This is one of my favorites of Jesus’ parables. Some of the parables are obscure and hard to understand; this isn’t one of those. What we say is one thing, what we do is another, and what counts most is what we do.
That first son, who said ‘no’ but eventually did his father’s will, we’ll forgive his initial reaction. He came around, he did the right thing. He said the wrong thing, but he did the right thing. That other son, who said, “oh sure, absolutely” and then acted against his word... that’s not the sort of person you want to be.
I suppose there’s some attraction to the fantasy that salvation is simply a matter of saying the right thing. “I’m a Christian.” “I believe in Jesus Christ.” “I accept Jesus as my Lord and Savior.” But Jesus isn’t Lord of your life just because you say so. He’s Lord of your life because of what you do. Christianity isn’t a club you join that issues a ticket to heaven with membership. Christianity is a way of life. Even before our religion was called Christianity, it was called “the Way.”
In those early days, nobody had to ask if they only called themselves Christians or if they really lived it. There was no danger of being Christian only by lip service, for one very good reason: because the moment you called yourself a Christian, your life was at risk. You didn’t say it unless you were willing to die for it.
You know as well as I do that that’s not just ancient history. There are people at Mass this morning of September 28th who are risking their lives to do what we’re doing right now. There are many more who accept lesser persecutions of every kind for the name of Christ.
You and I call ourselves Christians with comparatively little cost. You’d say none at all, compared to Christians in many places. But it isn’t exactly none. We come to crossroads in our lives when doing the Christian thing does bear some cost. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it counts compared to deadly persecutions, but it counts. Let’s be humble enough to offer our little. We come to those crossroads when doing the Christian thing means passing up something extremely attractive, painfully attractive, perhaps something we feel like we can’t live without. We come to those crossroads when doing the Christian thing risks losing people’s respect or esteem or friendship, when it means there’ll be less money, when it means we can’t have something we want badly, when it brings an inconvenience that is hard to bear. Sure, it seems like nothing compared to the suffering of Christians in Kurdistan or Cairo, but it’s not nothing. It’s at those crossroads that you find out who you really are.
Jesus’ parable sets before us two sons, one who talks a big game but doesn’t come through, and one who seems like a rebel but makes good in the end. Maybe somebody looks back on his or her life and thinks, “I’ve failed so many times, I’ve done all this bad stuff, so I guess this means I’m hopeless, because whatever I might say, my life shows otherwise.” Listen, please: that is not the moral of this parable! Because we keep reading, and Jesus continues, telling the Pharisees, “tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Kingdom of Heaven before you!”
It’s not about having a perfect record. It’s about letting Christ get to work on you. We call that conversion, and it takes the rest of your life. It takes getting in line with the tax collectors and prostitutes and everybody else who’s trying to let Christ change them. Remember last week’s parable, and the latecomers who were given a full day’s wage. Remember today’s parable, and the invitation that is always open to go into the Father’s vineyard.
And let’s all remember, please, and pour our hearts out in prayer, for our brothers and sisters who are risking their lives to sit in a pew and hear the Word and pray the Eucharistic Prayer and receive Communion, just like we do. They risk their lives for something we do, if we’re honest, sometimes casually and ungratefully. May God grant them strength, and may their witness convert many hearts. Maybe even their persecutors. Maybe even us too.
In those early days, nobody had to ask if they only called themselves Christians or if they really lived it. There was no danger of being Christian only by lip service, for one very good reason: because the moment you called yourself a Christian, your life was at risk. You didn’t say it unless you were willing to die for it.
And let’s all remember, please, and pour our hearts out in prayer, for our brothers and sisters who are risking their lives to sit in a pew and hear the Word and pray the Eucharistic Prayer and receive Communion, just like we do. They risk their lives for something we do, if we’re honest, sometimes casually and ungratefully. May God grant them strength, and may their witness convert many hearts. Maybe even their persecutors. Maybe even us too.
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