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THE UNFRUITFUL VINEYARD
Let me sing for my beloved my love song concerning his
vineyard:
My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill.
He dug it and cleared it of stones and planted it with choice
vines;
He built a watch tower in the midst of it;
He expected it to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes.
And now, inhabitants of Jerusalem and people of Judah, judge
between me and my vineyard.
What more was there to do for my vineyard that I have not
done in it?
When I expected it to yield grapes, why did it yield wild
grapes?
And now I will tell you what I will do to my vineyard.
I will remove its hedge, and it shall be devoured.
I will break down its wall, and it shall be trampled down.
I will make it a waste;
It shall not be pruned or hoed, and it shall be overgrown
with briars and thorns.
I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon
it.
For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel,
and the people of Judah are his pleasant planting;
He expected justice, but saw bloodshed; righteousness, but
heard a cry.
Read this passage again slowly. Think about
who the characters in the parable represent, then about where
you fit.
I know what I am. It’s easy for me to look
down at those horrible Israelites who produced wild grapes.
I’d never be one of those. And if I were, I’d never be as wild
as they were. Or would I be? Have I been? The answer is a quiet
“yes.”
Just out of high school, I thought that I
would become a director of Christian education. I’d been the
model “church kid” through most of school. Youth group,
services, the occasional youth gathering. So I attended a
Lutheran college.
Talk about your wild grapes! Now, I didn’t
produce cranberries or turnips. What I produced was still
recognizable as grapes ― but certainly not the grapes that the
Vinedresser justly expected. If grape vines could have thorns,
my vine would have had thorns. In college I was a stinker with
professors, and pushed limits in all parts of life. My grapes
were sour, if they had any taste at all. But I always thought
(and sometimes still think) that I produced a good grape. We
each tend to think we make the best grapes ever. The men of
Judah thought they made good grapes.
But they didn’t. And I don’t. And you
don’t. The Vinedresser wants good grapes, and gets the likes of
us. He is ready to take down the walls and let the vineyard go
to weeds and thorns. He may not even water the vineyard anymore.
Holy God, gently show me who I truly am.
Then, in your mercy, rebuild the vineyard, send rain and make me
a vine with grapes pleasing to you. Amen
Tim Meyer
Seminarian
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