Matthew 20:1-15 — Let Him Be Better Than You
December 31st, 2023 › SermonsNew to Hope? We’re glad you’re here! Text the word WELCOME to 512-777-1826 to connect with our welcome team!
The big idea
There is no version of the Christian life in which you eventually pull even with God. His
generosity is so extreme that, given enough time, it will offend you — and Jesus told a parable
about exactly that so we would see it coming. The only honest response is to stop trying to settle
the account and let him be better than you are.
Key takeaways
- The workers hired at the eleventh hour did not receive a partial wage with eleven hours still
owed. They received the whole denarius. Nobody in the parable is asked to work anything off. - The grumblers are not villains — they are the people who worked hardest and know exactly how
hard they worked. That is what makes the warning land where it does. - Jesus is not defending a wage structure. He is asking a question about us: “Do you begrudge my
generosity?” - God’s giving is not obligation being discharged. Revelation 21 lists what he gives away and
every line of it benefits us more than him — and it is described as his joy. - The real inheritance is not a better address or a larger reward. It is God himself. That is
the great equalizer, and it is what makes the arithmetic of who worked longer meaningless. - Going back to God for grace again — after you have already gone back too many times — is not
an imposition on him. It honors him, because it trusts that he has not run out. - Two groups need this: the people quietly grumbling about who is getting saved, and the people
too embarrassed by their own ledger to ask for anything more.
The last Sunday of 2023 fell in the gap between Christmas and New Year’s, which at
Hope Chapel usually means a thin room and a hard time staffing children’s ministry. Instead the
auditorium was full — no kids’ classes, all ages in one room, a lot of people back in town, and Ron
Parish, Hope’s second senior pastor, in the seats to honor Dan Davis, the founding pastor, whose
memorial was the following Saturday. Matt kept the message short on purpose and did not pad it. It
was one parable and one point.
The gift you cannot match
He started where everyone had just been: Christmas. You give someone a gift, and it is fine. The
one they give you is spectacular. And something in you goes quietly sideways about it. It really is
more
blessed to give than to receive — which is precisely why being out-given is uncomfortable. If
someone does you a large favor, you would like to return it, if only to close the file in your head.
You do not want them up on you.
That instinct, Matt said, is the one this parable goes after. “There is no way we will ever be able
to compare to his generosity,” he put it, “and we’re going to have to at some point relent and let him
be better than us” — which, for people who have served God a long time, is a difficult thing to
swallow.
1. The parable, and the math that offends
Before he read it he pushed the idea to its absurd end. Suppose there were a wing of heaven where
we made license plates to work the loan off — even there, he said, God would be giving away more the
whole time than we were paying back. “It’ll only be a growing problem.” You cannot out-earn a person
who keeps handing you the earnings.
“For the kingdom of heaven is like a master of a house who went out early in the morning to hire
laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for a denarius a day, he sent them into
his vineyard.”
He read straight through the hiring rounds — third hour, sixth hour, ninth hour — and then the last
batch, the men still standing in the marketplace at the eleventh hour, who give the only reason they
have. Not laziness. Nobody hired them. And when the wages are handed out, the order itself is a
choice: last first.
“And about the eleventh hour he went out and found others standing. And he said to them, ‘Why do
you stand here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You
go into the vineyard too.’… And when evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his foreman,
‘Call the laborers and pay them their wages, beginning with the last, up to the first.’”
He stopped the reading to make sure the arithmetic was clear, because the arithmetic is the whole
thing. This is a twelve-hour workday. The men hired at the eleventh hour worked one hour of it. They
were paid a full denarius — the entire day’s wage. And notice what the foreman did not say: here is
the denarius, come back sometime and work off the other eleven hours. Nobody in this story is put on
a payment plan.
Which is why the men who had been there since dawn got their hopes up, and why anyone would. Twelve
hours at that rate should be twelve denarii. Debts paid, a good dinner, a night worth celebrating.
Matt’s point was not that their expectation was greedy. It was that their expectation was
normal. Anyone standing in that line does the same math.
“And on receiving it they grumbled at the master of the house, saying, ‘These last worked only one
hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching
heat.’”
“But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for a
denarius? Take what belongs to you and go. I choose to give to this last worker as I give to you. Am
I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity?’”
2. Who, exactly, is grumbling
Matt walked the room through the parallels and was blunt that this is not one of the hard ones. The
master and the foreman are the Lord. The workers are people who serve him. The eleventh-hour hires are
the ones who came to faith late, or who simply did not work as hard as you did — and, he added, you
know precisely how hard you worked.
He deliberately did not name the grumblers yet. First he made the room say the ideal answer out
loud — what a free person says when the master pays whatever he pleases: “Yeah, Master, you do as you
please. We love when you do what you want.” That is the sentence. Hold it up next to whatever actually
rises in you, and you have the entire diagnostic.
The grumblers are the interesting part. Not because they are wicked, but because their complaint is
so reasonable. It does not feel fair. I gave my money, my time. I converted early in life — I could
have just done a deathbed confession. I serve the Lord. I just do not like that he was that generous
with those people. And you know who I’m talking about.
think Jesus is trying to warn us — hey, fair warning, I might bother you.”
