The Violent Vineyard and the Suffering Son

Sunday Readings: Philippians 3:4b-14 & Matthew 21:33-46

Around the year 1200 in Italian city of Assisi, a young man named Francis dramatically cut ties with his wealthy merchant father.  He abandoned his wealth and extravagant life and entered into a life of voluntary poverty after a vision of Christ in which he was told “Rebuild my church”.  I had the blessing of going to Assisi a few summers ago and I got to see the church where Francis had his vision, visit his burial place, and walk among the hills he walked.  Francis became the saint famous for loving animals and recognizing all creation as our sisters and brothers, understanding every single creature as part of God’s family.  Francis saw the goodness of God everywhere in creation.  Francis also became known for the stigmata, the wounds of Christ on his hands.  Contemplating the suffering of Christ on the cross so much that in some mysterious psycho-somatic spiritual way, the scars he so often thought about actually appeared on his hands too.  

The suffering of Christ is one of the major elements in the parable we just heard this morning.  Today’s Gospel reading is often called the Parable of the Wicked Tenants.  I had a seminary professor who encouraged us to rename the parables as a way to get our creative juices flowing.  And the new name I came up with this week was the Parable of the Violent Vineyard.  The setting of this parable is a vineyard where wicked tenants are not only ungrateful, but also cruel and violent and murderous.  They kill the servants the landowner sends to them.  And then they even kill the landowner’s son.  The parable is told in such a way that we can’t help but see the death of the son as a parallel for the death of Jesus, the Son of God. 

And what’s most striking about this parable is that the son in this parable knows that previous messengers have been killed, and yet he goes to the violent vineyard anyway.  Just like Jesus Christ knew what a violent vineyard this world was and became incarnate in it anyway.  Jesus willingly entered into this world of suffering out of sheer love.

There’s an enormous amount of suffering in this world.  In this violent vineyard we live in.  I reflected on this yesterday when I attended the New England Synod Council’s quarterly meeting in Worcester.  It’s been a privilege to serve on the Synod Council and I’m glad we’ve had St. Matthew members like Brooke Cody and Sarah Lindquist serve on it, and now Prasad Panthagani just began his term.  One of the special things about the New England Synod is that we have two international partner synods.  One is the Lutheran church in Honduras.  Many of you know I visited Honduras this past February, and there’s another weeklong trip coming up next February.  If anyone’s interested in attending let me know. 

Our other international partner is the Lutheran church in Jordan and the Holy Land.  There will also be a Synod trip to Israel/Palestine this coming April and the Synod welcomes participants to that trip as well.  One of the commonalities between Honduran Lutherans and Palestinian Lutherans is the amount of suffering and hardship they face.  They understand the oppressive, brutal world of Roman occupation that Jesus lived in.  They understand the relentlessly cruel medieval world that Francis lived in.  Many of the Hondurans I met lived in poverty and had very little resources to provide a way out.  Christians living in Gaza and the West Bank, some of whom trace their Christian lineage all the way back to the first century, have faced challenges of poverty and oppression for most of their lives, and are now in the midst of what many experts have declared a genocide.  I am both terrified and humbled when I consider the suffering-filled lives of our synod’s partners churches, the Honduran and Palestinian Lutherans.  

In addition to Honduras and Gaza, there’s the war in Iran, the war in Ukraine, and the civil war in Sudan, a crisis that barely gets any media attention but is considered the worst humanitarian crisis in the world today.  And with all that going on, you and I might almost feel bad worrying about our own problems.  And yet there’s too many personal difficulties to count.  There’s strained relationships, financial concerns, stress, depression, or anxiety.  Concerns about loved ones struggling with addiction or trauma.  The horrible diagnosis of cancer, dementia, heart disease, or some other menacing disease.

Where is God in the midst of all this?  How can an all-loving, all-powerful God let so much suffering exist?  Why is suffering such a prominent part of the human experience?  Why doesn’t God do something about our pain and our broken world?  What’s God doing about it, and does God even care?   

We know what today’s parable tells us: the Son goes straight into that violent vineyard.  And we know in real life, the Son of God became incarnate and entered right into our violent world, straight into the heart of suffering on the cross.  Jesus Christ, the Word of God taking on flesh—God’s very Self suffering and dying, experiencing the worst pain this world could inflict. 

That’s where God is in this suffering world, right there in the middle of it. Hanging there, dying on a cross.  And not just 2000 years ago, but for all of human history God has been suffering with us.  For wherever the “least of these” endure suffering, there Christ is too.  Christian theologians state that perhaps more than any other religion Christianity is prepared to deal with the question of suffering, because we believe in a Crucified God.  Martin Luther called this the theology of the cross.  And this theology asserts that Jesus Christ demonstrates how God relates to the world.  God comes to us and suffers with us.  Jesus never promises to take away our suffering, but he promises to be with us in it. 

In a called book The Crucified God theologian Jürgen Moltmann wrote that the image of the Crucified One is image God chooses above all else to reveal Himself to humanity.  The image that tells us This is what God is like.  Not a king on a throne.  Not a general with an army.  Not a judge in a courtroom.  No, the image chose more than any other to use to communicate Godself to humanity is the image of an innocent man dying on a cross.  Let that sink in.  That’s where God is in all this.   

So hear me: God is with us in the midst of the world’s great tragedies and our own personal tragedies.  God doesn’t stand off in heaven and watch you struggle here below.  God is right here with you, weeping with you, and feeling your pain with you.  God’s heart breaks every time your heart breaks.  God grieves and mourns every time you grieve and mourn.  God feels pain every time you feel pain.  God feels the suffering of the world deeper than any of us can imagine.  That’s the theology of the cross.       

Unlike prosperity gospel televangelists who promise you that if you love God you’ll be blessed with lots of money and be free of pain, Jesus tells us different, that if we follow him we’ll suffer greatly.  And if we’re not suffering, we need to go out and find someone who is and help them.  That’s how we live out our Christian calling.  That’s how we manifest the Kingdom.  That’s how we transform the world. 

The parable doesn’t say what happens after the death of the son.  But we know what happens after the death of Jesus on the cross—and that is His resurrection from the dead.  After the cross comes the empty tomb.  After death comes resurrection.  And after all the pain and suffering of the violent vineyard world comes the promised new creation, God’s Kingdom come, God’ will done on earth as it is in heaven.  And so we also hold fast to the promise that one day suffering and violence will be no more.  Until then, we rest in the assurance that no matter what pain the world inflicts, no matter what suffering we undergo, no matter how much evil we must endure—God is with us in our suffering, bears our burdens, and promises to be with us through it all.

Pastor Brian | October 4, 2026 | 19th Sunday after Pentecost