As a kid, perhaps you recall your parents warning you about various dangers to life and limb by telling you stories of bad things that happened to other children if they misbehaved or used poor judgment. I remember many of these stories and to this day, I still observe a little extra caution if I don’t observe “the moral of the story.” For instance, I remember my dad telling me a curious story about how a boy lost his left hand as a cautionary tale about the danger of sticking my hand out the car window while we were in motion. Then there was a scary story about a girl who drowned because her muscles became cramped. Apparently, the moral of that story was that it’s not a good idea to go swimming immediately after eating lunch. We can probably recall many such stories, right?
There isn’t much nuance to a cautionary tale. One begins with the rule prohibiting certain behaviors, followed by the defiance of the rule, and then the penalty. I don’t know if any research has been done about the effectiveness of this kind of storytelling in influencing behavior, but I would guess key factors would include the openness and receptivity of the listener (along with a healthy capacity for fear), the level of trust between the storyteller and the audience, and the believability of the story. In the case of stories that involve moral principles, such as treating one’s neighbor as we would like to be treated, the story must not only appeal to our fears of punishment, but our informed conscience, values, and the sometimes idealized person we believe ourselves to be.
One might wonder, why would anyone bother to tell a story at all? Why not just state plainly what dangers or consequences await us when we disobey a rule, or use poor judgment? I don’t know about you, but for some reason, that kind of rational approach seems to miss the mark. If you tell me not to do something, even if the caution is perfectly sensible, I might still try it just so I can learn for myself. Maybe you understand this impulse in yourself?
But a story does many things that a simple, reasoned statement or directive cannot do. It involves the listener by engaging the imagination, enlisting a person to place themselves in the story in order that they might learn vicariously through what happens to others. A cautionary tale appeals to one’s sensitivities, the capacity for empathy, and openness to new perspectives. For a cautionary tale to work, it must be able to illuminate blind spots that are formed by biases, or by our ego’s attachments, and it needs to engage the heart in a way that plays upon our conscience, and affections, softening our willfulness.
Where am I going with this? Clearly, Jesus is using these parables of the vineyard as cautionary tales. He is trying to help the Pharisees and scribes see how their resistance to his teaching is repeating an old pattern, a pattern of stubbornness, arrogance, and ironically, of disobedience to the very God whom they profess to worship. He loves them as much as any of us, and wants them to understand their error in order to enlist them as the proper stewards of his Father’s vineyard. But despite the many stories that Jesus tells them, instead of seeing themselves in those disobedient vineyard laborers, or of recognizing that Jesus is the prophet messiah that they have been awaiting, their resistance becomes more entrenched. Like the Pharaoh of old, they become blind and willfully hard of heart to even a divine appeal. There is something so tragic about their inability to reckon with the truth, that despite their rigid obedience to the Law and their obsession with purity, that they have lost their way.
At some point, Jesus must reckon with his failure to win over the hearts and minds of his audience, and either move on to those more receptive to his message, or perhaps to try a very different approach. In fact, he does both. In so doing, he widens his mission beyond the Chosen people. And he stops telling stories, but instead presents the ultimate parable through the dramatic gestures of the Paschal mystery, a symbolic language of sacrificial offering, death, and redemption. If this won’t work in turning their hearts, then nothing will.
But still, there are those who are entirely obstinate to Jesus’ message, his warnings, his ultimate gift of love. We might ask ourselves, who are we in the parables of the greedy and obstinate vineyard laborers? Who are the prophets speaking to us today? What conversions are we called to make for our own good, and for the good of the whole?
I’ve been pondering a lot of the threats and warnings that we’re hearing these days. There are so many, it’s hard to discern which ones we should be paying attention to, let alone what to do about them. Some of these threats play upon very basic fears for personal survival, for our sense of identity, belonging and worth. I’m not denying that these are important, of course. There are also warnings about the future of humanity given the potentially catastrophic developments of technology, the millions of species whose lives are threatened by global warming, and the existential threats posed by escalating and widening wars. Heavy, I know.
But like the Pharisees and scribes, we have to make some choices about how we attend to these threats and warnings. Yes, we could go on about our business as if none of these issues are our problem, or are within our control. That is a choice in itself. Or we can simply grasp even more desperately to hold on to the status quo, protecting ourselves from change, from letting go of even the very broken way things are now. But is that who we are?
As discerning leaders, where do we begin? We might start with gauging the credibility of the messengers, distinguishing manipulation rooted in self-interest from genuine concern for us and for the greater good of both our human and non-human world. This requires us to have open eyes and critical minds, capable of rational, evidence based reasoning. We must both
“trust and verify,” in order not to be misled by wolves in sheep’s clothing. We must seek out credible sources and discern motivations, something that no artificial intelligence can do for us.
It also requires us to have open hearts, capable of holding the tensions between what is good for us and for everyone else. How do we keep our hearts open with empathy, compassion, and care, despite all the examples of cynicism, indifference, and cruelty? We might in fact ask ourselves, how far does my compassion stretch, and what more does God ask in my inclusion of care for others? What kind of person am I and do I want to be, when I know in my bones that love is the ultimate purpose of my life? How is Jesus’ prophetic call to mercy and justice inviting me beyond my comfort zone, and helping me extend my love in action toward those I have overlooked? God has also entrusted his vineyard to each of us, perfectly imperfect as we are, and believes in our capacity to co-labor with his son in bringing about flourishing and fruitfulness for the benefit of all.
A discerning response to Jesus’ prophetic call requires us to have a will that is open to the ways that God wants to use us for a greater purpose on behalf of the Kingdom. This Kingdom is the ultimate alternative vision to the apocalyptic world that so many suggest lies ahead of us. This is the prophecy we can believe in, because it is from the Source who would spare nothing for us to know his love for us.
With you on the road, siblings in Christ,
