“Comparison is the thief of joy.”
I say that to my kids all the time. And just like I did when a former therapist first introduced the maxim to me, every time they hear it, they roll their eyes. They hate it when I say this. Probably because I say it all the time, probably because they don’t quite understand what it means, and mostly because they know it’s true and they just don’t like it. I usually pull out this proverb when the boys are fighting over something. It’s not fair, Levi says. Jonah got more screen time today. It’s not fair, Jonah says, you didn’t make Levi spend more time on his homework. It’s not fair, Levi cries. Jonah got to choose the movie two weeks in a row. It’s not fair, Jonah cries. Levi got ice cream and he didn’t have to finish his carrots.
And on and on it goes. “It’s not fair!”
I’m sure I said this as a kid though, too, because one my Dad’s famous adages that I remember is “Well, kid, life’s not fair in the city and surrounding suburbs.” I have no idea where he got this, or what it even means exactly, but he used to say it to us all the time.
But when my kids argue that “it’s not fair,” and my “comparison is the thief of joy” aphorism isn’t working, some days, we just give in to their argument and agree with them. “Yup,” we say, “It’s because we love the other brother more.” That usually stops them in their tracks. At least it did the first time we tried it. Wait, what? What do you mean you love Levi more? What do you mean you love Jonah more? It startles them because they know that it’s not true. They know that we’re being ridiculous.
We love them both. Entirely. Completely. Fully. Of course we don’t love one more than we love the other, even if one of them happens to be grating us a little raw at the moment. We do our best to keep things “fair,” but sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way. Sometimes, Jonah gets invited to more birthday parties than Levi. Sometimes, Levi happens to be with Dad when he decides to stop at Duncan Donuts for a treat. Sometimes Jonah gets to stay up later and he gets to try the paddle board out on the lake on his own and he gets to watch the scary movies, simply because he’s a few years older. Sometimes, Levi gets to choose what he wants for dinner, well, because, he’s more willing to try different foods.
We are all born, it seems, with this inherent sense of “fairness.” We want things to be equal among us, or, if that can’t happen, then we want to be sure that we have more than the unlucky schmo next to us. And isn’t that definitely the case for us Americans? We live by this set of rules that we think can and should apply equally to everyone. Everyone has a fair chance. Everyone has an equal start. Everyone has had to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and forge ahead and start from scratch. The United States functions under this ideal that if everybody gets up at sunrise and heads into the vineyard, everything will be equal, everything will be fair. It’s very idealistic, and the spirit of it is to be commended.
But woe to the American who sleeps in. Woe to the citizen who doesn’t immediately apply himself as soon as the sun comes up. Woe to the single mom who has to drop her kids off at day care and then take three busses before she can get to work. Woe to the man suffering from chronic, debilitating depression, who can’t get himself out of bed before noon. Woe to the immigrant who has fled her home, escaping violence, a child in her arms. Woe to the young kid who made a choice to try that hit just this once and now can’t live without it. We’re all given an equal chance, we say, and it’s our choices that keep us where we are. Our choices and our work ethic are the only things keeping us from the “American Dream.” Except, here’s the thing. NONE of us got where we are today because we were the first ones in the vineyard. None of us were the first ones to show up at sunrise.
We do our work and we thrive and we grow and we live our lives because we benefited from the work of those who went to work before us. We stand on the backs of those who showed up for work way before we did. Folks who paved the roads and laid the pipes. Folks who tended to the land and planted the first crops. Folks who built our infrastructure. Folks who marched and fought for justice and equal rights for women and for minorities. Folks who invented the vaccines and discovered penicillin. Folks who lived on this land long before any of our ancestors even thought to set foot here.
The truth is, we’ve all built our lives on the knowledge and work and manipulation and subjugation and the oppression of those who’ve come before us. Some of us more than others, but still, all of us have benefitted from the back breaking work of another. Tell me the story of how you got here and I’ll guarantee that you’ll tell me about a whole host of people, about a whole community, a whole civilization that got you where you are - for good or for ill. You’ll tell me about a whole bunch of people who got to the vineyard and started working way before you did. And if I talked to them, they’d tell me of a whole bunch of people and a whole community and a whole civilization that helped them get to where they were.
Sure, our choices are important. But, by nature of our humanity, because we are connected to one another, we are also affected by the choices of those around us. What you do affects me. What I do affects you. No man is an island, as John Donne wrote much more eloquently than I. No one starts with a blank slate. No one. No one has really ever pulled themselves up by their bootstraps because it simply can’t be done. None of us can do a thing without all those people who showed up to work at the vineyard before us.
And back and back and back and back.
