Pulpit Rock, New Bedford, New Hampshire by Fr. Matt
When we open Matthew 21:43, Jesus looks us right in the eye and delivers a blunt warning: “The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom.” If we treat this parable like a literal story, the landowner looks completely foolish—sending his servants and his own son back into a den of known, murderous cutthroats. But it’s an allegory, and it hits a raw human tension. We love to cast ourselves as the chosen ones, feeling all warm and special. The uncomfortable truth is that we in the Church need to cast ourselves as the wicked tenants. It is a stark warning against our own deep-seated complacency.
Our culture, and sometimes our institutional structures, tell us that success is about self-preservation, protecting our territory, and passing rigid regulations to keep things orderly. We want to sit comfortably inside our fence lines. But the radical message of the Cross completely shatters that desire for safety. The Cross demands that we pour ourselves out for the margins. True life isn’t found in building taller fences to protect our status; it is found in rolling up our sleeves and tearing down those fences to reflect Christ's compassion for the vulnerable.
I just spent three intense days gathered in Manchester for our General Synod, surrounded by heavy administrative agendas, bishop elections, and over thirty ordinances. Yet, the real compass for our future our church didn’t come from a committee room; it came from the floor when a lay delegate stood up and asked what we were going to do to bring people back. Our lay delegates shared their honest feedback: they don't want slick marketing, jargon, or superficial entertainment. They are hoping for a future where local parishes look outward, producing tangible fruits for others—whether it is growing literal veggies on the church lawn to feed the hungry, providing a safe space for an immigrant community to worship, or offering a warm meal and a listening ear to a lonely neighbor.
We worry so much about finding the perfect programmatic map for church growth, yet we constantly get turned around. I experienced this firsthand recently while walking the trails near Pulpit Rock. Google maps suggested I turn left onto the orange trail to find a rushing waterfalls, but a hiker walking his dog suggested I turn right instead of left to get better photo of the gorge. I was foolish for blindly listening to a stranger and failing to bring a real map. After an hour of wandering, I was completely lost in the woods, though I did stumble upon Pulpit Rock and got the shot! Following a trail sign out that pointed to a parking lot, I continued along this new trail for fifteen minutes later—except there was no car. It was the wrong lot, and I was completely stranded. Across the street sat a surveyor company. I knocked on the door, confessed my stupidity, and was met not with judgment, but with incredible kindness. The owner knew exactly where I belonged and drove me miles back to my vehicle. I felt like an absolute fool, but I was deeply grateful I got lost because it allowed me to meet a wonderful Good Samaritan. Perhaps that is the real secret to bringing people back to our pews: we need to stop acting like owners of the vineyard and start becoming Good Samaritans to a community in desperate need.
Why not check on an elderly or homebound neighbors who are isolated by harsh winters or failing health, stepping in to shovel snow, deliver hot meals, or sit down for a dedicated hour of genuine, attentive companionship to ease their loneliness.
Think about the young, single adults in our neighborhoods who are fighting quiet, invisible battles behind their screens. Their daily routines are anchored on X (formerly Twitter) and the internet, where they are constantly bombarded by superficial perfection while wrestling with severe real-world isolation, career anxiety, and hidden mental health struggles. You can act as digital Good Samaritans by deliberately stepping into their spaces—offering mentorship without strings attached, inviting them out of isolation into screen-free spaces, and providing authentic, non-judgmental listening that treats them not as a demographic project, but as souls worthy of Christ's deep compassion.
Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, grant us the grace to step out from behind the safety of our church doors and labor zealously in your vineyard. Open our hearts to the honest feedback of our laity, honor our roots of protecting the vulnerable, and help us produce a crop of unconditional love that feeds a hurting world.
