What do you think? I have a personal affinity for this parable of the man with two sons. When I hear it, this is what I think: I have two daughters. When I would say to the first daughter, “Do this,” she would say, “No.” But then she would do it. When I would say to the second daughter, “I think you should do this,” she would say, “Yes.” But then she would not do it. Which of the two did the will of her mother?
This is the parable as I have lived it. And so all the action in the parable evokes real feelings for me – remembrances of how I felt in that same situation. And even if you haven’t lived this parable as I have, it is probably not too hard for you to relate to it, somehow. I identify with the father, but maybe you identify with one of the sons – and so you see it from a slightly different perspective. All of this is valuable, because every variation in perspective adds something to one’s understanding. The lessons taught by the parables are not flat, 2-dimensional decrees. They are rich and multi-dimensional, always offering something more.
What do you think? Jesus likes to set up a parable like this, asking “What do you think?” It lets us know that he’s not just talking at us, but he is asking us to be engaged in a thought process. Here is a problem, he says. What do you think? It is one more way that the parable draws us in so that the learning that takes place is transformative. By the time it is finished, we have worked it out in our own hearts and minds. We have struggled with the nuances of real, live problems; we have discovered new insights and we have been transformed.
So, what do you think? You might have noticed that in his conversation with the chief priests and elders preceding the parable, he responds to their question with a question – something else Jesus had an affinity for. They ask him bluntly, who gives you authority to do what you are doing, because – you should know – he has been doing a lot.
He just staged a grand entrance into the city of Jerusalem, complete with an adoring crowd throwing down palm branches and shouting hosannas. He then went directly to the temple and flipped over the tables of the moneychangers and drove out all the merchants. Then he cursed a poor little fig tree, causing it to wither and dry for no apparent reason. Now he’s teaching in the temple, as one with authority, and these official authorities want to know, “Who in the world do you think you are, Jesus?”
And, of course, he answers them with a question – one about John the Baptist’s authority. It sounds like a trick question to them. And, in a way, it is, because there is no way they can answer it without getting someone upset. They deal with it in a manner that brings to mind our U.S. Senators who walk briskly past reporters and their cameras, pretending they didn’t hear or just don’t have time for their questions, because answering these questions would just be too awkward and potentially dangerous for them. So it is both awkward and dangerous for these chief priests and elders. They refuse to answer his question.
And Jesus replies, “I won’t answer your question either.”
And even though it might sound like he’s playing games with them, he isn’t playing. Let me ask you – what do you think? If you are in conversation with someone you know will not ever concede a point, will you continue reiterating your case? If there is someone who is asking you “gotcha” questions, assuming they know the answer before they even ask, and unwilling to hear anything different from what they assume they already know, will you give them what they are anticipating? Will you play their game?
There are times in life when it just doesn’t feel worth it to continue a conversation where the parties involved are just talking past one another. Such as political discussions where each participant seems to be speaking from a different worldview, with different assumptions and different values. If we value the relationship we might just change the subject and find those things we can agree about. If we don’t value the relationship we might just walk away. But notice that Jesus doesn’t do either of those things.
Jesus changes his approach. He goes into parable mode.
As I have said before, the power of the parable is in the way it draws the listener in. It can actually make you react strongly to it before you even understand what is happening. At that precise point, while the defenses are down, a transformation can occur. This parable draws us into a story that we might have some real-life experience with, and then tacks a zinger on to then end. He says to the chief priests and elders, you are not like the first son. You guys are more like the second son; you pay lip service, but that’s about all you do.
The ones you judge with contempt, these are the ones who heard John’s message and saw the righteousness that was in him. These whom you condemn have been transformed by his message and his baptism and have become workers in the Lord’s vineyard. You really have to take a hard look at your own actions, the parable is saying.
And for me this means I look back at my lived parable, the Mother with Two Daughters. And I recognize that there was nothing pleasing about the fact that the first daughter would say no to me. It offended me every time, not to mention that there was always the uncertainty about whether, this time, she really meant no. She wasn’t perfect, but she did come through for me. She went out in the vineyard.
And I also recognize that the second daughter wasn’t just a bad kid. There were things she was dealing with that made it hard for her to follow through on her “yes” at the time. But there was always hope that she would find her way to yes, which she did.
In the same way, I say there is hope for the modern-day chief priests and elders who are finding it hard to get past the boxes they have painted themselves into, and get out in the Lord’s vineyard. Who might these modern chief priests and elders be? What do you think?
Those of us who are ardent believers in the way things have always been done, and only that way? Yes, it might be us.
Those of us who have enjoyed controlling some part of church life or work life? Yes, it might be us.
Those of us who are trying to hold on to the lavish gifts that God has given us, unwilling to devote these gifts to the work in the Lord’s vineyard, wholeheartedly. Those who are, perhaps, only willing to give these gifts with strings attached. How many of us might this include?
The point of the story is we all need to get out there in the vineyard and do the work. There is the potential for many, many laborers and much good work that can be done. But not if we play power games. Working together, accepting one another rather than judging one another, conceding that we might be wrong now and then, giving our best efforts to working through our differences – these are the things we must strive toward for the sake of Jesus.
The Lord has called us to work in the vineyard. Let us come together for the glory of God.
Photo: By michael c – originally posted to Flickr as the long and wine-ding road…, CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=5109202
