When it comes to the seven deadly sins, only envy is no
fun at all. The others may be destructive, but they are also
seductive. We have to give them their due, bringing short-
term pleasure or a momentary sense of satisfaction. We’ll
dive into that reality the next two Sundays, but you already
know what it feels like. Envy, on the other hand, is the thief
of joy—an involuntary and utterly unpleasant reaction
to someone else’s life. It is the precise inverse of Paul’s
instruction to the Romans to “rejoice with those who are
rejoicing.” Instead, it resents the joy of another, especially
when that joy seems, to us, undeserved. Envy is in the eye
of the beholder. The word itself comes from Invidia. To look
upon with resentment. To give the evil eye. Envy’s poison
leads us to resent the good fortune of others.
It is a nearly universal human condition. The evil eye
inflicts us all. We look at the success, the fulfillment, the
happiness, the accomplishment of another and feel,
unprovoked, the rush of resentment. Why him? How could
that happen to her? We scan the photos of a neighbor or
see the new purchase of a friend and wonder why they
have all that. In my experience, even those who seem to
have it all themselves find reason to envy. And always,
always, lurking behind and beneath those exasperated
questions, there is a deeper wondering. Not “why him?”
But “what about me? Why not me?”
My teacher Will Willimon has written that, “to be a
Christian is…to be reminded, on a weekly basis, that we
are meant to look at the world with different standards of
judgment than those that operate in the world.” In other
words, we gather weekly for worship to be given a new
perspective, a different set of lenses with which to see
the world and our lives. This is difficult work, especially
in our time. It is challenging to look at life through a
different lens than the one that we are accustomed to
and acquainted with. To see through eyes of grace, not
judgment. Mercy rather than resentment. We need that
weekly reminder because so much of our life pushes us
toward comparison, justifying our envy and resenting
others’ success.
Jesus used stories, parables, to unsettle his followers.
These stories rearrange our mental furniture. They reset
our clouded vision. And each one of them has a punch
line, a moment of revelation, a surprise twist in the story
that shocks or even offends listeners.
The turning point in this morning’s parable is impossible to
miss. You can picture it in your mind. The laborers all lined
up at the end of the day, ready to receive their pay. Some
are exhausted from a full day of work under the hot sun.
Others are just finishing their single hour of labor. They
haven’t even broken a sweat. The landowner begins with
those who arrived on the scene last, and he gives them,
surprisingly, a whole denarius. That was the fair wage for a
full day of work.
At this point, you can imagine the excitement building
at the back of the line as news travels from worker to
worker of this lavish pay, this generous owner. Those who
started early are now eager to receive their reward. And
that’s when the punch line of the parable comes. “Each
of them received the usual daily wage.” Uh oh. What
would have been an acceptable sum only moments ago
is now an outrage. Those who worked all day receive the
same amount as those who worked only one hour. Then,
Jesus—being Jesus—raises the stakes. He says this, this
story, this parable, this picture, this is what the kingdom of
God looks like.
He can’t be serious. This is the kingdom of God? There has
to be a better metaphor.
I remember it like it was yesterday. The hot summer
afternoon. I was eleven years old, and my brother was
five. We had shared a room and bunk beds since he
was a toddler. And that morning, that Saturday morning,
our parents had given us our orders for the day, our
assignment, our chore. They said, “Your grandparents are
on their way for a visit. Clean your room.”
Now, our room was a disaster. A total mess. And so,
justifiably, we both resisted. After all, our grandparents
wouldn’t even come into our room if we just kept the door
closed. They would be no worse off. But the expectation
was clear and made clear again. And I, I the dutiful brother,
I the elder brother, I the responsible party, I got to work. My
brother—at least the way I remember it—did not. He lay in
bed. He played our Sega Genesis. He met friends outside,
the friends I was supposed to meet outside. And so, I
protested. I complained. I cried. I pleaded with my parents
for as long as I could. And then, out of options, I rage-
cleaned, and eventually the task was complete. The room
looked magnificent. When Grammie and Poppa arrived,
first I showed them into our room. And then, we all went
out for ice cream. My parents told me that I, I the dutiful
son, I the responsible brother, I could order whatever I
wanted. Surely my fair wage for all my hard work. And
so, yes, I went big. 3 scoops, banana split. The first bites
were delicious. Until… you guessed it. Little brother was
also invited to make his order. Grammie and Poppa were
paying, and he could order anything he wanted. For what?
How could they? No fair! I remember the burning in my
ears, and then filled with blinding anger, I took action.
I grabbed that banana split, and in dramatic fashion, I
dumped my tray into the trash can right in front of my
parents. Meanwhile, Josh sat at the table enjoying every
last bite of that Oreo Blizzard.
