- by Dr. Leland Spencer -
North Georgia Reconciling Service | June 12, 2013 | Matthew 20:1-16
For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.
In 2007,
the tiny town of Ketchikan, Alaska, an island off the southeast coast of the
state, found itself suddenly the object of national and international attention
and debate. The town’s population of 50 people argued that the region’s economy
would grow if there were a bridge connecting their island to a nearby island
with the closest airport in the region, and the residents of that small town
worked for many years to secure the $400 million needed for the bridge. However,
according to the Associated Press, the project was jeopardized when it became
“a national symbol of federal pork barrel spending.” The bridge, popularly
dubbed the “Bridge to Nowhere,” was abandoned, but we continued to hear about
the “bridge to nowhere” throughout the 2008 election cycle.
The annual
conference meeting this week has a theme of “Bridges to Mission,” and I think
that’s a great theme. Bridges are wonderful metaphors—not just for pork barrel
spending—but for the work of the church, particularly a connectional church, in
making a way for people to be in relationship with God and one another. As I
thought about that theme, for some reason, the “Bridge to Nowhere” came to
mind. My intention this evening is not to make a political statement about the
bridge, but to pose a question about the name for it. Who decides the bridge
goes “nowhere”? Who decides those 50 people are “nobody” and their hometown a
“nowhere”? And what’s the cut off? How many people have to move to the island
before it is worthy not just of federal funding, but of the coveted ontological
status “somewhere”?
As the
conference gathers and thinks about Bridges to Mission, I suggest that we who
identify as Reconciling United Methodists are in mission to the church,
building bridges between people and the church, and between people and each
other. To reconcile means to bring back into right relationship, and it
typically connotes some sort of healing of brokenness. It is my contention that
in the life of the church, there ought to be no such thing as nowhere. And yet,
quadrennium after quadrennium, General Conference refuses to build a much
needed bridge between the United Methodist Church and lesbian, gay, bisexual,
transgender, and queer people. Now, I’m a person who identifies as both about
as gay as someone can be and about as United Methodist as can be, so like many
of you, I find myself deeply wounded by the actions or inaction of the General
Conference, but also deeply confused. How can our Discipline both affirm that sexuality is a good gift from God but
then suggest that the sexuality with which God gifted some of us is
incompatible with Christian teaching? How is it that we have a beautiful
statement about the civil rights of lesbian and gay people, including our
support for nondiscrimination in the workplace, but then make an exception for
ourselves by declaring that “self-avowed practicing homosexuals” cannot be
licensed, commissioned, or ordained in our tradition? Talk about standing in
need of reconciliation! And if the statements that end up in the Discipline weren’t bad enough, I can’t
seem to stop myself from reading the news stories and checking anecdotal
updates on Facebook from those of you brave enough to go to General Conference,
and the content of those updates is frankly horrifying. I end up feeling an
awful lot like a “nobody” or a “nowhere,” wondering when a bridge will be built
that will give me and many, many others full access to the United Methodist
Church.
Thus far,
General Conference has been unwilling to build such a bridge, but I celebrate
that so many communities, campus ministries, congregations, and individual
members of the United Methodist Church are engaged in work that builds those
bridges, that makes connections between people and the church and people with
each other. I celebrate that whatever happens at annual conference, we have had
a chance to gather in this space and share an inclusive worship service that
imagines the church as it can be, as God calls it to be. Let’s take some time,
then, to think about what it means to be in mission to our beloved United
Methodist Church and to build bridges between people and the church and for
people with one another.
Our text
for this evening is the parable of the generous landowner. Whenever I read or
hear this parable, I imagine the group of workers hired at five o’clock. I
picture a desolate, nearly empty marketplace. Only a few people remain—idle,
unemployed, overlooked, perhaps rejected. They had no work because no one hired
them. I wonder why. Were they unskilled? Were they members of marginalized
groups and victimized that day by discriminatory employers? Did their
reputations make them undesirable to employers? Were they self-avowed,
practicing homosexuals—or rumored to be? The text doesn’t say. And you know
what excites me? The landowner doesn’t ask! The only question this generous
employer asks is “Why haven’t you been working today?” The question is neither
judgmental nor accusatory. Instead, the question is inviting. “Go on out and
join the others in my vineyard,” the landowner says. The landowner does not
condemn the idle workers as lazy. The landowner does not shame the idle workers
by excluding them. The landowner does not add another rejection to the long
list of heartache each of these idle workers may have felt by the near end of
the fruitless workday. I wonder how many days these idle workers waited
hopelessly in the marketplace for someone to invite them to work. I wonder how
much pain and exclusion they felt. The text doesn’t say.
The text
does tell us, though, that the vineyard owner puts an end to the loneliness of
their unemployment. The landowner does not grill, interview, or discriminate.
Instead, the landowner invites the idle workers into the midst of the
landowner’s generous abundance. They are welcomed without condition or
reservation!
