Homily

For three Sundays now the Scriptures have spoken about the vineyard. When Jesus preached about it his listeners heard echoes of the numerous passages in the Old Testament that cited the Lord’s vineyard. This riveting prayer would have come to mind: “Turn again, O God of hosts; look down from heaven, and see; have regard for this vine, the stock that your right hand planted!” (Ps 80). They knew well that the vineyard symbolized the Lord’s people, as Isaiah said: “The vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel.” Always the texts emphasize God’s thoughtful care and concern, his attentiveness and tenderness, like that of a lover. In truth, the Lord’s love is limitless. Sometimes the Biblical authors, getting their ideas from romantic serenades, applied the same image to the Lord who sings a love song to his vineyard: “Let me sing for my beloved my love-song concerning his vineyard,” writes Isaiah. And the prophet continues: “He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watch-tower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it.”
We can also compare our communities to this vineyard of which the Sacred Scriptures speak. The Lord has never failed to send his servants to tend them, but we should recognize that unfortunately often the wild grapes were growing. That is to say that the bitterness of our actions, the aridity of our hearts, the avarice of our feelings and our difficulty in welcoming those whom the Lord sends have grown. I believe we could also apply to ourselves the Lord’s lament over his vineyard that does not produce good fruit: “What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not done in it?” The Lord asks this question as if he is trying to blame himself for having a fruitless vineyard, which, in fact, depends on us. He, who certainly has worked harder than all of us, continues to ask himself what more he should do. Why does the Lord ask himself, and why do we not ask ourselves? Perhaps we are so full of pride and individualism that we continue to cultivate our small shrub with no hesitation. The idea of looking up just a little bit does not even pop into our minds. Or we have become so numb from our own lamenting that we cannot hear anyone else but ourselves. And, we are more tuned to pushing away from our ears and hearts the words that God never stops speaking to us. The heart of this Gospel passage is the story of boundless love, of God’s love for his earth and for our lives; a great, limitless love that is not afraid of the ingratitude and inhospitality of people, of the “rebellious tenants” of which the Gospel speaks, to whom God has entrusted his land. In this Gospel passage there is a peculiar contrast: as love grows, so does hostility; or the opposite, as people’s inhospitality grows, all the more does God’s love for them grow.
When harvest time comes, the landowner sends his servants to the vine dressers in order to gather the harvest. Their reaction is violent: they strike, stone and kill the servants. The landowner once again sends out more servants and in greater numbers, but they encounter the same reaction. It appears that we are revisiting, in a forceful and tragic synthesis, the ancient and always recurring story of the violent opposition (found even outside of the Jewish-Christian tradition) to the “servants of God”, the men of the “word” (the prophets), to the just and honest people of every time and place, of every tradition and culture. Those who oppose God’s servants are those who, like the “wicked” servants, want to serve only themselves and their own advantage. But the Lord’s love – and here is the real thread of hope which sustains humanity’s story and saves it – does not decrease, but rather it grows stronger. “Finally,” the landowner sends his very son, believing that he would be respected. On the contrary, the fury of the vinedressers explodes and they decide to kill him so that they can seize the inheritance. They grab him, bring him “outside the vineyard,” and kill him. When these words were spoken, they were probably clear only to Jesus. Today, we also understand them very well: they literally describe what was done to Jesus. He was born outside of Bethlehem; he died outside of Jerusalem. Jesus very lucidly and courageously denounces the disloyalty and inhospitality of the servants who join together to kill the son of the landowner.
At the end of the parable, Jesus asks his listeners what the landowner will do to his sharecroppers. The answer is reasonable: he will punish them, take away the vineyard and give it to the others who will make it bear fruit. God expects fruits. This is the criterion that is used when transferring the vineyard. Jesus’ warning is directed not only to his listeners but to us, too. The Gospel warns us not to have illusions about claiming an inalienable right to a property that is and belongs to God. The new tenants will need to bear fruits; it will not be enough to just belong. It is the fruits of justice, piety, mercy and love that render us a part of God’s people. In the Gospel of John it is written that “He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit” (Jn 15:2) and “You will know them by their fruits.”