All the way back to the beginning of time, when a speck of dust needed a jolt of energy to make a star, when gravity brought planets to that star, when cells connected with other cells and became microbes which became organisms, which relied on other cells and other microbes and other organisms in order to survive. There has always been a thing before us. Always. Until we get to “God.” The owner of the vineyard. And even then, God chose to need us, God chose to become part of this needy, vulnerable, dependent life that relies on another for its very existence. Every person is part of our story. All of creation is part of our story. We can’t have it otherwise. None of us showed up to work at the vineyard right as the sun came up. We have all come to the vineyard a little bit late. Some of us later than others, but still, all of us, late. None of it is “fair,” especially for us Americans who took over a land and subjugated its people and stole others into slavery and swindled and bribed and fought wars and exploited the land in order for us to get to where we are. None of us “deserve” what we have. We’ve all benefitted from the backbreaking work and the sacrifices and the oppression of the ones who came before us. Some of us, more than others.
I say all this, not to make us feel guilty, but to recalibrate where we find ourselves in this vineyard parable. We all assume that we’re the first ones to show up in the morning. We all relate to the ones with the so-called work ethic. That way, we can throw judgment on those who come after us.
That way we can claim to be victims when folks who didn’t work as hard get paid the same as we do.
It all goes back to us trying to explain to our kids why life isn’t fair. Life isn’t “fair” because life is a gift. Life isn’t fair because God loves us all as God’s children, not as God’s employees. It’s a terrible business model. This cannot be found in “The Art of the Deal.” God is a terrible entrepreneur. It’s sure to bankrupt God. But giving and giving and giving, no matter when we show up for work, no matter how much work we do, is God’s nature.
And when we shout out to God that “it’s not fair! Billy got more than me!" It’s just as ridiculous for God to tell us, “Well, it’s because I love Billy more.” Of course God doesn’t love Billy, or anyone else, more than God loves us. And that also means that God doesn’t love them any less, either. In the parable, everybody gets their daily wage, a denarius, enough for one’s “daily bread,” just enough to survive on. God gives us enough. There’s enough to go around. Enough for the day. Enough to survive, whether we showed up at dawn or twiddled our thumbs waiting around in the marketplace all day. Like manna from heaven, God intends for all of us to have enough, whether we “deserve” it, whether we “worked” for it, whether we “earn” it, or not.
Like manna from heaven, we’re all meant to have enough, enough for right now, enough for the day. And if we take more than we need for the day, it molds, it rots, it gets stale. We are meant to have no more and no less than what we need for this day, whether we “deserve” it or not.
See, God functions under a totally different economy. It’s not an economic exchange of goods and services. It’s not a system of competitive markets and stocks and bonds and ownership of that which was never ours to begin with. It’s a free gift. In God’s economy, our very humanity is what “earns” us a place at God’s table, with enough for the day, enough to survive. That’s it. That’s all that’s required. It’s certainly not “fair.” And it’s kind of offensive. It goes against our American work ethic sensibilities. I’m sorry if this offends, but the God revealed to us through Jesus Christ is not a capitalist.
No. It’s not fair. It’s love.
And God calls us to this same kind of crazy, impractical, radical love. God doesn’t want us to simply be fair to each other, although that would be a very good start. God wants us to love each other. That’s why Jesus says the “kingdom” of God is like a landowner who pays everybody the same, whether they earned it or not. The term “kingdom” is inherently political. It’s about systems. It’s about community. It’s about how we treat one another. How we live with one another. How we care for one another. And ultimately, how God rules us all.
That’s why the landowner keeps coming to the marketplace, again and again. The landowner just longs for people to join in on the work. He doesn’t so much care about when. He doesn’t so much care about how much. He just wants them to come, to show up. To be there. To join him. God comes back to the the marketplace to gather up more workers because God is relentless, God is stubborn, God is a fool for love. God brings more of us to God’s self because God loves us. Because God delights in us. Because we were made to work in God’s vineyard.
And It’s our greatest joy, it’s us being who God created us to be, to work in God’s vineyard. The longer we can work for God, the more fulfilled we are. We may still only get a day’s wages, but suddenly we start to function under and entirely different currency. We will have the experience of working toward the fruits of God’s kingdom, and we will see the radical changes that come about in people’s lives when they get enough to survive the day. We might find that, once we’re fed, once our needs are met, we are all more than willing to do the work, to show up, to gather up God’s fruits for the good of the kingdom.
So let’s stop comparing. It steals our joy. It takes our focus off of the work of God that we are privileged to do.
Let’s work so that everyone, whether they “deserve” it or not, gets fed, gets what they need. Because when they do, they too can focus on the work of God that they are called to do.
Life is not fair in the city and surrounding suburbs. But it is love.
Thanks be to God.
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