Author
Unknown September 22, 1996
Snyder
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Matthew
20:1-16
I heard the rooster crow for the third
time. I knew dawn was about to break,
so I got out of bed and climbed to the roof to where my brother-in-law was
sleeping in the cool night air. I tried
to rouse him, but he slept on, snoring.
The very earliest light illuminated his face as it did my own. I thought about what different men the
sunlight was falling on. I couldn't
remember a day in my life -- except for sabbaths -- when I slept past
dawn. I doubt my brother-in-law had
ever seen the dawn, unless it was through the bleary eyes of a man just going
to bed after drinking all night.
I had told him the night before that the
harvest would be at its peak this morning and I expected him to get up with me
and see if we could both get hired to work in the fields. It was the one day of the year when there
was more work than there were people to do it, and even my brother-in-law could
get a job. He started to complain about
his back, but I glared at him and he shut up.
I'll give my wife credit. She
backed me up. She told the lazy
good-for-nothing to do what I said. But
here he was, dead to the world. I didn't have time to wake him and wait for him
to get dressed and come with me. I'd let my wife sort that out later.
I climbed down the ladder and walked down
the street to the center of town. I was irritated to see that one or two others
had arrived before I did. I liked to be
the first man there every morning. I
was known as the hardest worker in the town.
I cursed my brother-in-law for delaying me. It didn't really matter.
The landowners had not arrived yet.
I was surprised, however, that one did come hurrying in just as a couple
of other men arrived. I pushed myself
to the front of the group, but didn't need to.
He asked us all if we wanted to work.
He needed all of us. I told him
that we would work if he paid each of us one denarius for a day's wage. That was usual, so he agreed and we went
with him.
The dew had burned off as we bent over the
stalks of grain, swinging our scythes and binding our sheaves. We were not unhappy when, a couple of hours
later, the landowner left and returned with some more harvesters to help us. I noticed, however, that my brother-in-law
was not among them.
The sun rose to its zenith and we broke for
the midday meal. More harvesters joined us and we worked slowly through the hot
afternoon, but the field was far from done.
The sun now is low in the sky and we see
the worried landowner leave again and soon he returns with more people. My brother-in-law is among them. I wonder where the landowner found
them. They are the ones who have never
done an honest day's work in their lives.
I watch out of the corner of my eye as the landowner hands them
harvesting knives and they take them uneasily into their hands. I see them walking warily out into the
field. They look around trying to
figure out what they are supposed to do.
My brother-in-law watches me for a moment as I swing my knife and cut a
swath of grain -- the stalks fall smoothly all in one direction.
He tries to swing his harvest knife the way
I am doing it. He's at the wrong angle
though. The knife twists and falls out
of his hand. He picks up his knife and
tries it again. This time he hits too
high on the stalk. The grains shake loose and fall to the ground, of use only
to the widows and orphans who will descend upon the field at nightfall to pick
up the smallest grains from the ground.
Although there is little use in it, my brother-in-law begins chopping at
the base of the stalks of grain like a woodsman cutting a tree with an
axe. While I carefully gather my
bundle of grain in my arms to tie it into a sheaf, he is faced with stalks that
have fallen every which way, like a child's game of pick-up-sticks. It will take him what's left of the daylight
to pick up that mess and tie it up, all for only a handful of grain.
I move on shaking my head. How do such people survive? I wonder. Of course, I know how my brother-in-law
survives. When we were boys, we were in
the synagogue school together. He
always tried to copy my letters. Whenever
he was called upon to read from the scriptures he complained of a sore
throat. I knew the rabbi didn't believe
him, but the boy knew so little that it pained the rabbi to hear him try to
read the holy book. Nevertheless, I
often heard the rabbi praise the boy's work to his mother. I think the rabbi felt sorry for her. Her husband drank too much wine and her life
was hard. I was no scholar, but I
tried. I did my best. I got what I deserved -- no more and no
less.
For most of his life, my brother-in-law
survived because his mother fed him and provided him with a home. When his mother died, his sister -- my wife
-- took him in. I was ashamed of my
brother-in-law, but my wife has borne me so many sons, I say nothing. I often
think about how fortunate I was to learn the hard lessons of life early. No one took care of me when I was old
enough to work. I had to earn my way
before I was fully grown. The toughness
of life made me a man who asks for nothing except a fair day's wage for a fair
day's work.
Finally, the fields were cleared. The sheaves were set up on the threshing
floor. There would be work tomorrow for
those willing to beat the heads of grain off the stalks and throw the straws in
the air to be carried off in the breeze.
I would be there. But I doubt
the landowner would hire my brother-in-law no matter how shorthanded he was. I
saw the landowner eyeing the one sheaf of grain my brother-in-law managed to
tie together.
