In Matthew 20, we find parables on the Kingdom of Heaven. The first parable concerns a man who is a grape grower. The harvest is here. The grapes need picking. Evidently, a hiring hall is available. Workers congregate for daily jobs. The owner is early. He hires several workers for a set daily wage. . . . The owner comes by some hours later. Other workers stand around. He hires them on the same basis. . . . The day ends. The workers expect their wages. Those who bore the heat of the day naturally expect higher wages. But the owner pays each worker the same agreed-upon wage, one denarius. – James V. Schall, SJ
This one always bothered me, too. It’s one of the “difficult” parables. It doesn’t register with modern minds. It doesn’t seem fair to us that the late arrivals should be paid as much as the earlier ones. I pondered it for years until I finally made sense of it.
Then, one day the reading came up at Mass and the pastor, a Benedictine priest, explained how it applied to the Kingdom of Heaven, but allowed as how the parable really didn’t make sense in earthly terms. I should have confronted him afterwards and shared my recent insights, but I didn’t. Three years later, it came up again and he said basically the same thing. I didn’t let this opportunity pass.
“Father,” I said as I greeted him outside the church, “I have a bone to pick with you.”
That brought him up short.
“You said the parable of the day laborer doesn’t really make sense in earthly terms.”
“Well, it doesn’t, does it?”
“It has to.”
“Why is that?”
“Jesus wouldn’t say something that didn’t make sense. Plus, there’s another reason.”
“What’s that?”
“You used to teach English, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re familiar with analogies. Analogies compare things that are strange or confusing to things that are familiar and understood.”
“Right.”
“Well, a parable is just a narrative analogy. If Jesus was trying to explain the nature of the Kingdom of Heaven by comparing it to a vineyard, then his description of the dynamics of the vineyard must have made sense to his listeners. They must have understood the story. It had to make sense to them. If it doesn’t make sense to us, then we obviously must be missing something.”
“So what do you think it means?”
“It’s all about property rights and contract law.”
“Hmm?”
“The money that the vineyard owner uses to pay the wages belongs to him, right? It’s his property?”
“Right.”
“And he can do what he wants with it, right? Hire the laborers or not hire them? Offer them x or 2x?”
“Right.”
“Okay, so he hires the laborers to work in the vineyard. He offers them a set amount and they agree to work for it. That’s a contract that obligates both parties. He later contracts with other workers, but it’s still his own money, and the earlier arrivals have no right to complain about the arrangements he’s made with the later ones.”
I don’t know if I convinced him or not, but it took me years to figure it out myself, and I don’t think I could have unraveled the mystery without my experience in the workforce (an experience that most religous people lack).
When I first started out, I often saw people being paid unequal amounts for the same work and it didn’t seem fair, especially as I was ususally the one paid less. Eventually, I began to understand some of the disparity. Free-lance workers might be paid more than salaried employees for a specific project, for instance, to make it worth their while — and even more for rush jobs. One employee might make more than another because of his longer service, or because he was married and had children and could not afford to do the same work for the same price.
Still, there was always someone who seemed to make more for no legitimate reason. This was hard to accept. Was he related to the boss? Did the boss think he was doing more than he was? Did the boss just feel sorry for him?
Finally, I had an epiphany: It was the boss’s money and he could do what he wanted with it. The other guy had agreed to work for a set amount and I’d agreed to work for less. Maybe, if I’d known what the other guy was making, I’d have asked for more and gotten it. Maybe not. Maybe I wasn’t as productive as I thought I was. Or maybe I was just stupid and didn’t know how to negotiate. It didn’t matter. It was none of my business what the boss paid anyone else. I’d made my deal and was bound by it.
The funny thing is, once I had that insight, the resentment just melted away. My finances didn’t improve, but — when I stopped begrudging other people their good fortune, stopped worrying about whether I was being “cheated” or not — I was able to enjoy something much more valuable: peace of mind.
The story of the Day Laborer is basically the same story as the Prodigal Son, only in a different context. Just like the early arrivals in the vineyard, the Prodigal Son’s brother also concludes that he’s been cheated by a master’s generosity to others.
In fact, it may have been the story of the Prodigal Son that helped me to understand the story of the Day Laborer. That’s because I had always identified with the workers who arrived early, not the ones who came late. On the other hand, as a formerly lapsed Catholic who returned to a welcoming Church, I had a natural affinity for the Prodigal Son and his appreciation for the gift he had no claim on, a gift he had once rejected — and his hope that a more stalwart brother would not resent him.
