Matthew 21:23-32
Jesus is in the temple in Jerusalem, the center of first century Judean power. Just the day before, he had driven out of the temple those who were buying and selling animals for sacrifice as well as the moneychangers. He had followed up this extraordinary event with the healing of people lame and blind, and the next day, while teaching in the temple, the chief priests and elders approach Jesus, saying, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?”
The Chief priests and elders, you understand, have authority in the temple and throughout Jerusalem. The Romans have put them in place to keep law and order, to collect taxes, to keep the peace. They are landowners, wealthy, elite, even aristocratic in a time and place where everyone around them lives in poverty without social power. Yes, the chief priests and elders have a religious vision. They worship God, but, you understand, they do not represent the people. When they ask Jesus about his authority, they are asking because they have not given him authority. And it is their job to keep law and order. Jesus catches them off guard by asking them a question about John the Baptist, whether the baptism he offered was of human or divine origin. We get to hear the chief priests’ and elders’ internal conversation—where they calculate their answer, and we see that, at least in this moment, they are not religious leaders. They are politicians trying to please the crowd. If they were to say John’s baptism was of divine origin, it would legitimate John and cast doubt on their own religious integrity. If they were to say John’s baptism was of human origin, the crowd would be angry. Stuck between a rock and a hard place politically, they answer: “We do not know.”
If that were not enough critique of the leadership of the chief priests and elders, Jesus follows up his question with a parable about two sons and a father who tells each to go and work in the vineyard. The first responds that he will not go but eventually changes his mind and goes. The second says he will go but does not. Who does the will of the father? Of course, the first. Jesus directly tells the chief priests and elders: You are the second son, the one who appears righteous but ultimately does not do the will of God as proclaimed by John the Baptist, that of bearing fruit worthy of repentance.
We do not need wild imaginations to see how today’s Jesus story connects to our present life. Today’s story is about authenticity, integrity, and accountability. Honestly, Jesus is highly critical of the chief priests and elders and, by extension, those among us who calculate the most popular answer instead of answering honestly, critical of those among us who say one thing and do another, critical of those among us who fail to own our mistakes. Jesus calls into question the authority of those who lack authenticity, integrity, and accountability, regardless of their position in society.
Lest we be too harsh with the chief priests and elders or those we know who do the same, we must admit our own culpability, our own desire to maintain our power or the status quo, our desire to be popular and well liked over real and honest, our desire to appear blameless.
Oscar Romero served as Roman Catholic priest in El Salvador in the 1970s. He worked his way up the hierarchy of the church and eventually, surprisingly, found himself appointed archbishop—but only because he was the boring choice who his superiors trusted would not shake up the church at a time of great political upheaval in El Salvador. Night after night, political dissidents, those who registered people to vote, those who openly critiqued the ruling government, and finally a priest who ministered compassionately among peasants were disappeared, tortured, and killed by a paramilitary group. When Romero’s friend, the priest who lived and worked among the peasants, was killed, the event sparked something in Romero. Of course, he had seen the suffering of the people. Of course, he had heard the troubling news of disappearances and torture. Of course, but he had a responsibility to uphold the peace of Christ, the status quo, the place of the church in society. But now, the death of his friend broke his heart and his ministry open. The death of his friend released him from complacency and the status quo. The death of his friend stirred up in him a repentant heart. And Romero changed his mind about his role and the call of God in his life. He began to listen to the stories of the people. He befriended children and sat in people’s tin huts on the edges of landfills. He called to accountability those responsible for the disappearances and torture and murders. Each week, he shared a radio address proclaiming hope and the belovedness of each person and a call to non-violence, especially for those who perpetrated murder. As the story goes, a peasant walking home could hear Romero’s entire radio address as he or she passed the huts of their neighbors, each household having tuned in to listen to their friend and champion the archbishop. Archbishop Romero changed his mind, turned his back on the status quo, instead of defending his previous behavior, moved forward in God’s call to him even though it looked radically different than the one he had previously embraced.
Archbishop Romero became a man of authenticity, integrity, and accountability. It’s not that he was perfect. He was not. In fact, I don’t agree with him theologically on many fronts, but he is one of my heroes, a man who was able to stand corrected and then joyously embrace the call of God.
The question of the day is: Has admitting a mistake ever been a blessing in your life? How? Check out the Facebook feed from live stream worship on Sunday, September 27 to learn what people shared.
It is not easy to be a person of authenticity, integrity, and accountability…until you do it. Every time I set down my defenses and listen with true openness to someone who criticizes me, every time I tell a truth that I know will not be popular, every time I admit that I made a mistake, I am nervous. I am sometimes filled with shame. But authenticity, integrity, and accountability release me from the binding of lies, hypocrisy, and constantly defending myself. I too am far from perfect, but authenticity, integrity, and accountability do not demand perfection. The very opposite, in fact. There is a grace, a groundedness, a lightness that follows from admitting who and how we are. And the truly good news is that when who and how we are is a person who has failed to follow God’s call, not only do we receive the grace of God, we have the freedom to change our minds. We can say no to God’s call and then change our minds and go into the vineyard after all. There, we enter not just the vineyard but the kingdom of God. Thanks be to God! Amen.