A Stomach-Churning Truth about God's Justice ~ Matthew 20:1-16

 

Today we're exploring a story that honestly makes me feel a little queasy. This is not your simple feel-good moral lesson. Nope. This is about an idea so radical it pretty much flips the table on our basic instincts about what's just and fair. And that's the whole point. Jesus's kingdom parables aren't these sweet little bedtime stories. They are meant to disrupt us, to shake things up. Think of it like one of those carnival rides that just spins you and turns your stomach upside down. It can be a thrill, but you often walk away with spiritual-motion-sickness. Jesus’ stories force us to rethink basic ideas about who God is and who we are and dismantle our usual ideas about what God does.

Okay, let's set the scene first. The story starts simple enough. “The kingdom of God is like,” Jesus says, a landowner who needs workers for his vineyard. He goes out at dawn, hires some guys, and agrees to pay them a denarius, which was the standard daily wage -enough to feed a family. But that's just the beginning. Because he keeps going back to the marketplace. He goes back at 9:00 a.m., noon, 3:00 p.m., and even at 5:00 p.m., basically an hour before sunset, and hires them all.

And here comes the punch line, the bit that really shakes things up. Evening comes, and he pays them all, starting with the 5:00 p.m. crew. And they get the full denarius, a whole day's wage, the same as the 6:00 am workers, which just sounds wrong. You feel it, don't you? That little knot in your stomach, that little voice saying, “Hey, that’s not fair.” Well, guess what? You're not wrong to feel that. In fact, that feeling is kind of the point.

So, let's unpack Jesus’ first stomach-churning shock: “God and grace ain't fair.” That phrase itself clashes with how we think the world should work. We are so attached to merit. We believe effort should lead to outcome: put in the work, get the reward, work harder, get more. It gives us a sense of control, predictability, and that hard work matters. We like to think that everything we get, we get because we earned it. And Jesus doesn’t just flip this logic. He dismantles it with this uncomfortable truth: In God's kingdom, the deciding factor isn’t merit but mercy.

But hang on, perhaps you want to push back a little on the story itself. I mean, if it's all about unearned generosity, why did Jesus even include that detail about the contract with the 6 a.m. workers at all? They agreed to a denarius. Doesn't that initial agreement kind of complicate things? Here’s how I see it.

Jesus is revealing our standard for human justice. The landowner is obligated legally, morally, to pay those first workers what he promised and he keeps his word. He fulfills the contract and pays them for their work. They got exactly what they were promised and yet it isn’t fair. And we can feel their sense of betrayal: “We bore the burden of the work and the heat of the day,” they complain. We identify with them and put ourselves in their dusty sandals, which demonstrates how deep our attachment to this idea of fairness runs and the anger we feel is the intended response. “Why should the 5:00 p.m. guy, who barely put up a sweat, get the same pay? It feels unjust.”

That feeling is what the story wants to reveal and disrupt. It shows that the kingdom runs on the landowner's boundless generosity and grace, not on some strict accounting of what we think we deserve which brings us to another stomach-churning idea: If fairness is getting what we deserve, God’s justice is receiving what we need. When the landowner hires the later workers, he doesn’t offer them a contract, but promises to pay them whatever is “right” or “just.” That Greek word is δίκαιον [dikaion]. It's the same word used all over the New Testament for righteousness and justice. So he's not promising standard market fairness. He's promising to be just. And this is where fairness and justice really split.

Human fairness says you get what you deserve. It's proportional based on effort, input, and achievement. Makes sense. And it’s so easy to imagine that God is the same. But, according to Jesus, God’s justice is not appropriately getting what you deserve but graciously getting what you need. Think about that denarius. For the 6 a.m. worker, sure, it's their earned wage. But for the 5:00 p.m. worker, the one standing idle all day, desperate for any work, maybe with kids to feed and rent due, that denarius isn't just pay, it's survival. It meets a fundamental need. The 6 a.m. workers get their full agreed upon pay. The latecomers receive way more than they technically earned or deserved but no one is being cheated. And this radical overflow, this scandalous generosity, is what the kingdom is like.  It’s a system where the supply, God's generosity, God's mercy, never runs out. So, there's no need to get anxious. There’s enough for everyone.

And this sense of God’s justice connects really well to a contemporary discussion about two important words we often mix up: equality and equity.

Equality means treating everyone exactly the same: same input, same treatment regardless of the situation.  It's blind to circumstance. But equity means giving everyone what they need to reach a similar outcome. The landowner isn't being equal in terms of pay per hour. But he is being profoundly equitable by meeting the need for a day's wage for everyone who showed up willing to work.