The early morning laborers, tired from a full day’s work,
are indignant at the injustice of their equal pay. It is no
longer enough that they received what they earned,
what they had agreed upon. Comparison has stolen their
satisfaction. They are ready to trash their just reward.
The landowner answers. He responds to their outrage
with a rhetorical question. “Are you envious because
I am generous?” I find this an interesting choice, to
describe the offended workers as envious. Is it envy that
they are feeling? It might help to know that the original
Greek is even more pointed. The landowner’s question
literally reads, “Is your eye so evil because I am so
good?” What a question! Reminds me of old Jonah who
rails against God because of the divine decision to bless
the repenting Ninevites. Them? Those people? Reminds
me of every time I find myself resenting the good
fortune of another and asking, “Why not me?” I think
the insidious force of envy begins with the assumption
of scarcity. Envy whispers that there is not enough to go
around, and so we must be skeptical of those who get
what we want—or what we think they don’t deserve.
Envy steals our joy by insisting on scarcity. There
isn’t enough. You better get yours. Friends become
competitors. Neighbors are turned to enemies. Strangers
are a threat. We cease to see the humanity of others.
Even our brother can be a threat to our happiness.
Comparison crowds out compassion. Those people, they
got something for nothing. They were taking advantage of
the system, happily receiving a full day’s wage for only one
hour of work. Why them? But especially why not me? You
can hear the grumbling across the centuries…maybe you
even hear it in your own voice.
How is it that everyone on my social media feed has a
perfect life, while I’m struggling to find joy?
Why do my hard-earned wages go to help those who don’t
deserve it…especially those who don’t even belong here?
If they wanted to make more money, they could. They just
need to work harder. Not my job to help them get ahead.
Oh, the durability of these stories that Jesus tells. They
still sting, don’t they? They force us to confront our own
grumbling hearts.
This is the parable’s key moment. The landowner does not
defend his actions on the grounds of fairness. He pleads
generosity. Are you envious because I am generous? Here
we find the meaning of the parable and its clear picture
of the kingdom of God. Jesus tells a story. Jesus—whose
self-stated mission includes preaching good news to the
poor—tells a story not about a group of works, but about
a landowner who chooses to be generous, who wants
everyone to have a place in the vineyard, who cannot
abide the thought of anyone left behind. I had missed this
detail in the parable until this year. The landowner returns
time and time again to find those in need of work and
invites them—yes, them—to the vineyard.
And so those who had been waiting all day are given work
to do. And not only that. They are given a fair wage. Not a
lavish wage. Enough to get by for one more day. It seems
this boss’s concern is not his bottom line or a carefully
tiered system of merit, but the workers themselves. Jesus
says, this is what the kingdom of God looks like.
A justice that sees people and not only profits. An open
invitation to join the joyful work of the gospel. Radical
hospitality for all who show up, no matter when they
arrive. Justice redefined by compassion. Abundance in the
place of scarcity. Grace. Grace. Grace.
Yes, envy is the thief of joy. It begins by assuming scarcity.
It insists on comparison. But, the gospel invites us to
see through a different lens. Listen. The wellbeing of
somebody else need not diminish your own. In fact, in the
kingdom of God, your wellbeing is utterly dependent on
the wellbeing of others. God starts at the end, with those
who are most forgotten and at greatest risk.
We know who they are. They are your neighbors. They
are the children who go to bed with empty stomachs.
They are the mothers who skip meals to keep their family
housed. They are the workers whose wages won’t pay the
rent. And they belong to you. To us.
Friends, what if a life worth living is defined not by
comparison but by compassion? Take it from a kid who
missed the joy of a banana split — our obsession with
comparison will spoil our fun, and over time it will corrode
our hearts.
Columnist David Brooks wrote this week about a global
Gallup survey on well-being. The headline is that more
people around the world say they are thriving than ever
before. Hope is rising in countries as diverse as Kosovo,
Vietnam, Kazakhstan, and Paraguay.
But here’s the shadow side: in nations with the highest
standards of living, like ours, well-being is falling, and fast.
Why? Brooks points to the gap between economic health
and social-spiritual health. People flourish when economic
well-being is matched by strong social connections
and a clear sense of purpose. It turns out that societies
that emphasize economic success without tending to
community attachment or spiritual depth tend to see
declines in overall well-being. Or perhaps more simply
put: culture built on envy is drained of compassion and,
ultimately, of meaning.
Jesus casts a different vision—a vision of abundance
in which no one is left out, and the measure of God’s
goodness is not our standard of fairness but God’s grace
freely given.
So let me suggest the question for you today is not, “Did
I get what I deserve?” But rather, “Can I rejoice in the
generosity that allows another to thrive?” That could be
the shift that moves us—even our nation—from a culture of
comparison toward a culture of compassion.
The last will be first, and the first will be last. It is the
ultimate parable punch line.
And, if we allow it to be, it is good news…for all of us. Amen.