Trinity Vineyard Sunday Morning

Kingdom Faithfulness

Always pray and never give up. Prayer is not a transaction. Prayer is not something we give God in exchange for services. Prayer is relationship. Persistent prayer is not about wearing God down. It is about remaining close to the One who loves us. When the result of our prayer is not what we think, rather than giving up or resorting to manipulation we keep the conversation with God going. Persistent prayer forms Kingdom faithfulness within us. Prayer is a two way street, God does not mind us repeating ourselves. We do however need to be careful that we are listening to Him. It is easy to think of prayer as only asking for things from God. That is part of what this parable is about but not all. In v7 we have this “So don’t you think God will surely give justice to his chosen people who cry out to him day and night?”  Cry is a wordless call. Prayer includes something we often forget today: Lament. The Bible is full of lament. Nearly one third of the Psalms express it. Lament is looking at our situation, especially when our situation is giving us pain and problems, trials and tribulations and crying out.  Lament is different from whining or being downhearted or having a pity party. Lamenting is taking the situation to God rather than letting your head drop and acting as if you are trapped in an unfeeling, blind universe. Lament is being honest with God and honest about our pain. Lamenting is not a lack of faith. It takes a lot of trust and loyalty to look to God in our pain and problems. This parable is telling us we aren’t forced to pretend everything is all fine. Express your complaints to God and cry out to him to do something about the situation. Your emotions will never be too strong for God. If your pain persists? Keep on crying out to God. Lament is not weak faith. It is faith refusing to let go of God in pain. https://undeceptions.com/podcast/god-laments/ [https://trinityvineyard.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=1e0e4751085def93ec6e64531&id=c0cd2c4345&e=bd41698d99]  The end of v8 is a sober warning. But when the Son of Man  returns, how many will he find on the earth who have faith? Jesus wonders if he will find followers loyal to him when he returns. And so he urges us to always pray.

Gods Love and His Judgement

Matthew 25:14-15 For it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted to them his property. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away.  God’s judgment is real, and Scripture says it begins with the church. Living in the tension between God’s love and His judgment is essential, because it is at this hinge point that we come to truly know both God and ourselves. To know God—the One in whom mercy and truth meet, where righteousness and peace embrace—is to see His perfect beauty. In that light we recognize our own brokenness. And when we truly see ourselves apart from Him, we are drawn back to Him, longing for restoration through His mercy, forgiveness, and justice. This meeting point produces what the Bible calls the fear of the Lord. This fear is not anxiety or dread, but a trembling awe: the awareness that we are finite, created beings standing before the infinite Creator. Such awe would naturally overwhelm us. Anyone unmoved in that situation would lack wisdom, which is why Scripture says the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. In Matthew’s parable of the talents, the key question is how the servants participate in what belongs to their master while he is away. Faithfulness is not passive; it is active engagement with what has been entrusted to us. The servants receive different amounts—five talents, two talents, one talent—but the first two receive the same commendation: “Well done, good and faithful servant… enter into the joy of your master.” The praise is not for success, but for faithfulness. God’s kingdom runs on faithfulness, not comparison. The third servant, however, buries his talent. In his culture, this was considered a safe, responsible choice. Yet what appears wise by human standards is not always godly wisdom. His explanation reveals the real issue: “I was afraid.” His fear distorts his view of the master and leads him to hide rather than act. This is not the fear of the Lord, which draws us toward God, but a fear that pushes us away. The master replies that even the smallest faithful step—simply placing the money in the bank—would have been acceptable. The problem was not failure but refusal. The servant did not trust the master’s heart and chose self-protection instead of obedience. True fear of the Lord restores our vision. It enables us to see clearly, leading to repentance as we recognize both our sinfulness and God’s righteousness. Such awe does not paralyze us—it moves us to faithful action and draws us into the joy of our Master.

