This is World Communion Sunday. Some of you may have come to church morning knowing that it was World Communion Sunday. Some of you may have stumbled into church and discovered that it was World Communion Sunday. But this is the day that the Lord has made, and we rejoice and are glad in it. It is world Communion Sunday.

World Communion Sunday that (O Lord, forgive me this) that Presbyterians are probably centrally proud of, because we were there at the impetus of it. It was particularly in this Christian tradition that the idea, in 1936 in fact, for World Communion Sunday came to birth. Or, to use this parable, to fruition. Presbyterians, back in the middle ‘30s, thought that it would be a unifying thing, if Christian traditions around the world picked one Sunday on which they all celebrated the Lord’s Supper together, since we all celebrate the Lord’s Supper. And so, they started simply trying to see if they could all Presbyterians to celebrate the Lord’s Supper on one day. And then, by about 1940, the idea had grown in popularity so, that it was a recognized event across the churches internationally. How odd, though, isn’t it, that right in 1940, when Christians finally thought, "Now, something we can lift up as a unifying sign of God’s peace amongst us," we were rolling into the Second World War, where millions of Christians were involved in conflict. And thousands and thousands of Christians died, and six million Jews were exterminated. A tough start for World Communion Sunday.

But it survived. And now, well over seventy years later, here we are gathered around the table once again. Not only gathered around as a congregation, and not only gathered with Presbyterians, but with Methodists and Baptists and Roman Catholics and Episcopalians. With Christians here and Christians in other cities. I know, as I celebrate the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper today, my brother and sister-in-law are celebrating it in Orlando. I know that Claudia’s sister is celebrating it in New Jersey. I know that Pete Almand is celebrating it in Tennessee as he serves his congregation. Bill told me he got a phone call early this morning from Emmanuel Ofumbi, in Uganda, who wanted to call him (I guess it was much later in the day there) to let him know that as he celebrated the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper in the village of Paoli, he thought of us, knowing that we would be celebrating it today as well.

It is a good thing. It’s a sign of our unity. It’s a sign that we are one people of God, and that we gather together. On this we agree, that Jesus gave us this, and we gather together around this sign of God’s love.

We are so connected. We often feel fragmented, but this reminds us that we are one body. Like one vine, in which there are many branches. We are one body of Christ. High in liturgy, contemporary in form, some filled with speaking in tongues or dancing, some with pastors with black robes and black stoles. But we are, with many gifts, one body in Christ.

We are so connected. But, it’s also true that in our connectedness, there is great discrepancy amongst us. We can forget that within the walls of this lovely sanctuary, but while we gather here in the peace and the security and the abundance of this particular spot, and the abundantly blest location of this part of the world, Christians in other places gather in the midst of suffering. Some, profoundly in the midst of violence. Christians in Bali today gather to celebrate this meal with the terrorist bombing new in their midst in the last 24 hours. Carol gathers with the death of her mother, lingering very near her. Christians in Baghdad (remember, there are seven Presbyterian congregations in Baghdad, alone… who would have imagined that?). They gather for the sacrament today, in the midst of the strife that is a part of that city and that nation.

Military chaplains will be serving the sacrament to troops not only in Iraq and Afghanistan, but around the world. And likely there is a National Guard or Coast Guard chaplain somewhere serving it to forces that are a part of the relief for Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

We are connected. But there is imbalance in that there is suffering in some places much more profoundly than it is for us here, in our abundance. It’s important to recognize in this world, as we gather in common unity, that the world contains a lot of suffering as well.

The Bible gives us this text, this story from Jesus, today, as we live with this connectedness and this discrepancy. The Bible text, I think, helps to make it clear to us that we need to be aware of this larger picture. In this text, Jesus tells a story. It’s a story about an owner and the renters. As the Churches listen to this story retold again and again and again across the centuries, the Church has been clear that we are like the renters in this story, and God is the owner.

Did you think it was going to be the other way around? Are you used to feeling like an owner? Remember, the Psalmist says, "The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof." He doesn’t say the earth is Steve’s, and I’ll share some of it because he blesses me that way. He doesn’t say that the earth is Emily’s, and maybe I’ll take this little corner.

The Psalmist says, "The earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof." The Church has said God is like the owner, and we are like the renters in this story. But you remember the story. The owner creates the vineyard. He not only plants it, but gets it going. He builds the wine press in it, because that’s what they do with grapes grown in a vineyard – they make wine out of it. He even builds a watch tower to help to be able to survey it, perhaps to protect it, to look what’s growing where. I think of it as kind of a citrus tower in Clermont. But then he goes away. In fact, remember, this story is told at a time when there is not email or telephones or quick communication. It says he goes to a far country. Out of sight. And, according to the parable, apparently out of mind. The tenants are there to work it and there to pay him a certain percentage each year. His share of the fruits of the produce. It’s all when it comes the fall of the year, maybe the second of October. About the time the grapes come to fruition, the owner decides (the tenants don’t summon him), the owner decides I should send a representative now to collect my share of the proceeds. My share of the grapes. Only when the representative shows up, the tenants are bad tenants. They seize the representative, the parable says. They beat him. And so the owner sends another. And they stone that particular representative. Then the owner sends another, and they mistreat that one. The owner sends another, and they kill that one. Finally the owner says, "There’s something wrong with these tenants. They just don’t get it. I’m going to send my son. And surely, when they see my son, then they will treat him appropriately and we’ll be back on the appropriate track."

And you know how this story goes. When the son arrives, the tenants say, "There’s the heir. We’ll kill him, and then we’ll get the inheritance."

