19th Sunday after Pentecost

I have a confession to make. I suffer from a terrible affliction. It started about 30 years ago and has only gotten worse throughout the years. I suffer from G.A.S. I have terrible, perpetual, chronic G.A.S. It’s not constant. It might lie dormant for several months, but then it flares up again. And I suffer once again from a terrible G.A.S. attack. Oh, you know what? I think I need to clarify something. G.A.S. is an acronym: G-A-S. It stands for Gear Acquisition Syndrome.

It’s an affliction that usually besets those who have vocations or hobbies which require stuff or things, equipment, gadgets: you get the idea. For a photographer it would be camera bodies, lenses, and flash units, lighting gear. But I think musicians tend to be the worst. And especially guitar players. This new guitar, these new strings, that new effects box, this new speaker cabinet, that new amp… We’re always chasing the ever elusive, perfect guitar tone. You know, the one we carry around with us in our heads. The ideal sound.

But the end result is that I end up with too much stuff. And at some point, I have to start thinning the herd. Culling the guitars that I don’t really play anymore. Getting rid of the effects that no longer are of use to me. The funny things is that I always seem to get rid of less things than I acquire and so despite my best efforts, my collection continues to grow. But I’m sure I’m the outlier in this august gathering of esteemed brothers and sisters. I’m sure none of you has too much of something, right?

Several years ago, National Geographic did a novel thing. They published a two-in-one issue of their magazine in order to explore two starkly different futures for our planet. One half of the magazine presented the worst-case scenario: what the earth will look like in fifty years if we do nothing substantive regarding climate change. It was a grim, dangerous world of mass extinctions, rampant forest fires, deadly heat waves, fierce storms, and widespread suffering for humanity. The other half contained a more hopeful vision: what the earth could look like in fifty years if we devote our time, considerable ingenuity, resources, and technology now to undoing at least some of the damage that we’ve already done. In this scenario, we would find sustainable ways to feed ourselves. We’d clean up our oceans, rivers, and lakes. We’d provide carbon-neutral energy for all. We’d reimagine our homes, streets, cities, and corporations in light of the most pressing needs of the environment. We’d begin to reverse climate change, and prevent many, if not most extinctions. In her editorial for the issue Susan Goldberg wrote, “It’s impossible to know who is right.” What we do know is that everything will depend on the decisions we make in the coming days, weeks, months, years, and decades.

In our Gospel reading this week, Jesus tells the chief priest and elders a parable about some tenants who make horrible decisions. Decisions rooted in greed, arrogance, disrespect, and selfishness. A landowner, Jesus says, lovingly planted a vineyard, leased it to some tenants, and traveled to another country. When harvest time came, the landowner sent his servants to the vineyard to collect his share of the produce. But the tenants seized the servants. They beat one, killed another, and stoned the third. In response, the landowner sent a second group of servants to the vineyard. But the tenants killed them as well. Finally, the landowner decided to send his own son into the fray to reason with the tenants. Surely, the landowner thought, “they will respect my son." Of course, they did not. When the tenants saw the heir of the vineyard approaching, they hatched a plan to murder him and claim his inheritance. So, they seized the son, threw him out of the vineyard, and took his life. Jesus concludes the parable with a question for the chief priests and the elders: “When the landowner returns to his vineyard, what will he do to those tenants?” 

Stewardship, the faithful use of the things God has entrusted to us, entails every single aspect of our lives. Jesus tells this particular story to indict the religious leaders of his day for exploiting and mistreating God’s people — the people of Israel, God’s “vineyard.” It’s a parable that exposes the corruption of the religious elite and condemns their obsessions with privilege and power. Through this very pointed story, Jesus implies that the chief priests and elders are like the wicked tenants. They abuse their authority, dishonor God’s house, and mistreat both God’s messengers (the Prophets) and God’s son (Jesus). At the heart of this parable, though, is a distinction that speaks very pointedly to our current environmental crisis. What the tenants in the story very deliberately choose to ignore is that they are stewards rather than owners of the vineyard. When the landowner asks for his rightful share of the harvest, the tenants take offense. As if the vineyard belongs to them, and it is the landowner who is in the wrong for making a claim on the land at all. Somewhere along the way, the tenants have forgotten their place. Their vocation. Their standing in relationship to both the land and the landowner. To put it bluntly, they have forgotten that they own nothing — absolutely nothing! Everything belongs to the landowner. Theirs is not a vocation of ownership. Theirs is a vocation of caring, tending, safeguarding, cultivating, and protecting on behalf of another.