Refusing the Kingdom

God’s kingdom is like a banquet, a generous celebration. The kingdom is a vineyard, with everything necessary for it to be fruitful. The invitation is still going out. Our lives should be characterized by the joy of inviting people to the banquet God has prepared, a banquet that is both present and future. Far too often our joy has been muted. The joy in our lives of the celebration of the kingdom should be so evident that the invitation becomes compelling.  But God’s kingdom is also marked by decision. The expected are absent and the unexpected are present. Some people say they are too preoccupied to come. Others presume they belong because of history, background, church attendance, or the right label. But belonging in the kingdom is not about labels. It is about loyalty to the king. The kingdom must shape who we are. The warning about the improperly dressed guest reminds us: invitation does not remove expectation . We cannot have the kingdom on our own terms. Grace is free—but it is not cheap. Grace invites you as you are. But it does not leave you as you are. This man wanted the celebration without the change. He wanted proximity without allegiance. He was a vineyard that did not produce any fruit.  We should be alert to the importance to the kingdom of the inclusion of those on the margins, those who we would not normally think of inviting. We should be suspicious if we look round at our gatherings and see that everyone present is like us. Beware if all the relationships we have at church are with people who we feel comfortable with. The parable is not about mission, but we need to reflect on who we are inviting to come and participate in the kingdom with us.  We must not lose sight of the theme running through both parables: judgment. We are uncomfortable with that word. Would it not be easier if God simply overlooked everything? But without judgment, salvation loses its meaning. Urgency fades. Justice evaporates. Accountability disappears. As CS Lewis tells us often, Aslan is not a tame lion. Grace is only grace if the outcome could have been otherwise, and the significance of life depends on accountability for life. We may not like judgment, but it is a central and necessary message of both Testaments and especially of Jesus’ teaching.

The Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard

“But he answered one of them, ‘I am not being unfair to you, friend… Don’t I have the right to do what I want with my own money? Or are you envious because I am generous?’” — Matthew 20:13–15 Jesus tells a story that sets off our fairness meter. People work different hours and receive the same pay. The early workers aren’t cheated, they get exactly what they agreed, but they’re furious that the late workers are treated as equals. That’s the sting of the parable. The landowner refuses to send anyone home empty-handed. And Jesus uses that to expose what happens in us when grace doesn’t match our instincts for reward. Our “fairness meter” doesn’t just care about justice, it also cares about comparison. It doesn’t just ask, “Is this right?” It asks, “How did I do compared to them?” The landowner’s question lands like a mirror. “Are you envious because I am generous?” It’s an invitation to drop the scoreboard. To stop turning faithfulness into a claim, and obedience into leverage. To receive what we were promised and still have joy when mercy meets someone else. It’s also a word of hope for anyone who feels late, overlooked, or behind. The landowner keeps going back. He keeps calling people in. Grace is welcome, not scraps. So this week, ask God for the freedom this parable offers. Gratitude instead of grumbling, celebration instead of comparison, belonging instead of anxious performance. The kingdom doesn’t run on earning. It runs on grace.

The Parable of Lost Things

“‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’” - Luke 15:31-32 Parables are like rooms you can stand in and look around. They are told that way deliberately. When something is varied and complex, you can’t always explain it in a textbook way. So Jesus told stories that could be explored from different angles - stories that could slip underneath our defences and assumptions, and reshape our lives. In Luke 15, we are given what is often treated as three parables, but it is really a story in three chapters. The pattern is identical each time: something is lost, something is found, and there is great celebration. A shepherd finds a sheep. A woman finds a coin. A father receives back a son. By the time we reach the third chapter, the pattern is familiar. The younger son is clearly lost. He demands his inheritance, disgraces his father, wastes everything, and ends up ruined. According to Deuteronomy 21:18-21, a rebellious son deserved judgement. Rebellion results in death - that is the direction the law runs. But here the mechanism is reversed. The father runs, embraces, and restores. The son is not alive, then dead - he is dead, then alive. Lost, then found. And, as before, there is rejoicing. Which means we expect the story to end there. But it doesn’t - after the three chapters, there’s an epilogue! The elder brother stands outside the party. He doesn’t celebrate, but complains and criticises: “Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!”  The older brother does not speak as a son but as a servant who believes he has earned something. In the logic of transaction, grace is an insult. If the reckless brother is honoured, what was the point of obedience? He is scandalised less by his brother’s sin than by his father’s mercy. The father’s response is astonishing: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” The elder brother believes that there is only so much blessing to go around, and the love the younger brother receives means that he is excluded. was never outside the blessing. Yet he cannot enjoy it because he cannot rejoice in grace. Many of us, as we read these words, will feel like the older brother. But what if we’re operating with the wrong assumption? There is no scarcity of blessing, love or mercy.