The Good Employer Series

The Good Employer

(Matt. 20:1-16)

Harvest time. The morning sun burned just below the hillside and backlit the ancient vines rising up from the even more ancient earth. The ground was parched and packed. Only the grapes held the promise of moisture, the pulp near bursting through their skins. A slight breeze rustled the leaves and nudged a single plump grape from its stem. The grape tumbled through the brambles and split open as it hit the ground, gentle as an easy death.

The owner of the vineyard rose from his bed, threw on his mantle and sandals and stepped out of his house into the early dawn. He lived in a country manor, a large two-story building with room enough for his family and twenty house servants. The owner walked across the courtyard to check the stone wine press. It was clean and ready for the tons of grapes that would soon pass through it. He inspected the micveh next to the press, which held the sacred living waters fed from the earth in which he would soon purify himself. He walked briskly to the watchtower and shouted up to his servants, sharp-eyed men who had spent all night on the alert for thieves who might steal the grapes growing on the far side of the estate. Although awake all night, these servants greeted the owner cheerfully and reported no trouble.

The owner was a diminutive man with a quick mind, who was wise enough to enjoy his good fortune and compassionate enough to share it. His ancestors had come to Galilee as Jewish colonists from Judea over one hundred years ago during the time of the Hasmonean kings. After they conquered the place, they had taken over this very old vineyard, which dated back to a time before the arrival of the Jews, before the Philistines, before even the Persians, its origins lost somewhere back in the second Iron Age. The men in the tower and their forefathers had worked for the family for many generations. They had helped to build the vineyard into a vast estate that now covered four square miles. The current owner was viewed as a good proprietor, one who fairly balanced the interests of his family against those of the community, and they liked him for it. They had seen other patriarchs who were a lot worse. For his part, the owner clearly understood that he owed his prosperity to the heroics of his ancestors and the ongoing efforts of his workers.

Satisfied that all was well, the owner stepped outside the walls of the compound where he viewed with pleasure his terraced vineyard, heavy with grapes as far as he could see. He walked into a nearby row and examined the vines closely. He took up a handful of dirt and let it run through his fingers. He pulled a few grapes from a bunch, easily two feet in length and seven pounds in weight. He tasted them. Today the grapes had more sugar than yesterday, making for better wine. Tomorrow they would begin to split and rot. So, this morning he must go into town, find workers, and start the crush.

The town was a two-mile walk from his manor, most of it through his vineyard which rose up on either side of the road. The earth and the vines were covered with dew. The morning sun burned off the moisture and released a heady fragrance into the air. He breathed it in deeply, gratefully. It was quite still this early in the morning and the leaves hung motionless on their stems. The weather had been ideal throughout the entire growing season and this year’s vintage promised to be the very best in years. Even better, the crop had been abundant - no one in living memory had seen the like of it - and the entire community buzzed over the amount, size and quality of the grapes. In this arid land that suffered so frequently from drought, wine was life and a good crop was the difference between subsistence and bounty. A harvest of this size would bring its own problems – labor issues, shortages of supplies, inexplicable delays, spoilage. As soon as the grapes were picked from their vines, they began to die and would soon rot in the late summer sun, leaving only a short time to process them. But once the grapes were crushed and safely stored in jars, the wine could be preserved for years, nurturing the community with key nutrients, a certain protection against malnutrition and disease.

During harvest week, the workers and their families lived in the fields in tents provided by the owner, who also supplied the food and wine. Each day ended with a celebration of the harvest, filled with eating, drinking, singing and dancing in a week-long party hosted by the owner. With the size and quality of this year’s harvest, there was much to celebrate and a pleasant air of expectation hung over the entire community like the white clouds that brushed the rolling hills.