Perhaps the most exciting part of
this parable is also the most challenging. The parable, according to Rosemary
Dowsett, calls us to see ourselves as equals and realize that none of us is
superior to any other child of God. The last hired and the first hired all
receive an equal share of the landowner’s generosity. This passage suggests to
us that the systems of rank, power, and entitlement with which we are so
comfortable all disappear in God’s sight. We need to embrace that gift rather
than be offended by it. Eugene Boring says, “the parable deals with resentment
toward others who have received the grace one affirms in theory.” That’s worth
repeating: “this parable deals with resentment toward others who have received
the grace one affirms in theory.”
If you read our Discipline or have followed recent news
in the Reconciling Movement, you may know a thing or two about resentment
toward those who have received the grace we affirm in theory. In the New York
Conference, the Rev. Dr. Thomas Ogletree faces charges for officiating his
son’s wedding to another man. Here we come to yet another contradiction, for in
our United Methodist tradition, marriage is related to baptism. In “By Water
and the Spirit,” the official study of baptism approved by the General
Conference—sometimes, my friends, General Conference gets it right—we learn,
and I quote: “For the Church, the marriage covenant is grounded in the covenant
between God and God’s people into which Christians enter in their baptism.” Should
the Rev. Dr. Ogletree be allowed to baptize his son, but not later solemnize
his marriage? Dr. Ogletree recognizes what the United Methodist Church hasn’t
yet recognized: the owner of the vineyard has invited all to share in the
generosity of the owner’s love and grace. Predictably, there is grumbling from
those who resent that Dr. Ogletree extended that same grace to his son and now
son-in-law that he would extend to a heterosexual couple. Dr. Ogletree built a
bridge between a rite of the church and his son and now son-in-law, and he will
likely face a trial for his faithfulness because many resent in practice the
grace we all affirm in theory.
In another
heartbreaking case, just this past week the Southwest Texas Conference clergy
session voted to discontinue the candidacy of Mary Ann Kaiser, an openly
lesbian woman whose district recommended her to be interviewed by the Board of
Ordained Ministry. The board had not yet interviewed her, but nonetheless
suggested that the clergy session discontinue her. By a narrow vote, the clergy
session removed Ms. Kaiser from the ordination process. As I understand it, the
role of district committees on ministry, the Board of Ordained Ministry, and
the clergy session is to discern candidates’ calls to ministry and evidence of
spiritual fruit, not to function as gatekeepers who determine what others are
worth. I don’t know Ms. Kaiser, but I am heartened to know that the owner of
the vineyard has called, and she has responded. The owner of the vineyard has
already decided that Ms. Kaiser is worth just as much as the other workers,
even if the other workers grumble about it and try to vote her out.
The examples
could go on and on, each as heartbreaking as the last, the content changing
while the form stays the same. In each case, the church refuses to build a
bridge, or to extended the grace we affirm in theory. That, my friends, is
where we come in, and why I’m convinced that our role as Reconciling United
Methodists continues to be vitally important. It is our job to remind the
church that we are called to build a bridge to everywhere. As a church, we must
come to a time where we repent of the sin of thinking about any person or group
as “nowhere” or “nobody.” Those in the 5 o’clock crowd are being called to come
and work and share in an equal portion of God’s grace.
While most of us
in this room know there’s a such thing as a Christian left, and for the most
part, probably situate ourselves within it, it is important to remember that
many people within and beyond the United Methodist Church have never heard a
positive, faith-based message about lesbian and gay people. I keep thinking I’m
done having conversations where I’m the first gay and Christian identified
person my interlocutor has met, but it keeps happening, so that means there are
still people who don’t know what we affirm to be true: that God’s love includes
all, and all means all. I had the privilege this last semester to teach a class
called Multicultural Perspectives on Women in the United States. To my great
delight, the anthology the department used for the class included a few great
articles about feminist perspectives on religion, one about feminist Muslims,
and one by Dr. Gary David Comstock, who interviewed the pastor of a
multicultural and LGBTQ-inclusive Christian congregation. I liked Dr.
Comstock’s article, but nothing in it surprised me, and it could just as easily
be written by some of you in this room and the congregations of which you are a
part. Some of my students, though, thought the article was profound. One raised
her hand and said, “I have no interest at all in religion, but if I could find
a church like this, I might actually go!” The part of my spirit that identifies
as evangelical—in the capacious rather than narrowly defined political sense of
the term—wanted to stop class and say, “Really? If you’re serious, I have
recommendations!” I suspect many of you could tell similar stories, and I have
others like it that I could share. And we shouldn’t be surprised. We are part
of a tradition that believes in prevenient grace. If God is seeking us out even
when we are unaware or uninterested in God, of course people have a hunger for
the Gospel. But centuries of harmful teaching about human sexuality (not to
mention sexism, racism, classism, and colonialism) have eroded the church’s
credibility, so we have our work cut out of us.
