So, based on Peter’s question, we assume that this parable is going to be a lesson on “rewards.” And if you read it at face value, it is about God subverting the reward system, right? We can easily preach on this being about God’s unfair grace. The grace is the same for those who came at the beginning of the day and those who only worked an hour. It is not about work or value. It is about grace for everyone. It’s a lovely message. But it’s also one that broods resentment. And while maybe that is inevitable to a certain degree, I don’t think it gets to the whole subversiveness of this text. Because when we preach unfair grace, I hear lots of discussion about laziness. ‘Well, where were all those folks that didn’t show up until the end of the day? Doing nefarious things? Why should they get the same reward? Did they sleep in? Were they hungover?’ And this absolutely could have been a discussion about salvation in Matthew’s community. Why should someone who only just hopped on board be entitled to the same grace and reward of God as me who has been in this for much longer? If we preach on this text as unjust grace, then I don’t think there’s as much for us to take away from this text. There is little action for us to take other than, “don’t be jealous of your neighbor.” Particularly, because a denarius is not really a lot of money… it’s just the bare minimum.

21Peter came and said to [Jesus], “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” 22Jesus said to him, “Not seven times, but, I tell you, seventy-seven times. This question is important because Peter, the one with “the keys to the kingdom” (16:17-19) is representing the church (and us) and asking a very human question. Peter is asking for the limit. “What is the limit of our grace?” “When is enough, enough?” “When can we finally call someone a lost cause?” To many of us it’s a justifiable question. Surely there is a limit to our grace, right?

Jesus again utters the phrase, “Truly I tell you, whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.” This is the same phrase that he used after giving Peter the keys to the kingdom. But this time Jesus is talking about forgiveness. In just mere chapters, things are going to begin ramping up quite uncomfortably. Jesus will engage in harsh debate with religious leaders over and over again who are trying to test him and put him on his guard. Chapters 23-25 are sometimes referred to as the Judgment Discourse. And then we turn into the Passion. Things are going to get heated and all the while the disciples are mostly just going to be standing by and watching. They are going to watch it all unfold before their eyes as their teacher, Lord, and friend, is ushered away to be crucified by all those who have greater authority than them.

As folks who know how this story ends, it’s so easy to pick Peter apart in this scene. We quickly understand that the Messiah figure is one of sacrificial love and servant leadership. How could Peter, who just called Jesus the Messiah, not understand that he needs to go and be crucified by the authorities and Rome? Some head of the church he is.   But that’s not what Peter and the disciples would be thinking at all.

R. Alan Culpepper writes, “This scene gives us a tantalizing glimpse into the early church in the latter decades of the first century and Matthew’s place in that theological “landscape.” In form, these verses constitute both a foundation story and a commissioning story; they tell the Matthean church where it came from, and they commission Peter as the leader of the church, and by implication the authorized bearer of the tradition.”[1]

Jesus took the five loaves and the two fish that had been gathered, the only food that anyone had. He looked up to heaven and gave thanks to God. He broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the people. Everyone ate and had enough. It wasn’t a miracle that everyone received some bread and fish. It wasn’t even a miracle that there was so much left over. It was a miracle because no one had to leave.