The Grumbler’s’ Objections

September 20, 2026

St. John’s Pentecost 17

The Grumbler’s Objections

 

The man with the vineyard is free to do whatever he wants with the money, it’s true. And apparently he wants everyone who came to help with the harvest to get a full day’s pay. If he was paying by the bushel or by the hour, he’d have paid the early birds a lot more than the workers who just put in an hour at the end. The early workers grumble. [show of hands if you’d have grumbled?]

But Jesus’ Prodigal Farmer, calls the grumblers “Friends.” Jesus seems not to understand cost accounting or fair labor standards. What’s up? Maybe his deal is: ‘everyone who wants to work gets a basic daily income.’

They must not have a regular job. No health insurance, no wage-and-hour compliance protection. Maybe we’re trying to make this story an allegory, where every detail matches up with a real-world thing. Anna explained to us last week that a parable is much looser. We shouldn’t analyze it literally.

The farm symbolizes God’s Kingdom. When I was younger, I thought the wage symbolized a ticket to heaven, but I now think that was too literal. The wage is more like “give us this day our daily bread,” because God’s Kingdom has come, on earth as it is in heaven, because the parable is not set in the Kingdom of Caesar or the Kingdom of Herod.

A couple of weeks ago, Lynnell read me this great blog post from a Substacker named Liz Bucar. Her blog is called Religion, Reimagined, and she is one of the wisest, most creative thinkers in the world of faith, but she is not herself religious. She teaches about American faith at Northeastern University. Here’s what she wrote on September 3

“I have two readers in mind these days: The first looks a lot like me: “nones,” spiritual-but- not-religious, wary of religion and not shopping for one to join. The second kind of reader is…folks coming out of high-control religious backgrounds, sometimes carrying real religious trauma.

“On one hand they are very different. One never had religion and the other was all in at some point. But the more I have conversations with both, the more I have noticed how similar their objections to religion are.

1. I don’t want the rules.
2. I don’t want the hierarchy.
3. I don’t want the obligations.
4. I want to curate my spiritual practice myself, thank you very much.

“If I’m honest, this has been the list that has kept me wanting to stay arm’s length from religion too. But I now think these four objections have it almost exactly backwards. I think that the parts we’re most eager to leave behind are the parts doing the work we are searching for.”

Don’t want the rules? Don’t want the Hierarchy? Imagine a company with no rules about respecting as equals the women, minorities, disabled people, and immigrants who work there. No rules about  trade secrets? My dad had to fire a guy sixty years ago for selling a clever machine tool to a competitor up north. Imagine a family in which nobody stepped up to be the parent. A dog whose owner is not the leader. A restaurant kitchen with no chef.

Hierarchy, Liz continues, “is sometimes authority that performs for you” like in her spin class. Instead of “paying attention to you” like her personal training group class. “Authority that knows your name and pushes you to grow” is better than an expert on stage in front of an audience.

How about #3, I don’t want the obligations? Liz goes on, teaching me something I never thought of about one of St. John’s own famous five words. “Belonging is not community. Belonging means you arrive in a room and the room is glad.  No obligation. Having obligations is part of community.

Belonging is about receiving. Community means you have to do something on Saturday and you don’t want to. It’s about giving. You can’t expect the receiving if you don’t give anything.” The more you agree to doing something, taking on an obligation, the more you are making community.

Speaking of which, we hardly have any acolytes these days. It’s a tiny obligation, but it’s fun to put on a robe and walk in the procession and have a front-row seat. Think about it.

Finally, objection #4, I want to curate my spiritual practice myself, thank you very much. Liz says this: “When we say we have curated our own spirituality, I think that just means we have stopped crediting others. Every practice I find valuable came from something or someone else: a tradition, a community,” my school, my family. What would it mean to acknowledge that more fully?”

Another problem with spirituality is that we often do it alone. That doesn’t make it lonely, but, like social media and the algorithm that keeps sending videos personalized just for you, spirituality is often individualistic. America was already very individualistic.

Probably too individualistic. All three of our sons chose a city far away to live in, and although we’re still close, our little family relies on the poor substitute of face time for what we used to call “face time.” When we get together in real life, it’s wonderful, but I’m jealous of the folks who live down the street and the families that have Sunday dinner around an actual table.

It should be noted that I myself was the first in my family to move away from our hometown of Detroit, so my sons just followed my example.

Church is a good antidote, if it’s more than a performance for an audience.

It’s true that high-control religions (this is not St. John’s) have too little room for individuality. Too many required beliefs, attitudes, and actions.  It’s possible that liberal churches don’t ask enough, and risk not requiring any accountability.

We used to say you needed to pledge, attend services several times a month, and declare your intention to be a member here. If you were already a member of another church, you filled out a transfer of membership document. Now, if you think you’re a member and act like a member, you are! It doesn’t matter how many hours you’ve hung out in our vineyard.

By the way, visitors and newcomers and anybody who’d like to learn more about being Episcopalian and St. John’s, we’ll have three classes coming up in October and a new member welcoming ceremony on November 1.

 We don’t have a lot of rules, but we have some very cool traditions. And our hierarchy is pretty benign, but I’m really grateful for our rector and vestry, our building caretaker, our wise and God-centered Bishop, our budget, all of our calendars, and for all of you. I’m so happy to give to this community because for all these years we have received so much. Every few Sundays, there’s so much Holy Spirit blowing around in here that I tear up. Thank you all for being here for each other and keep your eyes out for new folks who might think they don’t belong.

Christ keeps walking in that door, disguised as a stranger, waiting for some kind farmer to show them which vines to help with.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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