As we work to offer the sort of
unconditional invitation modeled for us in the parable, I think we must hold
fast to the reasons we stay. I am often asked why I remain in the United
Methodist Church, and my answer is long and complex, but it always includes a
reflection on my baptism. I believe we get a glimpse of the church at its best
when we baptize an infant, marking her or him for inclusion in the beloved community
of God. A congregation makes vows to support that child’s faith journey as she
or he grows, and often the congregation sings, using the baby’s name in song, “God
claims you God helps you, protects you and loves you, too. We this day
do all agree a child of God you’ll always be.” I stay because the power of that sacrament is stronger than the Book
of Discipline. I stay because I saw the church at its best when I grew up
in a congregation that took seriously the vows it made at my baptism. I stay
because week by week, babies are baptized in United Methodist Churches all
around the world, and some day, about a tenth of those babies will grow up and
identity as LGBTQ, and they may also feel called to ministry in the church that
baptized them and nurtured them, or perhaps desire to get married by their
pastors and in their churches. Now that will hold true whether folks like us
stay in the church or whether we go elsewhere, so isn’t it better for those
babies if we stay? Those babies may not grow up in a denomination that truly
recognizes their full humanity in polity and practice, but that means they need
Reconciling United Methodists to build the bridge the church refuses to build,
to extend grace in practice rather than just in theory. Indeed, I stay for
those babies, and I stay because at my confirmation my pastor invited me to
touch water and remember my baptism, and then I made a vow to accept the
freedom and power God gives me to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in
whatever forms they present themselves. I didn’t know then that the church
itself would be one of those forms. But I know it doesn’t have to. I have seen
the church at its best, so I can’t give up on the church at its worst.
I have been encouraged on this journey of loving the church even while
trying to point out its sin by my scholarly work as a feminist rhetorician. My
dissertation project explored the sermons of women bishops who were firsts in
different ways. One chapter focused on Bishop Leontine Kelly, the first woman
bishop of color in the United Methodist Church or in any mainline denomination.
Bishop Kelly died last June at the age of 92, and I regret that I never got to
meet her, but I was privileged to travel to the archives at the Garrett
Evangelical Theological Seminary library, where Bishop Kelly donated all her
files. I learned a lot about Bishop Kelly, and when I say all her files—I do
mean all! She saved EVERYTHING, and that’s good for me. I read several dozen
sermons and articles authored by Kelly as well as a few articles and book
chapters written about her. As I understand it, one of Bishop Kelly’s goals as
a preacher and leader was convincing the United Methodist Church that racism
and sexism were sinful systems from which we as a church needed to repent. One
story in particular seems to be a favorite of hers, as it comes up again and
again. When she was a child, Leontine moved with her family to Cincinnati when
her father was appointed as the pastor of the Calvary Methodist Episcopal
Church. She and her siblings were impressed with the beautiful big building and
its support beams made from imported Italian wood, its crystal chandeliers, and
its noted history as the church where U.S. President William Henry Harrison was
married. The more important feature of the church, though, was its history in
social justice that Leontine and her brothers found in the basement. Kelly
says,
“Around the kitchen table of Calvary Church parsonage, my father made
historical, biblical, and theological wholeness for me. This church had
evidently been a station of the Underground Railway, he told us. Cincinnati was
on the Mason-Dixon Line and to imagine slaves being brought to this church
located so near the Ohio River was believable. Fugitive slave laws encouraged
people to seek any escaped slaves in order to collect rewards, and Cincinnati
was filled with persons of this nature. … ‘The witness of this church,’ [my
father] said, ‘is not in its gothic architecture, or its crystal chandeliers or
its social standing. The true witness of this church is in the cellar beneath
us. Perhaps some of our forebears were held here.’ We imagined the great
services, the inspired preaching, the biblical understanding that encouraged
people to take such a risk of justice. We saw the church as a way station, a
place of renewal of strength, a law that superseded the unjust structures of
human government. We understood that justice need never stand suspended, but
can freely move like streams of water to thirsty people.”
Now as I said, I never knew Bishop Kelly, so I didn’t have a chance to
ask why she used that story so often, but as a person trained to study messages
and notice patterns, I would argue that she used that story because it was an
example of a time when the church got it right—when the church deliberately
defied the law of the land to uphold the more important law of love. Bishop
Kelly knew from a young age that the church could do better. In that basement,
she saw the church at its best, and she used that story to encourage the church
of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries to go and do and be likewise.
My friends, let’s make the church the church at its best. Let’s be the
church at its best! The United Methodist Church says LGBTQ people are a
“nowhere” or a “nobody,” but we are called to build a bridge to everywhere,
leaving no one out. The United Methodist Church wants to grumble that the owner
of the vineyard invites all to share in the generosity of God’s grace, but that
doesn’t thwart God’s generosity. I agree with Bishop Kelly: justice need never
stand suspended. By God’s grace, may we make it so. Amen.
. . .
Leland G. Spencer IV, a lifelong United Methodist, holds a PhD in communication studies from the University of Georgia, where he teaches classes in communication and women's studies. Leland holds an M.A. in Communication from the University of Cincinnati (2009). While in Cincinnati, Leland served as the worship intern at the Wesley Foundation. Leland is a 2007 graduate of Mount Union College, a United Methodist-related school in Alliance, Ohio. Leland served as a part-time local pastor at Mapleton United Methodist Church in the East Ohio Conference from 2005 until 2007 when Leland withdrew from the candidacy process because of the United Methodist Church's exclusive position about the ordination of LGB persons.