Mercy, not sacrifice

Today’s Gospel appears to be quite self-evident – a father and two sons. Each son is asked to work in the father’s vineyard. One refuses, and then goes away. The other says, “Yes sir, it will be done,” but never does. Which of them was obedient?

The application? The really obedient among the Jews were not the religious leaders,  but the ungodly tax collectors and prostitutes. They will enter God’s kingdom; the high and the mighty will not.

The trouble is, this is a passage, a little piece cut out of proper context of the Gospels  for the 26th  Sunday  of the Church year.  

It only makes Gospel sense, regains its richness,  if you consider the whole context.

So first, let’s put the parable back into the Gospel context. The parable of the Two Sons belongs to a special group –  parables that tell us not only that God has come to save us,  but that the Savior has come for the poor,  that Jesus has come to save sinners. It belongs to the parables of mercy.  

Remember the shepherd who loses one sheep,  leaves the other 99 in the fields and  goes after the one that has strayed:  “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over 99 righteous persons who need no repentance.”  

And the woman who loses one silver coin,  forgets about the rest of her money,  lights a lamp, sweeps the house frantically till she finds it:  “Just so… there is joy among the angels of God over one sinner who repents.”  

Remember the Pharisee and the tax collector in the temple. And now the two sons: “Truly, I say to you, the tax collectors and the prostitutes go into the kingdom of God before you.”

The significant fact about these parables of mercy is that  each of them was addressed to the opponents of Jesus:  murmuring scribes, grumbling Pharisees, critical theologians,  and here today, members of the Sanhedrin.  

These are enemies of the Gospel,  indignant that Jesus should assert that God cares about sinners,  incensed that he would eat with people they despised.

What does he tell them? These sinners, these people you despise, are nearer to God than you. They may have disobeyed God’s call;  their professions have de-humanize them;  but they have shown sorrow and repentance.  

More than that, they are the people  who can appreciate God’s goodness;  they have what the critics of Jesus lack:  a deep gratitude to God for His goodness.

It’s a strong lesson, strongly phrased. Those who should have been the leading candidates for entry into God’s kingdom are precisely those who are in danger of not getting in at all.  

Pharisees, models of observance, whose lifeblood was the Law of Moses,  who knew the law thoroughly and followed it exactly:  Sabbath and feast days, ritual purity, tithing, dietary rules –613 imperatives.  

The scribes, lawyers and teachers of the law,  devoted to its study and exposition;  the members of the Sanhedrin, the supreme council and tribunal of the Jews; these people will watch the lowliest of the lowly parading into the kingdom,  and they will be standing outside scratching their beards,  wondering what happened.

What did go wrong? Precisely here is the meaning of the parable for all Christians.  

The people with power, the people with knowledge, were sure they were  upright, righteous, right with God.   Why? Because they know the law and they kept it – to the last detail.  If anything was prescribed, they knew it and did it exactly.

Everything – save one thing;  everything – save the most important thing. What Jesus said to the Pharisees: “Go, and learn what this means:  ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’”  

Of course the sacrifices in the temple were important;  God Himself had prescribed them. But when the Jews’ burnt offerings took precedence  over burning injustice, when temple observance kept them from providing for the fatherless  and aiding the stranger,  from defending the downtrodden and protecting the poor,  their sacrifices became an “abomination” to the Lord. Yes, an abomination.

And so for us Christians, faith of course is precious to us;  it is our response to God’s revealing of Himself. But, to echo the letter of James,  “What does it profit, my brothers and sisters,  if a man says he has faith but has not works? Can his faith save him?  

If a brother or sister is ill-clad and in lack of daily food,  and one of you says to them,  ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body,  what does it profit?’”

Of course our love of God takes priority over all else;  unless we love God, we lose God, now and forever. But the first commandment of the law makes no Jewish or Christian sense  without the second commandment:  “You shall love your neighbor as you love yourself.”

Of course, the Sacrifice of the Mass is the focus, the center, the heart of our worship.  But even this unique memorial of Jesus’ passion  makes no Christian sense  if we cannot respond to the dying man on the Jericho road,  if we are  Sunday  Christians, always on time for Mass,  while all about us are men, women, and children half-dead  for want of our bread or our love; our Eucharist is sham,  an escape from Christ calling us from the midst of the world.  

Christ our Savior is not a respecter of persons. At the Last Judgment he will not say to me:  “Ah yes, you’re a Jesuit.  Enter into the joy of the Lord!”  If we can believe the Gospel of Matthew,  Christ will want to know what I did when his belly was bloated with hunger, his tongue tortured with thirst;  when he had no place to lay his head,  no clothes for his nakedness;  when he was alone with his sickness or a faceless number in prison.

My dear brothers and sisters, St. John of God preached,  “A Christian should always remember  that the value of his good works is not based  on their number and excellence, but on the love of God which prompts him to do these things.

The prayers we offer are merely lip service,  if those prayers do not come from the heart;  the money we give to charity mean nothing if they are not given out of a sense of gratitude to God  for all we have received and of responsibility for the poor  as our brothers and sisters in Christ;  our reading of Scripture and listening to the Gospel is pointless  unless it results in a conversion of spirit  that shakes us to the souls.  

Discipleship begins within our hearts,  where we realize Christ’s presence in the lives of the distant poor  and marginalized.  And then honor that presence in meaningful acts of compassion and charity.

Let’s close with Cardinal Newman’s reflection and prayer:

“God has committed some work to me which he has not committed to another. I have my mission – I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next… Therefore, I will trust him. He does nothing in vain. He may prolong my life, he may shorten it; He knows what he is about… O my God, I will put myself without reserve into thy hands.” Amen.