Think about it this way.  Imagine three people trying to watch a ball game over a big fence: a tall person, an average person, and a small child. If you practice equality, you give all three of them the exact same size box to stand on. Well, the tall person sees great. The average person maybe just peaks over, and the small child still can't see a thing - same treatment, unequal result.

But equity recognizes the different starting points, the different needs. So, you give the child maybe two boxes, the average person one box and the tall person doesn't need one. So everyone can see the game equally. That's the picture of kingdom generosity that the parable paints. It's about meeting needs so everyone can participate, can see the game.

And that links back to what the 5:00 p.m. workers actually say. Jesus doesn't say they’re lazy or unwilling to work. When the landowner asks, “Why have you been standing here all day long doing nothing?” They just say, “Because no one hired us,” which implies systemic issues or lack of opportunity, not necessarily personal failing. It suggests that a merit system isn’t enough to heal the world.

The story kind of holds up a mirror and asks, “Which worker are you?” Do you imagine you are you the 6 a.m. early bird maybe feeling resentful about God's generosity because you prefer a system where you earn your keep and things are transactional and fair? Or are you a latecomer humbled by getting mercy you know you didn't earn, acutely aware of your own need and just grateful to be included. And what happens to your understanding if that’s who you truly are – a 5 pm worker? It’s an upside-down invitation to stop keeping score, stop comparing, stop measuring, stop always assuming you're the 6 a.m. worker. Because let's be honest, some days we are the early risers putting in the long hours but other days, maybe more than we care to admit, we're the latecomers  - showing up at the last minute, just hoping for a break. And the miracle is that God meets us both - same coin, same claim, infinite love and unlimited mercy.  

Okay, let's pivot to one last character. One that's easy to overlook - the householder. The Greek word is oikodespotes. It’s a compound word formed by: oikos, meaning “house” and despotes, which means “master.” This word is only found in the Gospels and appears to be a word that Jesus liked to use. Now, I imagine that if I asked the question: “Who is the ‘master of the house’?” You would reply, “That’s easy. It’s God.” And that’s right, of course. But what if I told you that Jesus uses oikodespotes to describe his followers, as well, like in Matthew 13 and Matthew 24. And that unlocks the ultimate invitation, the real core of the application piece, which is this: The goal isn't just to experience the upside-mercy of the kingdom. It's to learn to become like God ourselves and model that same kind of radical, need-based generosity in our own lives, our own homes, our own workplaces, our own communities.

It means actively paying attention - looking around the marketplace of our world to see who is still waiting at 5:00 p.m., who's being overlooked, asking who needs what, not just who worked hardest. It’s about taking some responsibility for creating abundance and equity within your own vineyard, whatever that looks like, which means moving beyond personal effort and looking at the bigger picture of a generous God.

So, friends —
Let grace make you dizzy.
Let it unsettle your sense of fairness.
And let it make you generous and just — in spirit, in mercy, in love.

Because in the end, the kingdom of God isn’t about who worked the hardest — it’s about who’s willing to rejoice that everyone got paid. Amen.

Mary, Martha, and Kingdom Work ~ Luke 10:38-42 (An Upside-Down Meditation)

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“Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a certain village, where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home.”

We think we know this story — and that’s what makes it dangerous. So pay careful attention and let it upside down your life. Jesus and his disciples arrive — thirteen tired, hungry travelers — and Martha opens her home to them. What an amazing gift! Hospitality has always been a deeply spiritual act. In the Bible, it often brings people face-to-face with the divine — with angels, prophets, and even strangers who turn out to be God. Imagine the scene for a moment: the chaos of a surprise visit, the sounds of hungry, boisterous men, the pressure to prepare food, to make a space feel welcome and to meet every need. What an act of grace — and what a weight to carry.

🕊 Meditative Question:
Close your eyes and step into the story.
Where are you? Are you bustling in the kitchen beside Martha, sitting quietly at the feet of Jesus like Mary, or hungrily arguing at the table with the disciples? What stirs within you as you take that place — the joy of giving, the weariness of expectation, the longing to be seen, the desire to rest? Why do you think you chose that place?

2 minute silence

Song: Servant Song / By Our Love

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“She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying.”

The men settle into the main room — the public room — the space for men.
You see in that world, spaces were divided: men in one space, women in another. But Mary does something unexpected. She crosses an invisible and physical boundary and sits down at Jesus’ feet to listen.

That’s not just a posture of devotion. That’s the posture of a disciple. In first-century language, “to sit at someone’s feet” meant to study under them — to be in training. It’s the same phrase Paul uses when he says, “I was brought up at the feet of Gamaliel.” So Mary isn’t just listening — she’s learning – she’s joining – she’s making the world upside down. She’s courageously stepping into a space no woman was supposed to enter.  She’s becoming what the culture said she could never be — a teacher, a leader, a voice for the kingdom. And Jesus welcomes her there.