The landowner told the foreman to line us
up in the order we had been hired.
This was usual and so I went to the front where I always did. The foreman knew me and said, "Not today, Avram. He wants the last hired to be
first." Probably wants to chew
them out and send them off with nothing, I thought. So I shrugged and went to the end of the line. I resented this little game. I had been on my feet all day and I wanted
to be paid and go home.
The landowner called his steward, who was
carrying a bag of money. The steward
told those in front to step forward one-by-one and pressed a coin into each
one's hand. I assumed it might be a
penny or two. I didn't pay much
attention, until my brother-in-law stepped forward, received his pay and then
let out a whoop and ran to the back of the line and said, "See, Avram, a whole denarius!"
I think it was the first time anyone had
ever paid him a day's wage in his life.
Too bad he hadn't earned it. I
assumed the landowner was desperate and the last bunch he had hired had driven
a hard bargain, but my brother-in-law said they hadn't haggled at all. The landowner hadn't promised to pay them
at all. He just invited them to work in
the fields. "Nobody ever hired me
before, Avram!" he said.
His gratitude to the landowner was touching
-- and well-deserved. The landowner
certainly hadn't gotten much in exchange for his denarius. My mood lightened, too. I figured the
landowner was in a good mood. He was
inclined to be generous and, if he was fair, I ought to make about 10 times as
much as my brother-in-law. So, when the
steward called my name, I didn't just hold out an empty palm to receive a coin,
because I expected the steward would pour out much of what was left in the bag.
But no! The steward took out only one denarius and dropped it into my cupped
hands.
"What is this?" I asked the steward.
"It is your pay," he said.
"But I worked all day!" I cried.
The landowner heard me and came over and
asked what was wrong. I told him that I
and the men who were left had worked since dawn and we were being paid only one
denarius.
"Isn't that what we agreed to?"
asked the landowner.
I admitted it was, but I said it was not
fair that the men who had worked all day in the heat of the sun should be paid
the same as those who only dawdled for an hour in the cool of the evening.
The landowner asked me whose land I had
worked on. I told him it was his. He pointed to his bag of money and asked who
it belonged to. I admitted that it
belonged to him.
"If I want to be generous, I will be
generous," he said. "Now take
your pay and go home."
So I did.
I smoldered as I walked down the road listening to my brother-in-law
laughing and thanking God for having received a whole denarius. To add to my mood, it began to rain
gently. My brother-in-law raised up his
arms and thanked God for the rain, talking about how refreshing it was, how
cool it felt after all that work.
"All that work!" He had hardly broken a sweat. The rain only made me steam like a hot
rock.
Finally, my brother-in-law noticed my mood
and quieted down. He asked me why I
was angry.
I said, "Because I have to put up with
a fool like you, because I have a wife and five sons and I not only have to
feed them but I have to put food in your useless mouth as well -- because I got
up before dawn this morning and worked all day for the same pay that you got --
because I am going to work hard all my life and you are going to play all your
life and when we get done, our bodies will be rolled into the same hole in the
ground."
While I was talking, the rain came down
harder. It was running in our eyes. It
was rolling off our ears. Our hair and clothes were sopping wet. Suddenly, I saw myself and heard myself as
if I were another person. I saw my
face covered with rain as if I had been crying all my life. I heard my mournful voice talking about my
body being rolled into a hole in the ground.
I began to laugh.
My brother-in-law looked at me in
astonishment. "Avram," he said finally, "I've never heard you
laugh before."
I considered this for a moment. He was right. Oh, I had laughed with a fatherly "ho-ho-ho" when one
of my children did something that pleased me.
I had come close to real laughter on my wedding day, but I didn't want
to be even more the butt of my groomsmen's jokes than I already was. I had laughed with derision when I saw my
brother-in-law trying to cut wheat; but I had never laughed freely, joyously --
for no reason. I could understand my
brother-in-law's consternation. Here I
was, the most serious, uncompromising, rigid, and, yes, angry person he knew,
laughing my head off while standing soaking wet in the rain.
"What's so funny?" he asked.
"You," I said. "Me. Look at us.
Did you ever see such different people?" My brother-in-law looked
at me closely.
"No," he said. "No two men
could be more different from each other than you and I are, Avram. You are always up at the crack of dawn. I sleep all morning. You work hard all day. I don't even know how to work. My sister loves you. People look at me with contempt. You have five strong sons. I have no one."
"Not true," I said. "That's not entirely true,
brother. My family is yours as
well."
"Avram," my brother-in-law asked,
"have you lost your mind?"
"Maybe," I laughed, "but I
think I have found my soul. Look at us,
brother. Two men so different, yet look
at the same rain falling on us both.
And didn't the same sun warm our backs today? Mine bent over in the
field and yours curled up in a blanket on the roof."