Over the years, I’ve wondered, How could they think this way? Were they just especially short-sighted? Did they think if they killed the son that the owner wouldn’t show up, looking for what was his due? And this time, very angry.

Some commentators this week have helped me to see what I have not seen in this story before, that the tenants who were not connected to the owner by mail or email or telephone calls, and the owner was out of sight, that when they saw the heir, they may have thought the owner was dead. And it might have seemed logical to them that now, if we kill the son, we won't have to worry with anyone coming to collect rent any more.

You may wonder who could think this way. Remember how often we (the renters in God’s world) act as if God is dead. We talk a good game, but often in our actions, we seem to believe that there never will be any accountability for the way we are managing the things that God has given to us. We seem, in our deeds, often to act like we think God is dead too, and like we are the owners and that we don’t have to be responsible with any of this. We seem oblivious to the discrepancies there are in the community around us.

But Jesus says, "The owner’s coming."

What sort of fruit do you think God is looking for? The parable tells the story that the world and our lives belong to God, and God is letting us manage them for a while, in the expectation that they will produce good fruit. What sort of fruit do you think God is looking for out of your life? Grapes? I don’t think it’s grapes, unless you’re a grape grower, then maybe that’s your vocation.

What sort of fruit, of productivity, of good things, is God looking for out of your life and the blessings that God has entrusted to you, as God’s tenant, to manage for a while?

What will the owner be looking for at accountability time? You might want to look to Jesus for that answer. Or to the scriptures. Remember, we sing every Sunday as the children come forward, "What does the Lord require of you?" What sort of fruit is the Lord looking for? To seek justice, love kindness, walk humbly with our God.

When they said to Jesus, "What is the Great Commandment?", Jesus said, "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your mind. And the second is like unto it: Love your neighbor as yourself." That sort of understanding and discerning what it means to love God and love your neighbor. That’s what God is looking for. That’s the fruit.

It’s clear that we owe something back to God. While salvation might be only by God’s grace, in Matthew’s gospel, there is something expected of those who have been graced into the kingdom. There is something expected from those who have been blessed to be the tenants, who have been given the privilege, and unmerited privilege, of being the renters; some fruit is expected back. We are expected to live under the authority of the owner to produce and to give back the proper fruit.

NT Wright, the great Bible commentator out of Oxford, says, "The story of the vineyard in the gospels is simply the focal point of that larger story, the story of humankind and the earth." And to that story, too, the story of God’s ownership and our renting from God not only our lives but the things that God has entrusted to us. In that story, too, rumor has it that the tenant farmers have not done such a good job. God has looked for stewardship, but instead has often found selfishness. God has looked for responsibility, but instead has often found reprehensibility.

Here is a part of the Good news in this text for you this morning. The owner says it is not too late. The owner says he is still willing to work with us. The final accountability has not occurred yet; you are here. And as you receive communion today, I encourage you to be in prayer for what sort of fruit God is hoping you will produce with your life. You might think of one particular place in the world, maybe somewhere close to you, maybe somewhere far away, where there is great suffering present. There are so many, you cant think of them all. But can you think of one, and during communion, begin to be in prayer particularly for that place or that suffering. Let us consider, in communion today, to begin to become focused and concerned, fruit-producing about that particular issue. Read about it. Become informed about that one thing. Let it become a passion in you. Find some way to make a connection to somehow join God’s work on that issue. Let us be fervent in prayer and action to live out, as good tenants, the World Communion as our odds.

Here is a part of the good news in the Gospel for you this morning. And for me, this is even higher than the good news that it’s not too late. This is the second element of good news, as Matthew remembers it. (Remember, there are four gospel memories of the life of Jesus.) But as Matthew remembers it, when Jesus tells the parable, he comes to a certain point in the story where he asks the listeners to finish the story. Do you remember that? He gets to the story and tells them that they have killed the owner’s son, and then he says to them, "What do you think?" Verse 39: "So they seized him, threw him out of the vineyard," Jesus said, "and killed the son." Verse 40: "Now when the owner of the vineyard comes, what will he do to those tenants? He asked the listeners." And Matthew says, "The people answered, they said to Jesus, ‘He will put those wretches to a miserable death, and he’ll lease the vineyard to other tenants who will give him the produce at the harvest time."

And they answered that way, because that’s how they would do it. That’s what they imagined the owner has to do. That’s what they would do if they were the owners. That’s what they think is appropriate and just and deserved.

But God, Jesus, doesn’t answer. That’s their answer. But Jesus turns his face towards Jerusalem and goes there amongst the tenants. And they crucify him. Bury him. And then, three days later ,God the Owner comes looking for himself, walking in his own vineyard. He finds him. Dead. Murdered. Buried in a shallow grave.

Perhaps God said, "Who has done this thing?" Then God, the Owner, does what you cannot even imagine: God reaches down into the deep mystery of God’s self, where eye has not seen and ear has not heard. Now, past the anger and past the rage and past the hurt. Deep down into the core of God, which is love. And God took his murdered son and raised him back into life.

And this meal: This is an invitation to you. This meal is an invitation from the Owner and the Son to come and have dinner. An invitation through the Son, now raised from the death, to come and to have dinner with the Owner, that we might be reconciled with him again. It’s an initiative inviting us to once again be in relationship with the Good Owner, who invites us to be the responsible tenants. That the relationship between the owner and the community, that the relationship between God and His people, that the relationship between Jesus and you, might be restored.

Taste. See, that the Lord is good. Amen.

© John T. DeBevoise 2005