In Mary, the promise of Galatians 3:28 was present: “There is no longer male and female, for all are one in Christ Jesus.”
This is Jesus’ upside-down kingdom where learning is not limited by gender, status, or expectation — it’s open to all who draw near to him.

🕊 Meditative Question:
Who in your world is a “Mary” (maybe, it’s you). Someone longing to learn, to listen, to belong — yet who finds themself held back by barriers or unspoken rules? Can you imagine how it feels to stand at the edge, waiting for an invitation to draw near? How might you help open the space for them to be fully welcomed so that they fully belong? If you are a Mary, what is that invisible boundary that seeks to keep you from following Jesus?

2 minute silence

Song: Make Room

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“But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.’”

It’s easy to judge Martha, but think about it — she probably wanted to sit too.
She just couldn’t. Because in that world, and often in ours, the “hospitality work” always seems to fall on the same female shoulders.

The text says Martha was “distracted,” but the word really means “pulled away” or “pulled apart.” She’s pulled from presence by pressure. She’s doing what needs to be done — the work of care, the work of service — and yet she feels the sting of being alone in it, the burden of being required to do it. Many of us know that feeling. We start with love and end up with exhaustion. We serve faithfully but wonder if anyone notices, or if it even matters. Martha’s frustration isn’t faithlessness — it’s fatigue. She’s pulled away from Jesus by the weight of a gendered expectation and pulled apart by work that is too heavy to bear. Because someone had to make the meal, right? Someone had to serve.

🕊 Meditative Question:
When do you feel your yourself pulled away from Jesus or pulled apart from yourself — not by indifference, but by the weight of too much? What burdens or expectations press upon you, whispering that you must do more, be more, prove more? What would you like to set down so that you too might sit at Jesus’ feet?

2 minute silence

Song: Shattered Things

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“But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.’”

Notice how Jesus says her name — twice. “Martha, Martha.” It’s not a rebuke; it’s an embrace. He sees her. He sees the weight she carries and invites her to set it down. And in that moment, something shifts. Jesus redefines what matters most — not the endless doing, but being present, listening, and resting in him. And maybe, if we listen closely, we can almost hear the rest of the story —
“Judas, go buy the food.”

“Peter, go make dinner.”
“James and John, clean the house.
Because if women are to be free to sit at Jesus’ feet, someone else has to get up and serve. Friends, that’s the gospel of the upside-down kingdom. There is no men’s work or women’s work. There is only kingdom work. And that work is shared.

Brothers, if we want women — our sisters, our mothers, our daughters — to rise into their callings, then we must not only make space — we must take up the work that keeps them from freedom – burdens and boundaries that pull them away or pulls them apart. Because Jesus’ invitation is not just for women to join men’s spaces — it’s for everyone to share the labor of love, together. This is the kingdom that shatters old hierarchies and upside downs our relationships.
It’s not about who serves and who sits — it’s about who listens to Jesus and lives his love.

🕊 Meditative Question:
Where might God be calling you to take a new step — perhaps to serve so another can rest, or to rest so another may serve?

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Closing Reflection

Jesus’ invitation to Mary and Martha is an invitation to us all:
To stop long enough to listen.
To serve without being consumed.
To share the load so that everyone can find a place at his feet.

In his upside-down kingdom, no one is left in the kitchen while others learn,
and no one sits while others bear the burden alone. Men and women are called to the same table — to listen, to serve, to love, and to live the freedom of Christ  - better together.

An Upside-Down Word and Worldview: "Blessed" ~ Luke 6:20-27

All right, let's talk about one single word, “blessed.” It's a word we throw around all the time, right? We think we know what it means: success, the good life, maybe fame, or being the best. But what if that’s not quite right or at least not what God thinks? Today we’re going to discover what happens when Jesus comes on the scene and flips this word on its head in way that might just change how we look at everything.

You know, it's surprisingly easy to get a word totally wrong. I have a funny story. My wife, who’s not a native English speaker, once yelled, "What a humdinger!" at someone who cut us off in traffic. She thought it was like a major insult. I had to gently explain that a “humdinger” is actually something or someone remarkable. We had a good laugh about it, but seriously, it makes you think. If we can get a simple word like that wrong, what happens when we misunderstand a word that literally shapes our entire world view. Okay, so to really get what Jesus did, we’ve got to rewind a bit.

We need to understand what “blessed” meant before he ever showed up. So let's jump back in time and check out the original context. So the word at the absolute heart of all this is an ancient Greek term makarios. Now this is the word that gets translated as “blessed” in the New Testament. And trust me, it did not show up as a blank slate. It came with a ton of cultural baggage. In the Greek world, makarios was for the A-listers, the rich, the powerful, the winners. It was basically a divine thumbs up from the gods.  The ones who used this word were basically on team Pantheon and sat at the Mt. Olympus table at lunch with their best friend Hercules.