"I still don't understand," he
said. "What does the sun and the rain have to do with it?" By this time the rain was letting up and the
sky was clearing in the west.
"Tell me, again, brother," I
asked. "What did the landowner
tell you he was going to give you if you would come to work for him for that
last hour?"
"He didn't promise us anything,"
my brother-in-law said. "He just
asked us if we would come and work for him."
"And you didn't bargain with
him?" I asked. "None of your
friends said to the landowner, 'what's it worth to you' or 'what do we get out
of it?' "
He shook his head, "I guess we were so
surprised to be asked to work, we didn't even think about what we would get
paid."
I laughed.
"That's the way you have lived your life," I said. "And this morning I bargained to work
for a whole day for one denarius, because that is the way I have lived my whole
life. My whole life is a bargain. Everything is supposed to be a fair
exchange. Your sister bore me five
sons, so I put up with you. I work
harder than any other man in town and I should get paid first. I am honest and keep the sabbath and honor
my father and mother and so God should bless me and I should go to
heaven."
"Yes, Avram," said my
brother-in-law, "and I and my friends will go to the place of
torment."
"Really?" I said with mock interest. "Tell me about this place of
torment."
My brother-in-law didn't understand that I
was joking because he answered seriously: "It is a terrible place -- like
the town garbage dump, where the fire burns forever and people like me are
eaten by maggots. Some say it is on the
other side of a bottomless canyon from heaven.
Others say that heaven is a beautiful city and hell is a lake of fire
outside the city gates."
"So, if I go to heaven," I said,
"I can watch you burning in this lake of fire?"
My brother-in-law said seriously, "The
teachers say that part of the joy of heaven is seeing the sufferings of the
unfaithful."
"In other words," I said,
"there wouldn't be any fun in going to heaven if nobody went to
hell."
My brother-in-law looked at me
cautiously. "What are you saying,
Avram?"
"I'm saying, where is this
God?" I replied. "Where is this God who sorts out
everyone so fairly and rewards some and punishes others? Do you see a God like
that anywhere in this world, brother? Do you see fairness all around you? Is the sunshine fair? Does it
only shine on the good people while the bad walk in darkness? Is the rain fair? Does it just water the believer's garden and stop at the fence of
the unbeliever? Is death fair? Do only bad
people die?"
My brother-in-law only blinked at me. The
answer to these questions was so obvious.
"Who sends the sunshine and the rain,
brother?" I asked. "Who decides when we shall live and
when we shall die?"
Again, my brother-in-law blinked at me,
because the answer was obvious.
"God is like the landowner," I
said. By this time the setting sun had
broken through the clouds and in the east we saw one of the brightest rainbows
I ever saw in my life.
"But, Avram," my brother-in-law
protested, "the landowner wasn't fair.
He wasn't just. God is a God of
justice."
"How did you feel," I asked,
"when the landowner gave you a denarius for your work?"
My brother-in-law thought for a
moment. "I felt like I didn't
deserve it, but I was very grateful. It
was more than I dreamed of receiving. I
. . . I felt happy," he said finally.
"That's how I feel about that
rainbow," I said. "And I
never felt that way about a rainbow before.
I'm not sure I ever really looked at one before. Can you see it, brother?" I asked.
"Of course I can see it, Avram,"
he said.
"Well, I'm astonished and angry,"
I said with a laugh. "A lazy
good-for-nothing like you shouldn't be able to see that beautiful rainbow. That should only be for us good people. Why
should you get to see it? You didn't
earn it."
"You didn't earn it either,
Avram," he said angrily. He
didn't get the joke.
"Of course, I didn't earn it,
brother," I said. "No one
earns the right to see a rainbow. No
one earns the right to be loved. No one
earns the right to have a child. No one
earns the sunshine and the rain. I'm
not even sure I earned this denarius," I said, tossing the coin in the air
and catching it. "I only know that
having it means that we will have bread on the table tomorrow. After that, I'll have to trust in God to
take care of me, the way you trust me to take care of you."
"But, Avram," he said, "I think I know what you are talking
about now. If people don't think they
can earn things, why would they work?"
"Because they like to," I said.
"Heaven knows, I must like to, I do enough of it."
"I liked it, too, Avram. It felt good to be in the fields with the
others. I've always envied you having
someplace to go -- having a purpose."
"Sometimes it's too much of a
purpose," I said. "Other
things are important, too."
"Avram," my brother-in-law said,
"if I went with you tomorrow to the threshing floor, would you show me how
to do the things you know how to do?"
"Sure," I said.
"Great!" he said excitedly. "I'll be up before dawn."
"Well," I said, "you may
have to wait. Tomorrow morning, I’m
gonna sleep in."