"Real renewal is throwing wage-thinking into the fire" Septuageisma 2026

01. February 2026
Septuagesima
Daniel 9:2–10; 1 Corinthians 9:24–10:4; Matthew 20:1–16

“So when evening had come, the owner of the vineyard said to his steward, ‘Call the laborers and give them their wages, beginning with the last to the first.’” (Mt 20:8).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

We are very good at wages. We know how to count hours, keep receipts, total up the effort, and feel the weight of what we have “put in.” We know how to say, “After all I’ve done…” And we are also very good at taking that wage-logic and dragging it right into the presence of God—into the Church—into the Divine Service.

That's the old religion within us all: the hustle religion.  Put in enough effort, show your seriousness, prove your commitment, and then God will reward you.  Bless the church, repair the family, balance the finances, and make life work.  And if I've endured longer than others, borne the burden of the day, then I've certainly earned a greater voice, a bigger share, a larger portion of God's favor.

Today’s Gospel comes like a hammer and says: “No!” Not because your effort is evil. Not because your discipline is pointless. But because the faith is not a payday. It is not wages. It is a gift. It is grace—pure, undeserved, unbargained-for mercy handed out by the Lord who delights to be shockingly generous.

Look at the prophet Daniel. Daniel is not a rookie. Daniel is not a latecomer to God. Daniel has been faithful in a godless culture. Daniel has prayed. Daniel has suffered. Daniel has borne the heat of the day. If anybody could walk up to the Lord with a résumé and say, “You know what I’ve done,” it would be the prophet Daniel.

But listen to him: “We have sinned and done wrong… we have rebelled… to us belongs open shame.” No bargaining. No excuses. No spiritual invoice slid across the table. Daniel comes with the only thing a sinner actually has: sin to confess and mercy to plead for. He doesn’t appeal to his merit—he appeals to God’s compassion. He doesn’t say, “Pay me!” He says, “Lord, forgive.”

That is not just Daniel’s voice. That is the Church’s unanimous voice. That is the voice built into the opening of the Divine Service. We do not begin with, “Lord, look what we’ve accomplished this week.” We begin with, “I, a poor miserable sinner…” We enter as Daniel: guilty, empty-handed, with nothing to trade.

And then—this is the whole point—God answers not with a lecture and not with a bill. God answers with a sentence that does what it says: Absolution. “I forgive you.” And that absolution is not in a fraction for beginners and with a full serving for veterans. It is not a smaller coin for late arrivals and a bigger coin for the old-timers. It is the full denarius. All of Christ. Forgiveness complete. Life given.

Which means the real scandal of this Sunday is not just out there in the vineyard. It’s right here, where God insists on being God for you: the Giver.

So Jesus tells a story. A landowner goes out early and hires laborers. Then he goes out again—midmorning, noon, midafternoon, and even at the eleventh hour. There are still men standing idle. Not because they’re noble. Not because they’re misunderstood. They’re standing around. The day is nearly over. And he says, “You too—go into my vineyard.”

And then the end comes. And the pay is handed out. And the ones who worked one hour receive a denarius. A full day’s wage. Not “fair.” Not “proportional.” A denarius.

Now you can feel what happens. You don’t need to be told. The ones who labored all day start doing math. If they got that, then I will get more. Here it comes. Finally, the world makes sense. Finally, there’s a system. Finally, there’s a reward for effort. And they receive… a denarius.

And then the bile rises: “These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us!” Equal. That’s the word that stings. Not merely were the latecomers paid, but they were made equal.

And the landowner—shockingly calm—says, “Friend, I am doing you no wrong.” He doesn’t deny the agreement. He doesn’t shortchange. He pays exactly what he promised. And then he says the line that burns wage-based religion to the ground: “Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or do you begrudge my generosity?” Literally: Is your eye evil because I am good?

