The last receive a denarius too

Dear sisters and brothers,

this Gospel has a problem:

It is unfair.

At least when we first hear it.

Someone has been working since early morning. Hours in the sun, in the vineyard, in the heat and dust. Then, just before the end of the day, someone else arrives, works perhaps an hour — and receives exactly the same.

One denarius.

If Jesus told this story today, the staff WhatsApp group would have exploded by that evening:

“Did you see what the new person got?”

“Exactly the same as us!”

“Unbelievable.”

And five minutes later, someone would surely have written:

“I’ve been saying it for ages: the whole system here is wrong.”

We immediately understand their outrage. Deep inside us is a simple calculation:

Those who do more should receive more.

Those who work longer should earn more.

And in the world of work, that makes sense. After all, Jesus is not giving us a guide to collective bargaining.

He is speaking about the kingdom of God.

And that is why he tells the story so provocatively.

In Jesus’ time, day labourers stand in the marketplace each morning, hoping to find work for that day. No permanent job, no social security. Anyone not chosen tries again later.

And in the evening, people are still standing there.

The owner asks:

“Why have you been standing here idle all day?”

Their answer is crucial:

“Because no one has hired us.”

It does not say:

Because we could not be bothered.

Because we slept in.

Because we thought work was generally overrated.

Instead:

No one needed us.

Perhaps they were older. Perhaps physically weaker. Perhaps outsiders. Perhaps they were simply standing in the wrong place.

We do not know.

But they were overlooked.

And then this vineyard owner comes along and says:

I need you too.

Go into my vineyard.

That alone carries a powerful message.

You can spend half your life feeling that others have been quicker, more successful, cleverer, more religious, stronger — and with God, these words still stand:

I need you too.

In the evening, everyone receives a denarius.

Why?

A denarius was roughly the wage with which a day labourer could cover that day’s living expenses.

And suddenly the question changes.

The vineyard owner apparently asks more than:

What have you achieved?

He also asks:

What do you need to live?

That is a different kind of logic.

Incidentally, nothing is taken away from those who worked from the beginning. They receive exactly what was agreed.

The owner says:

“Friend, I am doing you no wrong.”

The problem only begins when they see what the others receive.

As long as they look only at their own denarius, everything is fine.

Then they look to the right and left.

And suddenly their own denarius no longer feels so good.

We know that feeling.

Actually, I am doing well.

Until I see how well someone else is doing.

Actually, I am happy with my car.

Until the neighbour pulls up in a new one.

Actually, my holiday was lovely.

Until I open Instagram and realise that apparently the rest of humanity is currently in the Maldives.

Comparison can turn contentment into discontent surprisingly quickly.

And at the end, the vineyard owner asks, literally:

“Is your eye evil because I am good?”

The “evil eye” was an image of envy at the time.

In other words:

Why does my generosity towards someone else make you unhappy?

Perhaps that is the most uncomfortable question in this Gospel.

Because we want a generous God.

Of course.

But sometimes we mainly want God to be generous towards us.

When God is generous towards others whom we think do not deserve it, things become more complicated.

And that brings us to a central part of Christian faith:

grace.

Grace means:

You receive more than what you have earned.

You receive what you need to live.

Forgiveness, for example.

If forgiveness were given only to those who deserved it, we would not need it.

Or love.

If love were paid out only after sufficient achievement, it would no longer be love.

Heaven is not a rewards programme.

Ten Our Fathers, twenty good deeds, thirty years of church service — and with your tenth stamp, you get eternity for free.

That is not how God works.

In the Church too, we know those who have worked from the beginning.

People who have helped, organised, cleaned, sung, prayed and taken responsibility for decades.

And thank God for them.

But Jesus warns us:

Faithfulness must not become a claim of ownership.

“I’ve been here longer” does not buy a better ticket into the kingdom of God.

Someone who first begins asking about God at seventy is not a second-class Christian.

Someone who enters a church again after decades does not have to sit at the back.

And a life with broken chapters does not receive a reduced portion of God’s love.

Because God’s love is not shared out like cake.

If someone else receives a lot, there is no less left for me.

Perhaps that is where our thinking goes wrong.

We treat recognition, love and grace as though they were limited resources.

But with God, another person’s happiness does not mean my loss.

And then Jesus’ final words take on a new sound:

“The last will be first, and the first last.”

Jesus does not simply reverse the rankings.

Then we would have the same rankings, only the other way round.

He calls the entire ranking system into question.

In the kingdom of God, what matters is less who stands ahead of whom.

What matters is that, in the end, no one is forgotten.

Perhaps that is why the denarius is more than money.

Perhaps it stands for dignity.

For belonging.

For the experience:

I am seen.

I am needed.

I belong.

And then the decisive question is no longer:

“Is that fair?”

Instead:

Can I rejoice that God also gives another person what they need to live?

Even the one who comes later.

Even the one whose path was different.

Even the one of whom I think:

They have not earned that at all.

And perhaps God says:

Exactly.

That is why it is called grace.

Amen.