jesus didn’t act like other powerful elites. Jesus didn’t seek power; it was simply his by virtue of being God.

It’s these unusual characteristics that sometimes confuse us, too. We don’t always understand how God works because God works in ways we don’t expect.

Ezekiel quotes God saying: “²⁵Yet you say, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” Hear now, O house of Israel: Is my way unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair? ²⁶When the righteous turn away from their righteousness and commit iniquity, they shall die for it; for the iniquity that they have committed they shall die. ²⁷Again, when the wicked turn away from the wickedness they have committed and do what is lawful and right, they shall save their life… ²⁹Yet the house of Israel says, “The way of the Lord is unfair.” O house of Israel, are my ways unfair? Is it not your ways that are unfair?”

I mean, that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it? We call God unfair because we don’t always get what we want from God. We think we want a god who acts the way we’d expect them to. We think we want a god who plays fair. We think we want a tally system, a scale where good actions are weighed against bad actions…but that’s not what God looks for…and, really, that’s not what we’d truly want at all.

We might cry foul to God, we might yell, “That’s not fair!” like the laborers in the parable from last week…but God’s view is bigger, God’s grace is bigger, than our limited understanding of what is fair and what isn’t fair.

Fair, the way the word is often used, means equal things given to everyone, which, in many ways, sounds great, right? Everyone gets the same slice of the pie and can do with it what they will. But equality like that assumes that humanity is a monolith—that all people have the exact same needs and skills.

What God knows is that our needs and desires and gifts are unique to each one of us. They are unique to our bodies, our cultures, our families, our communities. Have you seen the graphic of the people trying to watch the baseball game over the fence?

God seeks justice in a way only God can. God does not seek fairness, as much as God seeks the best for all of us, whether or not it all ends up balancing on a scale.

Thanks be to God for that. Thanks be to God for this unfairness! Thanks be to God for knowing what we need and what we are trying to do, even when we fall short. Without it, we would all be in trouble; without it, we’re all like the brother who doesn’t do what he tells his father he would do. He offers lip-service to his father: he can talk the talk, but not walk the walk.

Be honest. Think through your life. How often are you offering lip service to God and not putting your call into action? How often do you pray for unity and compassion and then find yourself name-calling on Facebook? How often to you pray, “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us,” without actually forgiving anyone? How often do you sing hymns that call for service in God’s name and never follow through once you leave this building? We do it all the time. We’re great at promises. We’re great at stating our commitment…we struggle more with living it out.

God knows that. God knows us. God knows that we’ll make mistakes and struggle and sometimes miss the mark.

So, thanks be to God that God’s grace is for us anyway. Thanks be to God that God’s love is not measured out on a scale that weighs our best intentions against our worst actions. Thanks be to our unfair God.

Amen.

– Rev. Rebecca Ajer Frantz, Lutheran Church of Our Saviour

Image from Interaction Institute for Social Change (interactioninstitute.org). All rights reserved.