A homily for the Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Sept. 27, 2020
Ez 18:25-28, Phil 2:1-11, Mt 21:28-32
As you may or may not know, I was a deadline editor at newspapers for 40 years, and several times during my career I was part of a team whose task was to (a) transform the look and feel of the newspaper, (b) add the news to websites and apps, (c) revise the look and feel of the newspaper again, and so on. And on and on.
Also, as you likely know, the news never stops. So all of these transformations had to be engineered and accomplished while we reported, fact-checked, re-reported, re-fact-checked, edited, illustrated, designed and published the newspaper and website.
We did not get to stop what we were doing to rip apart, tear down, gather materials and rebuild.
We realized we had to work as if we were changing the tires on Interstate 80 at 80 miles per hour.
And after a couple of projects like this, we got really good at it.
I’m sure every one of us has a similar tale of renovating our homes while we were living in them, of switching between virtual learning and in-person, of overcoming illness or injury or disability while coping with everyday life’s challenges.
Rarely does any of us get to say Time Out. The game of life goes on.
We stretch. We adapt. We improve at adapting. We use our God-given talents not only to their fullest but also in ways we never thought they could be used.
And, frequently, doing so scares the bejabbers out of us. Because Change with a capital C rarely gives us a chance to catch our breath. And when Change happens quickly or suddenly, we can make — or at least worry about making — the wrong decision, take the wrong path, choose the wrong option.
But time equals change. History equals change. Seasons equal change; we already can see autumn’s reds and golds starting to overtake the green.
Life equals change. Otherwise, it’s merely existence, and that’s not the gift God gave us.
Years ago, we had a house rabbit named Belle, a mini lop who loved to play soccer. Well, kind of. She nose-pushed a soccer ball or beach ball all over the house whenever she got the chance.
But she always pushed the ball in a straight line, A to Z.
Occasionally, just to see what she’d do, we’d put some sort of roadblock in her way. Sometimes she’d grab the obstacle in her mouth and fling it away with a flip of her head, and then continue on her original straight path.
Sometimes, though, she’d stop and bunny-growl in frustration. She wasn’t going to deviate from her preset course, even if she could go around the obstacle that was too big or too heavy to dispatch. She’d probably be there still.
And I think that’s where the second son’s head was at right from the start in today’s Gospel. I believe he committed a double sin: disobedience, by not going to the vineyard, and lying, because he had no intention of going whatsoever. He yessed his father to get him to stop asking. He said he’d go only to cover his other plans.
Jesus frames this parable in terms of who hears and obeys the call to salvation, and from 30,000 feet that interpretation indeed is overarching. God always welcomes a change of heart toward God’s Way, even in the waning moments of life. In that, we all can take deep comfort.
But down here, a bit closer to the grapevines, we need to think about the harmful ways we say one thing and do another. And then change ourselves.
The first is when we can’t say no, though we may have the best of intentions. When we agree to do something for someone or, quite often, for some charitable organization and then fail to do it because we’ve taken on too much, we either leave the group without what they were counting on or, more likely, we force someone else to pick up the slack. The greater good is served if we politely decline.
Then there’s backstabbing gossip. We say the equivalent of yes — smile and chat amiably — to someone but then tear them down to other people. That doesn’t serve the greater good that Paul references in his letter to the Philippians. It serves no good at all.
Finally, there’s the ultimate: a true change of heart, which starts down here and floats to Heaven.
To say yes, and mean it, to the belief that we are all brothers and sisters because we all are children of God, because we all share in God’s divine spark, because God created us all in God’s image and likeness, and (bumper-sticker theology) Because God Don’t Make No Junk. To look past melanin and maybe ink or hair dye or clothing or even hygiene to see the humanity of everyone. To feel what’s in their heart.
We tell our heavenly Father yes, we will go out in the vineyard of souls and work to bring the growth and salvation and betterment of everyone, but we find excuses or prejudices or conspiracy theories to justify our heading in the opposite direction. And exactly as if we did a 180 on the highway, there’s now a fleet of change coming straight for us like speeding tractor-trailers.
We need to get with the flow.
Yeah, sometimes it’s scary. Change can be.
But here’s a parting thought: As my newspaper days came to an end, someone asked me how many articles I had changed. None, I replied. But I’m pretty sure I improved thousands of them.
When change equals improvement, there’s nothing to fear. Absolutely nothing.
In God, change equals improvement.