Now in the Old Testament, the Septuagint, which translated the Hebrew into Greek, it was a slightly different. Like the original version, it was still seen as a reward and favor from God but here God's favor demanded an ethical component – righteousness gained by following the law (Psalm 1). And it connected back to the blessings and curses pronounced by Moses (Deuteronomy 11:26-28), But here's the dangerous flip side. If your life was hard, well, people just assumed you were cursed (remember Job’s friends). And hey, let's be real for a second. That idea is still very much alive and kicking today, isn't it? I mean, we might roll our eyes at the whole health and wealth gospel you see on TV. But how many of us deep down when something great happens have that little thought, well, “I'm so blessed. God must like me right now.” And of course, when things go wrong, we immediately start wondering, “What did I do to deserve this?” So into this world, a world where “blessed” basically meant you were on top, that's when Jesus arrives. And he doesn't just, you know, tweak the definition a little bit. Oh no, he takes the entire concept, the whole shebang, and flips it completely upside down. Think about it. The world had a really simple scorecard. The blessed, they were the people who had it all: the wealth, the health, the power, and the righteousness. They were the undisputed winners of the game of life. But then Jesus comes along and he walks right past the winner circle. He doesn't even give them a second glance. Instead, he turns his attention to the very people everyone else had written off. The ones everyone thought were cursed: the poor, the grieving, the outcasts. Those beset by “impure spirits” would have been thought to have been impure themselves, the poor were often considered lazy (Psalm 10), at best, or wicked at worst, and “Tyre and Sidon” were two Phoenician coastal cities filled with idolatrous Canaanites, Luke 6:17-20. Basically, Jesus goes to those who were absolutely not winning at life and then says something that must have sounded completely insane to everyone listening. He looks right at this crowd of so-called losers and says, “Y'all, are makarios. You are the blessed ones.”

 Listen, Jesus isn't saying, “Hey, hang in there. You'll be blessed one day.” No, he says, “Yours IS the kingdom of heaven.” That's present tense and he will also say “now.” It's not a future IOU. It's a declaration of a present reality right now in your brokenness, in your grief, you are in the place of God's favor and love. Jesus is saying, “The destitute, the downtrodden, the dark-hearted, the seemingly cursed, are not abandoned by God but noticed by God, favored by God, and beloved by God  - now.”

Okay, so wait, if the poor are blessed, does that mean Jesus is like cursing the rich when he says “woe to you”? That's a super common way to read it, but it kind of misses the heart of what's really going on. Let's take a closer look.

The Greek word he uses here is translated as “woe” is ouai. And this is crucial. It's not a word of damnation. It's not like “to hell with you.” It's a cry of compassionate urgency. It's more like shouting, "Watch out!" to a friend who's about to step into traffic. It's a “Yikes!” or a “Whoa!,” a warning that comes from a place of deep care, not a curse that comes from anger. So, why the warning then? Well, because all the things we usually think of as advantages, you know, wealth, comfort, being totally self-sufficient, they can actually be spiritual traps – not just in some far-off afterlife but right here and right now. They can isolate us and kill our souls by stopping us from ever recognizing just how much we need grace and how much we are loved when we are at our very worst.

So, why does any of this ancient Greek stuff actually matter to us? Well it’s this: God's kingdom, true blessedness, is not found when you've got it all together. It's found in the exact opposite place, in the places of our need. The kingdom of God is built specifically for the frail and the fragile. It's a space where it's genuinely 100% okay to not be okay. I heard a story that nails this idea perfectly. There was a woman who lost her job and she felt like a total failure, completely shattered. But here's the thing. Instead of being abandoned, her church just rallied. They wrapped their arms around her, brought over food, offered financial support. They were just there with her right in the middle of the mess. And right there, in that moment, she had this profound realization. Her big takeaway wasn't about finding a new job. It was this. She said, “I realized that I was blessed because I could be shattered and not be let go.” Now, that that is makarios. The blessing wasn't in her eventual success. It was in the love she received right in the middle of her failure. So, in the end, this whole upside-down blessedness thing, it's all about relationships. It's found in communities where our needs are met with grace instead of judgment, and love even when we’re losing. It’s when just standing with people matters way more than any personal success. It's that deep profound blessing of knowing that no matter how broken you feel, you will not be let go. And that really leaves us with a final kind of challenging question, doesn't it? If Jesus is saying “woe” or watch out to the people who think they've got it all together, well, maybe that warning is for us - for those of us who are too scared to be vulnerable, too proud to admit we need help. It really makes you wonder, by refusing to risk that kind of fragility, what incredible life-changing blessedness are we all missing out on?