You’ll notice that Jesus does not describe the evildoers in the story as thieves or marauders. These are not outsiders. These are the landowner’s trusted tenants. He chose them and granted them creative license to steward the vineyard for the benefit of all. Which, of course, makes it all the more tragic, then, when they abuse the landowner’s trust so cruelly.

Like the tenants in the parable, we have deluded ourselves into thinking that we “own” the earth and all that’s in it. But the fact of the matter is that we are meant to be merely stewards! Like the tenants, we assume that God is absent, or apathetic, or uninvolved, or too busy to be concerned with the decisions we make on a day-to-day basis. And so we hoard the beauty and bounty of creation for our own selfish ease, gain, comfort, and convenience. Have we not, like the tenants, ignored and even maligned the countless messengers who have warned us over the past many years that our abusive relationship with the planet will lead us to destruction?

The truth is, we humans crave ownership. We like possessing things. Anke once got me a t-shirt with pictures of all kinds of guitars on the front of it and it read, “You can never own too many guitars”. Ah, but you can. And I have. Honestly, I still do.  

We like controlling things. But in the end they end up controlling us, dictating how we use the space in our homes, the financial resources dedicated to paying for them, the time devoted to caring for them. We like believing that things exist primarily to please, feed, entertain, soothe, empower, and protect us. We are “rent-to-own” folks by both temperament and preference, and the idea that we don’t in fact own anything offends us. The idea of stewardship offends us. It insults our core sense of entitlement. It threatens our core identity as consumers.

When it comes to the planet, the bottom line is crystal clear in Scripture: we are NOT owners. We are caretakers of a vineyard God cares about deeply, a vineyard that will not thrive or even survive if we continue to treat it as a cheap, inexhaustible commodity. According to reporting by CNN back in May of this year, the International Union for Conservation of Nature estimates that 28% of all species face extinction by 2050. According to that same study, 33% of species not identified in that first number are already in decline.

This week, Christians around the world celebrate the feast of St. Francis of Assisi, commemorating the life of a 12th century monk who cared deeply about creation. Later this afternoon, we will “Bless the Animals,” recognizing God’s care for the creatures that live among us. We pray for what the Book of Common Prayer calls, “this fragile earth, our island home.” Fragile.

I want very much to believe in the optimistic half of National Geographic’s April magazine. As a Christian, I do believe that the earth will be renewed and restored. That somehow, God’s coming kingdom will bring healing to all — even to all of creation. But we, the stewards, are not off the hook because the landowner will ultimately reclaim his vineyard. That’s the entire point of the story, after all! Yes, the earth will continue to exist. Just maybe not with us inhabiting it.

Our vocation is lifelong, and our relationship with the landowner is eternal. And reclaiming the vineyard is hard work, because it means making difficult choices about how we spend our money, how we live our lives, and how we relate to the rest of creation, including our fellow human beings. A shiny, brand-new guitar is great. But a used one has more mojo. Fast fashion is great because it’s fast and it’s cheap. But buying something that isn’t cheaply made with sweatshop labor is going to last longer. Being able to hop in the car to run down to the store real quick to pick up a snack for the evening is great! But forgoing that snack and waiting to combine several trips at once not only helps out the planet, it also saves you money.

Reclaiming the vineyard is also hard work because there will always be opposition from those who have a vested interest in keeping the vineyard broken. So, our calling isn’t even close to over. When we hoard, exploit, abuse, or ignore the work of God’s hands, we wound and reject God’s heart.

I know this has been a rather heavy sermon this morning, and they always told us in seminary that you can’t spend 15 minutes telling everyone how sinful they are and then tagging on the line at the end, “But Jesus loves you!”. But Jesus loves you! And God is with us. And God has blessed us with an earth that capable of amazing healing when treated with the proper care and respect. For example, about 2 or 3 weeks into the pandemic, I remember looking up at a passenger jet flying high up in the sky. And I was struck by the amazing detail to be seen on it, right down to the individual windows along the side of it. And it was because the air was so clear, because almost nobody was driving.

We can’t effect that level of change. But our individual choices do have an impact. Imagine what could have happened if one of those tenants had decided not to be evil! It has the potential to change the entire arc of the story. We have the power in our hands to very much change the arc or our own personal story. God has given us the power to do that. To make our own decisions. To make decisions that reflect the seriousness with which we take our role as steward. Not owner, but steward. Because when we change our story for the better, reflecting the love of God for all of creation, we change the world’s story. Thanks be to God! AMEN