There it is. The problem is not that God is unjust. The problem is that God is good—and our wage-thinking can’t stand it. Because wage-thinking always turns the church into a ladder. Who has been here longer? Who has given more? Who has worked harder? Who has suffered more? Who has the right to speak? Who deserves to be listened to? And then we start dividing the Body of Christ by invisible pay grades.

That’s not faith talking. That’s wage-based religion. That is the old Adam trying to convert God into an employer and the Church into a workplace. And Jesus will not have it. Not because he’s anti-order, but because he is pro-Gospel. And the Divine Service is not a workplace. It is a delivery room. It is a feeding place. It is hospice for the dying and life to the resurrected. It is the Lord’s way of putting Christ into sinners.

The denarius is not a metaphor for “good people get the same reward.” The denarius is Christ. The denarius is the forgiveness of sins. The denarius is the Kingdom given to the undeserving. The denarius is not wages. It is a gift.

But what about the Epistle? “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it.” He speaks of discipline, training, and not being disqualified. Good. True. The Christian life is not laziness. Faith is living. Faith has legs. Faith runs.

But if you stop there, you will hear Paul as a motivational speaker: “Try harder. Be better. Sprint.” And then you will turn the Christian life into another hustle religion. Another treadmill. Another performance. More ritual.

But Paul won’t let you do that—because Paul pivots hard. He says: Look at Israel. “All were under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were baptized into Moses… and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink.” And then the line: “For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ.”

Do you see what Paul is doing? He is not replacing grace with your grit. He is locating the whole race inside God’s gifts. Where does the strength come from to run? From the Rock. From Christ. From being brought through the sea—through baptismal waters. From eating and drinking what God gives. From being carried by the Lord who follows his people, not with a clipboard to grade them, but as the Rock who sustains them.

So yes, run. But do not imagine you are running to earn a denarius. You are running because the denarius has already been placed into your hand. You are running because you have already been made alive. You are running as one who has been fed.

That is why the Divine Service matters. Not as your weekly timecard. Not as your proof that you’re serious. Not as your religious hustle. But because here the Vineyard Owner comes to you—again—and gives what you did not earn. Here we enter like Daniel: “We have sinned.” And God does not say, “Work it off.” He says, “I forgive you.” That absolution is the denarius in your hand.  Here, the Rock follows you. Not an idea of Christ. Not your memory of Jesus. Christ himself, present in his Word, present with his gifts, giving himself to you for the forgiveness of sins.

And then—astonishingly—he feeds you. “Take, eat… take, drink.” Not because you have carried on in the heat of the day. Not because you have clocked enough hours. But because you need it. Because sinners need Christ. Because runners need food. Because the weak need strength. Because the tempted need rescue. Because the dying need life.

And once you see that, a lot of church anxiety gets exposed for what it is: wage-thinking in religious clothes. The frantic program-driven church that acts as if everything depends on our hustle, our strategy, our plans, our marketing, our “seriousness.” The constant low-grade panic: if we don’t do more, God won’t show up. That’s unbelief dressed up as business, busy-ness.

Real renewal will not come by whipping the workers harder. Real renewal will not come with “butts in the pew” or “capital campaigns.” Real renewal is throwing wage-thinking into the fire and letting the whole parish live from gift-thinking. Everything good in this place comes from what Christ hands out. The Church is not built by spiritual overtime. The Church is built by Christ giving himself—again and again—in Word and Sacrament.

So here is a correction you can take home and live in: Stop negotiating with God. Stop keeping score. Stop treating grace like a bonus for high performers. Stop resenting the latecomer. Stop measuring your worth by your hours in the field.

Instead, repent with Daniel. Receive with empty hands. Let the Lord be good. Let him be generous. Let him make them equal to you—because he has made you equal to them: a sinner saved by grace alone.

And then, yes—run. Run in your vocation. Run in patience. Run in love. Run in suffering. Run in prayer. Run in repentance. But run as one already paid—not with wages, but with Christ. Because the denarius is in your hand.

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin