Father Donald Senior, CP

Oct. 8: 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Is 5:1-7; Ps 80:9, 12, 13-14, 15-16, 19-20; Phil 4:6-9; Mt 21:33-43

If you drive today from Jerusalem south to Hebron, you will see hillsides covered with grapevines all along this 20-mile trip through the heart of Palestine. Grapes from this part of the Holy Land are plump, deep-purple and delicious. Unlike France, where the grapevines are strung on arbors, Palestinian farmers leave the vines clustered on the ground’s surface.  Around the vineyards are usually stone walls, some fortified with thornbushes and plants to discourage rabbits and other small animals from munching on the grapes. There are also round stone towers, perhaps 10 or 12 feet tall — some of them very ancient — that are used at harvest time for the farmer and his family to keep watch in order to fend off two-legged varmints who might try to gather the harvest illegally.

All of these details are captured in this Sunday’s first reading, a famous text from Chapter 5 of the prophet Isaiah who compares Israel to a vineyard. God speaks through the prophet about this precious vineyard, his people, whom God had planted and tilled and protected, and, with a wine press ready to go, awaited the bountiful harvest. But, alas, the vineyard — Israel — yields only “wild grapes” and God is bitterly disappointed.  His “cherished vine” has produced only thorns and briars. God had looked to his people for justice but instead there is bloodshed and infidelity.

Psalm 80 forms the Psalm response this Sunday and it, too, uses the metaphor of the vineyard as a way of speaking of Israel. God had “transplanted” this precious vine from Egypt and planted it in a new land. But the people’s infidelity led to the vineyard’s walls being broken down and boars and wild beasts feeding on the grapes. “Once again, O Lord of hosts,” the psalmist pleads, “take care of this vine and protect what your right hand has planted … give us new life and we will call upon your name.”

This metaphor is carried over into the Gospel for this Sunday in Jesus’ parable of the workers in the vineyard. Jesus obviously has the passage from Isaiah in mind as he describes God’s care for the vineyard Israel. But in this story, the threat is not from boars or other wild beasts but from those entrusted with care of the vineyard. When the owner sends messengers to see how the harvest is coming along, the workers beat and even kill them. Finally, the long-suffering owner sends his own son to check on the vineyard: “They will respect my son,” he believes. But the workers reject the son, throw him out of the vineyard and kill him, all the while foolishly thinking they could take over the vineyard for themselves. The owner finally loses his patience and destroys the wicked tenants and leases the vineyard to others who will care for it properly.  In Matthew’s Gospel, this parable of Jesus, spoken in Jerusalem shortly before his arrest and crucifixion, is meant as a warning to those religious authorities whom Jesus considers false shepherds and treacherous caretakers who neglect God’s precious vineyard. Matthew notes ominously that the leaders realized that Jesus had directed this parable at them and they begin to plot his death. Some previous interpreters thought this parable was meant to signal God’s rejection of Israel and turning to the Gentiles. But that is not the case; Jesus the Jew loved his precious vine and the parable was a warning to all those, past and future, entrusted with the pastoral care of God’s people.

The readings today are not all somber. As with last Sunday, the second reading is from Paul’s Letter to the Philippians, and it is a lyrical passage: “Brothers and sisters: Have no anxiety at all … whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is gracious, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. …Then the God of peace will be with you.”  Filling our minds and hearts with beauty is an antidote to all the violence and strife and coarseness that can swirl around us.

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