There is a particular kind of embarrassment that comes when you are absolutely certain you are right, and someone you consider too small to teach you opens their mouth. Suddenly, all your confidence needs somewhere to hide. One teacher discovered this during what should have been a very simple mathematics lesson. She asked a little boy, “If you had five dollars and you asked your father for another five dollars, how much would you have?” “Five dollars,” he answered. The teacher shook her head and said, “You don’t know your math at all.” The boy shook his head and said, “You don’t know my father at all!” The teacher had calculated the money without considering the father.
In today’s Gospel passage, some tenants make a much more dangerous calculation: they plan their future without respecting the owner of the land. Jesus tells today’s parable in Jerusalem, after entering the city and cleansing the Temple. The chief priests and elders have challenged his authority. Who gave him the right to act like this? Through this parable, Jesus exposes a deeper question: what have the chief priests and the elders done with the authority God entrusted to them?
A landowner plants a vineyard, builds a protective hedge, digs a winepress, and erects a watchtower. Before the tenants begin working, someone else has already prepared the ground. That detail should make us pause. Before you earned your first salary, you received your first breath. Before anyone applauded your talent, God gave you the ability. Before you could say, “Look what I have achieved,” there were people feeding you, teaching you, praying for you. Our accomplishments grow in soil we did not create.
The trouble begins at harvest. The owner sends servants to collect his produce. The tenants beat and kill them. He sends others. They receive the same treatment. Finally, he sends his son. The tenants see an opportunity to seize the inheritance, and they kill him too. Their hands have worked the vineyard for so long that they begin to believe their hands own it. How easily gratitude becomes entitlement. “My money. My position. My family. My life.” Then someone reminds us of our responsibility, and we become angry. A spouse is asking for kindness. An employee is asking for fairness. A struggling relative is asking for help. A parent is asking for respect. A child is asking for attention. We hear an interruption where God may be asking for fruit.
In the first reading from the Prophet Isaiah, God’s vineyard is Israel, lovingly cultivated but yielding injustice. In Jesus’ parable, the tenants represent leaders entrusted with God’s people; the servants represent the prophets, and the son points to Jesus himself. This warning reaches everyone entrusted with responsibility, including us in the Church. Religious privilege calls for a life that bears fruits.
Notice how patient the owner is. After violence, he sends again. God keeps reaching toward people who push him away. Yet his patience calls for repentance. We cannot keep rejecting his messengers and assume that nothing will ever be required of us. God’s patience is not forever.
Every day we participate in the Celebration of the Holy Mass, we practice the answer the tenants in today’s parable refused to give. During the preparation of the gifts, “The Priest, standing at the altar, takes the paten with the bread and holds it slightly raised above the altar with both hands” and says, “Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, for through your goodness we have received the bread we offer you: fruit of the earth and work of human hands, it will become for us the bread of life.” And the people acclaim, “Blessed be God forever.” The prayer over the wine follows the same pattern. Notice how the priest refers to the bread and wine as what we “received” and now “offer.” The two words: receive and offer, can reshape a whole life. We bring bread and wine made through human labor, while acknowledging that the earth, the harvest, and our ability to work are gifts. We offer God what his goodness first made possible.
Imagine carrying that prayer into Monday morning: “Lord, through your goodness I have received this day. I offer you how I spend it.” Or into your home: “I have received this husband/wife/child/parent/sibling into my life. Help me love them well.” Or in your workplace, you say: “Through your goodness I have received this responsibility. Let someone flourish because I hold this position.” That is fruit: the child who feels safe with you, the worker treated honestly, the hungry person fed, the apology finally spoken. God’s harvest takes shape in the lives touched by our choices.
Recognizing God as the One in charge gives our work a direction. The tenants were expected to cultivate the vineyard. God has given us real freedom, real responsibility, and real opportunities to do good. Surrender means placing those gifts at his service. We still make decisions, but we make them with the heart of our loving Father guiding our own hearts.
My dearly beloved in Christ, this week, identify one gift you have started treating as your private kingdom. Your time? Your influence? Your talent? Ask what fruit God is seeking there. Then give him a concrete answer.
The little boy in our opening story knew what to expect from his father. We know our Father has already given us everything, even his Son. But he expects us to bear fruits with the gifts. Remember, at the end of this life, we cannot take the vineyard with us. But we will be rewarded based on how we spend our life today making sure the vineyard bears fruit.
Homily for 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year A 2026
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