Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

We might hear today’s Gospel and think that this is an absurd situation. The landowner has prepared a vineyard. He has planted it, protected it, and provided what is needed for it to bear fruit. He entrusts it to tenants. And instead of honoring the one who has given them this opportunity, they turn against him. They reject his servants, and ultimately they reject his son. How could anyone receive so much and respond in that way?

But we should not imagine that the tenants began by wanting to be evil or wanting to reject their master. That is the challenge of this parable. We can begin by welcoming a gift and still end by resisting the one who gave it. Somewhere along the way, gratitude gives way to possession. What has been entrusted to us begins to feel like something that belongs to us, something we can use however we wish. And when the master reminds us of his rightful claim, we resent it.

I think we experience something like this fairly often. Think of a new building project. At first there is excitement. Everyone wants to be involved. Everyone has an opinion. We want it to turn out well, and we are willing to give our time and effort to make that happen.

Then it gets built. We enjoy the newness of it. But eventually the newness wears off. What was once exciting becomes ordinary. We develop our routines. The enthusiasm fades, and sometimes the effort to care for it fades as well. People pass away. Circumstances change. And something that was once treasured begins to fall apart, or it begins to be used in ways that have little to do with its original purpose. The gift has come to seem like our possession. We forget why it was given and what we were meant to do with it.

This happens in our spiritual lives as well. We discover a new Bible study or a devotion we had never known. We embrace it enthusiastically. We make time for it. We want to learn. We want to pray. We want to draw closer to God.

But then it becomes familiar. It becomes part of our routine. We no longer feel that initial excitement. So perhaps we drop it entirely. Or perhaps we keep doing it, but rush through it. We fit it around our convenience. Something that was meant to draw us closer to God becomes another burden to get out of the way.

I think one of the greatest challenges of the Christian life is perseverance. It is easy to begin when we are excited. It is harder to remain faithful when the newness has worn off.

We usually do not begin by deciding to reject God or to deny the truth. We begin by getting comfortable. And then, little by little, we make compromises. We begin to make the faith our own in the wrong sense: we reshape it around our preferences, instead of receiving the faith that God has revealed and that has been handed on to us. We keep what we like. We make excuses about what challenges us. And gradually, the faith is remade in our image.

Once that happens, correction begins to feel like an intrusion. We resent being called to account for our sins. We resent hearing the truths of the faith again, because they remind us of how far we fall short. We resent being reminded that this is a gift from God, and that we are responsible to him for how we receive it and how we live it.

That is where the parable becomes a warning for us. If we grow accustomed to rejecting the words of those the master sends, we can find ourselves rejecting the Son himself.

So when we feel challenged by the Gospel or by the teaching of the Church, the correct response is to accept the rebuke and be converted. We may feel defensive. We may feel uncomfortable. But we must not let that become anger that refuses to listen, or sullenness that refuses to change.

We acknowledge our faults. We recognize where we have fallen short of the life Christ calls us to live. And with his grace, we change, so that the rebuke no longer describes us. That is an authentic Christian response.

It requires perseverance. We continue to pray when prayer is difficult. We continue to learn when we are tired. We continue to imitate Christ when doing so asks something of us that we would rather not give.

The faith is not merely an emotional experience. We are not meant to live on a succession of spiritual highs. We were made for a real, authentic relationship with God. And that relationship is lived in the goodness and simplicity of ordinary human life, even when there is no dazzle of signs and wonders.

Ordinary does not mean unimportant. It means that life with God belongs in every day: in our routines, in our responsibilities, and in our willingness to be corrected and to begin again.

The gifts of God are meant to be cultivated. If we remain faithful to him, they will bear fruit. What he has given us will grow, drawing us more deeply into the life for which we were made: eternal life in his kingdom.