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Joe Hollenbach, Parables, guest post
Joe Hollenbach, Parables, guest post Entries in guest post (2)
The Parable of the Glum Bums
Saturday, November 26, 2011 at 12:03AM 
My son, Joe Hollenbach, is an immensely talented writer with a voice all his own. The wellspring of his rich imagination runs deep; you can find a store of refreshing stories at his blog, which has lain dormant for a season--but perhaps you can urge him onward in this pursuit, because the world will be poorer without hearing his stories.
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I’ll admit it: I’m as self-entitled a person as the world has known.
Only moments after speaking eternal promises to one another and to the Lord, I turned to my new bride as we walked back up the aisle and said, “Just remember, what’s yours is now mine and what’s mine is still mine.” Four years later and she knows I was only half-kidding.
When my Dad asked for a quick-hitter on the parable of my choosing, I hemmed and hawed to myself before admitting the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard was right up my alley.
The synopsis goes like this: a landowner goes out early in the morning looking for farm hands to toil in his vineyard. He grabs a group of guys, (presumably strapping dudes) establishes their pay and sets them to their task. As the day progresses, the vintner continues to hire more workers: some at noon, more in the afternoon, and even a few right before sundown, at which point he cuts all the hired hands a check of equal pay. This nettled those who toiled since sunrise and they caved to their frustration with fits of grumbles. The landlord tells them to quit griping as they’ve been rewarded with the payment they agreed upon, further explaining it’s no concern of theirs if he decides to be generous with his riches. Read it for yourself, though. Matthew 20:1-16. Don’t worry. I’ll wait for you.
All caught up? Excellent. Let’s dive in.
The obvious (and worn) interpretation of this passage is easily identifiable. It speaks of the goodness of Jesus and his unyielding pursuit to bless all of us. Regardless of when we come to the Lord, he loves us with the same tenacity as the next. It’s an awfully good thing, isn’t it?
But there are so many layers to this parable that just get white-washed. Yes, the concept that Jesus-loves-you-and-wants-you-to-have-nice-things is killer, but what lays beneath the surface level? The part of this passage that most resonates with me is the attitude of the early morning employee. The interaction of those grumblers with the landlord speaks volumes to me, personally. It serves as an admonition to those of us that might let cynicism and self-importance cloud the larger scheme.
In life, I almost always find myself mired in the morning laborer’s frame of mind: Disgruntled, envious, and consumed with concept that the world has it out for me. Like I tell everyone, “I’m an optimist, but I do wear a rain coat.”
If you’re like me, a hopeless Eeyore, I’d like to share what speaks to me from this parable. Trust me; there are plenty of reasons for us to be glad:
- To live in God’s economy is to operate in generosity and prosperity – and the Lord’s currency never depreciates. It’s always a good time to buy stock in His love and provision. It’s a limitless wealth. What he gives, and the amount we receive, comes from the generosity of his heart toward us. This is a concept I still cannot fully comprehend. I doubt I ever will. Whenever someone experiences a season of success or reward, I hate to admit it but I have to remind myself to be glad for them. The Kingdom of Heaven is nothing like capitalism, thankfully. The prosperity of others does not come at my expense, yours, or anyone’s.
- The master works hard, too - In the narrative, we see the landowner is constantly in motion, morning until dusk, finding new hands – and all of his work is to our benefit! With each addition, the burden lightens and the distribution of the work becomes less daunting for those already in the fold. We are uplifted as the numbers strengthen. This is part of the abundance of Jesus.
- Hard work delivers a satisfying harvest – In truth, I’ve not yet found anything more exhausting than being committed to a community of fellow believers. Conversely, nothing else compares to the fruits that the Church delivers. Life is meant to be spent in communion: messy, achy, back-breaking communion. The same people that offend you and wear you down will undoubtedly inspire you and lift you up. Our identity comes into a sharper focus when in healthy communion with God and his children. There’s an inexplicable, twisted symmetry to it all. Delight in it. It’s family-living and it bears a fruit sweeter than any imagining.