3. What it is like to be on the wrong side of a good man
To get at the scale of it, Matt ran a small ladder. Offend a wicked man and you will remember it:
charges filed, every cent repaid and then some, because you injured his dignity — and maybe he goes
easy if you beg enough. Offend a good man and he probably does not press charges; he may reasonably
ask you to pay back what you took. Then offend a godly man, “one whose desire and joy is to overlook
an offense.” For your curses he blesses. He gives away the thing you stole as though it had been yours
the whole time. He is strangely concerned for your reputation.
And here he turned Acts
20:35 back around on the room. A godly man is “someone who, like God, really believes it when he
says it’s better to give than to receive.” We read that verse as instructions issued to us — as if God
were saying, this part is for you, it does not apply to me. It applies to him first. He is the one who
finds giving better, and the parable is what that looks like when nothing restrains it.
And even that ladder runs out before it reaches God, who is off the scale entirely. Human analogies
get weird here, Matt conceded, because he is not just a better version of a guy. But the parable is
clear about the direction of the problem: his generosity is so extreme it comes off wrong. There is no
amount you can give back that will let you stand there and think, now that’s fair.
4. A bride, not a work crew
He turned to Revelation to show that none of this is God discharging an obligation. Look first at
how the city arrives — not as a worker in a newly issued uniform reporting for a shift, and not in
beggars’ clothes either.
“And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride
adorned for her husband… ‘Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and
they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear
from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain
anymore, for the former things have passed away.’”
Matt asked the room to read the list slowly and notice who benefits from each item. God dwelling
with people. Us being his people, as an end in itself. Him being our God. Tears wiped away, death
gone, mourning and crying and pain gone. At first glance every line of that is a favor done to us —
and yet the passage reads as his joy. He is not paying something off. He wants to.
“And he who was seated on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’… ‘It is done! I
am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of
the water of life without payment.’”
Life, immortality, forgiveness, grace, dignity, relief, comfort — given freely, and not only to
people who gave their lives for him. Not only to martyrs. Matt did not soften this: God is lavish with
people you would not have picked. “Weird, scummy people. Creepy weirdos. People you don’t like at all —
you’re like, why are they here?” And then he put himself on the wrong end of it: if that is who makes
the cut, “I’m definitely in the owner’s box of heaven, because this guy is a scummy weirdo — at least
that’s how I remember him.” The joke has a hook in it. The people you are appraising are appraising
you.
“The one who conquers will have this heritage, and I will be his God and he will be my son.”
Heritage — and sonship. The terms are entirely his to set, and the terms he sets are family.
5. The gift underneath all the other gifts
Jesus does talk about rewards for sacrifice — Matt was careful not to erase that. But there is
something that outranks every reward, every heavenly dwelling, every anointing, and it is the thing
that flattens the whole grumbling calculation.
“The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup; you hold my lot.”
Portion is an inheritance word. The real prize in heaven is God himself — intimacy with the Father —
and, as Matt said, that is “the thing that’s going to really mess with you.” It is also the spiritual
maturity he said plainly he would like to walk in:
“Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh
and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”
He is generous with things — spouses, children, family, the air, the ground, even his own body,
physical and tangible and given away. But the largest gift is himself, which nothing we hand back can
approach. “And the weird thing is, he loves doing it.” That is the hardest part to hold, because human
generosity almost always keeps a receipt somewhere in the arrangement — you can pay me back later, or
you can come work off the other eleven hours sometime. The foreman never says it. Neither does God.
He is simply thrilled to do it.
6. Stop dolling yourself up first
Two groups needed this, Matt said, and they need it differently. Some of us need to stop grumbling —
to stop presenting the gospel grudgingly to people we do not particularly want saved, and to start
sharing it joyfully with people we know do not deserve it.
The others are the discouraged: people whose return on investment feels small, who do not want to go
back to God for grace and mercy and forgiveness again, because they already owe him big time.
It is the feeling of calling a friend for a favor, calling the same friend for another one, and being
crushed by having to dial. I have already given back so much less than he gave me, and I’m going to
ask for more? Matt’s answer was two words, said twice: “Yes you are. Yes you are.” And two things
will meet you when you do. Where else are you going to go. And he is glad you came.
So do not detour through a little self-help to make yourself presentable before you come back. Going
straight to him is a joy to him and an honor, because it says you actually believe how much he wants
you. This is the one whose invitation Jenny had already read to the room earlier in the service:
“come
to me, all who labor and are heavy laden” — the yoke is easy, and he calls himself gentle and lowly.
But I did that and failed again. Then the only question left is whether you are worried he has
run out.
“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every
morning; great is your faithfulness.”
think that would give him glory.”
Then he prayed it rather than restating it: “God, thank you for your generosity. I ask that you would
open up our eyes and our ears to see and hear what you are doing, and to glory and boast in you and your
generosity, by your Spirit, in Jesus’ name.” A concise service, on purpose — but nobody was hurried out.
The Heart Ministry teams were up front and glad to pray with anyone who wanted it, and the room was sent
out the old way: go in peace to love and serve the Lord. A fitting last word of the year from a church
that had just spent an hour thanking him for a year some of them were glad to see end.
