The Little Way
Lessons, Proper 21A: Ezekiel 18:1-4, 25-32; Psalm 25:1-8; Philippians 2:1-13; Matthew 21:23-32
Saint Thérèse of Lisieux—the young nineteenth‑century Carmelite known for her “little way” of humble love—once wrote about being asked to do a small, inconvenient task in the convent. Her first instinct was resistance, a quiet inward “no” that any of us might feel when faced with something tedious or uncomfortable. But almost immediately, she went anyway. She showed up. She did the small thing with great love, trusting that God meets us not in grand gestures but in the simple willingness to take the next step.
That moment captures why Thérèse’s legacy endures. She wasn’t a saint because she always felt eager or confident. She was a saint because she kept turning her hesitant “no” into a lived “yes.” She discovered that obedience often begins in reluctance—and that grace has a way of nudging us forward even when our hearts lag behind.
And that brings us straight to Jesus’ parable today. Because the truth of that story has very little to do with the second son’s hesitation and everything to do with the fact that, in the end, he showed up. He went. He stepped into the vineyard.
The hinge of Jesus’ parable is not the hesitation of the second son. It is the simple, stubborn, grace‑filled truth that he showed up. He went. He stepped into the vineyard. He did the work. And in that small but decisive act, Jesus reveals the pattern of the spiritual life: God keeps inviting, and we keep being drawn—sometimes slowly, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes with surprise—into a new place of faith.
The parable is not about personality types. It is not about which son had the better attitude. It is about the God who refuses to give up on either of them. It is about the God who keeps calling, keeps beckoning, keeps opening the future. Whether this is the first time we have ever heard the Gospel or whether we have spent decades in the pews, one truth stands firm: God isn’t finished with us yet. The baptized life has no emeritus status. There is no spiritual retirement plan. No one gets to say, “I’ve gone far enough; I’ll just sit in the back and make sure the pew doesn’t float away.”
God keeps inviting. God keeps drawing us deeper. God keeps opening new terrain of discovery, obedience, and joy.
But stepping into that invitation is hard. It means leaving behind what is familiar, comfortable, profitable, predictable. It means turning toward a future we cannot control. Consider the chief priests and elders in Jesus’ day. They had everything invested in the status quo—power, position, identity, security. To follow Jesus would have meant surrendering all of that in favor of a future they could neither predict nor manage. Their “yes” to God had become a museum piece—polished, admired, but no longer alive.
And perhaps the first son in the parable felt something similar. Saying “yes” is easy when we don’t pause to consider the cost. But showing up? Doing the work? Walking the rocky path to the vineyard? That is another matter. We hear God’s call and we say, “Yes! Sign me up!” But then reality sets in. We look around and think, “My life is fine. I make enough. My family is okay. The status quo isn’t so bad. And who knows what God will ask of me? Who knows who else will be in the vineyard with me?”
So the first son says “yes,” but never goes.
Then there is the second son—the one who says “no,” but goes anyway. Preachers often wonder why he changed his mind. But I wonder why he said “no” in the first place. Could it be that he had been told “no” so many times that he assumed he was unworthy? When all you’ve ever known is exclusion, why trust that this invitation is different?
But God is not like us. God does not take “no” for an answer. Institutions may wall off. People may box in. Structures may exclude. But God keeps breaking barriers, crossing lines, pushing boundaries, extending the invitation to new and abundant life.
This parable is universal because every one of us has stood in that thin place between the ease of saying “yes” and the difficulty of actually going. We are all caught somewhere between the excited assent of the first son and the slow conversion of the second.
Much like the first son, we have been fed one of the biggest lies ever told in the name of Christianity: that following Jesus is easy. And much like the second, we know what it is to feel overwhelmed, unworthy, or uncertain.
But at the end of the day, one truth remains: There is more kingdom to build, and God is calling all who dare to join.
And if we need a model for this life of obedience, Paul gives us the preeminent one in the Christological hymn of Philippians. Christ—though in the form of God—empties himself, takes the form of a servant, and becomes obedient even to death. His life is the pattern of the vineyard‑bound son: not the one who merely says “yes,” but the one who goes. The one who shows up. The one who embodies the Father’s will in costly, self‑giving love.
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.
Paul’s exhortation is not abstract theology. It is a summons to the vineyard. It is a call to a life shaped by humility, obedience, and trust. Christ’s descent into service reveals the shape of our ascent into discipleship. His obedience becomes the pattern of our own.
So the parable stands before us today with its quiet but urgent invitation. God is not finished with us. God is not done calling us deeper. God is not done drawing us forward. Whether we have said “yes” too quickly or “no” too often, the invitation remains: Come. There is work to do. There is kingdom to build. There is life to discover.
So I’m headed to the vineyard.
I’ll see you there.
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