- His land is beautiful – it’s a quaint observation, but have you ever spent time in a Vineyard? It’s breathtaking. If you haven’t, no worries. Rent A Walk in the Clouds and you’ll understand the beauty. It takes a spirit hell-bent on negativity and a mind eaten alive with self-absorption to not appreciate the glory of God’s creation. To be completely practical, when I feel taken advantage of it puts me off all mirth; I have trouble doing much more than pout. I live in the central Kentucky, surrounded by palatial farm manors, thoroughbreds of dappled chestnut and misty grey, and autumns so deep with reds and oranges they leave you breathless. And yet all these arresting visuals and natural wonders fall aside when I fixate on how the world is out to slight me. When we focus on self-pity, we’re robbing ourselves of the vision of His Kingdom.
November is a great month to re-order your perspective. Some people prefer the start of a new year for drastic endeavors, but Thanksgiving demands reflection upon the good and decent endowments in our lives. I hope you’ll all take this holiday weekend as an opportunity to commit to gratitude and gladness.
The Parable of Missing the Point
Saturday, November 19, 2011 at 12:07AM 
I'm thrilled to launch a new feature at Students of Jesus. Each Saturday you'll meet a guest-posting genius holding forth on one of the 46 parables found in the gospels. Despite popular opinion, parables were not simple stories told to make things easy to understand. Jesus used parables to shake our world view, and perhaps occasionally to destroy the wisdom of the wise. Come wrestle with us.
Sarah Cunningham is a disarming person. She describes herself as a "skinny white girl," but behind the self-deprecation are observant eyes and a sharp mind. She's the internationally-known author of two books and one child, who apparently rules the household. You can find her work at Amazon or at her website, SarahCunningham.org.
When Ray asked a group of us to talk about parables, my mind immediately raced to the familiar parable of the talents found in Matthew 25.
This came to mind first for less than noble reasons. Not because I’m particularly inspired by the message, but because I’m particularly un-inspired by the way Sunday School tends to deliver the message up.
You know the story, as it starts in verse 14.
The master has to go to a far off place, so he leaves his servants with “talents”—talents being not “skills”, as we read the word, but an ancient unit of money.
The master then returns and—good news—two of the servants have invested wisely and doubled their money. But the third guy buried his in an apparent fit of paranoia, and didn’t do squat with what he was given.
The traditional telling I’ve heard umpteen times, and maybe you’ve heard too, is don’t bury your talent. Let it shine. If it’s told in Sunday School, it wraps neatly into a segué to This Little Light of Mine.
But this telling short-changes the actual passage, in my only-sometimes-humble opinion, and is a good example of how we sometimes accidentally flatten the Scriptures by pulling verses out of context and wielding them like individual fairy tales.
Panning out to the bigger picture gives us an expanded reading that is way more compelling and impressive than the two-bit morality tale.
Consider the following clues:
- Matthew is writing this book to a Jewish audience to try to convince them that Jesus is the Messiah they’ve been waiting for. That’s why, in Chapter 1, he starts the genealogy with Abraham and builds forward through King David to Jesus. Hint, hint, Jews. Follow the family tree.
- Right before this parable, organized in the same chapter, is the parable of the ten virgins. Just like the servants were awaiting their master, this story too is about people awaiting a man, the Bridegroom. And just like in the talent story, some of the people are prepared for the Bridegroom to come (they have oil), but some are caught unprepared
- Right after this parable is another story about people who were or were not prepared to recognize what was important. The king praises some for caring for the disadvantaged, saying that when they did this, it was as if they were caring for the king himself. Once again, though, there are some who looked at the disadvantaged and never took the opportunity to care for the king.
- The parable of the talents ends with the Master separating the servants. Two are praised and told to enter into the joy of the Lord. The other one is sent out to the place where there is weeping and gnashing of teeth. This seems like a subtle clue that something more than talent, something eternally big, is at stake in the story.
When we put all this together, I begin to doubt that the parable is about using your talent for God at all.
I think Matthew—who wanted to convince the Jews Jesus was the long awaited Messiah—told three stories in a row about people who missed the King for an entirely different reason.
The Jews were missing Jesus right in front of them.
And that’s why in verse 29, he says that some of the people who “have” (the carriers of the faith, “chosen” Israel?) will lose.
Even though I think the “don’t bury your talent” in the ground version is cute, and metaphorically a wise principle, it frustrates me because it ends with the wrong question.
I don’t think we’re supposed to read Matthew 25 and ask ourselves if we’re using our talent for God.
Or at least I don’t think that’s the main thing.
I think we should ask ourselves if we—the carriers of the faith, the modern day church—and our religious practices are so empty that we wouldn’t see Jesus if he was starving right in front of us.