The vineyard does not belong to us: living as stewards of God’s gifts

Fray Luciano Audisio, OAR, reflects on the parable of the wicked tenants, one of the most incisive accounts in the Gospel of Matthew. Jesus reminds us that the life, faith, vocation, and responsibilities we have received are not private property, but gifts entrusted by God to bear fruit. Conversion begins when we stop living as owners and learn to recognize ourselves as stewards of the Lord’s vineyard.

The Lord’s vineyard is an entrusted gift, not a property

The parable of the wicked tenants is one of those words of Jesus that, at first glance, seems directed exclusively at others. It speaks of violent tenants, capable of rejecting the owner’s messengers and, finally, of killing his own son. But Jesus tells this parable precisely so that those who hear it discover they are not standing before someone else’s story. The account begins by speaking of others and ends by placing a mirror before those who listen. And also before us.

The image of the vineyard is not new. Jesus takes up the ancient song of Isaiah: God has planted a vineyard, cared for it, protected it, and done everything necessary for it to bear fruit. The vineyard represents the people of God, but it can also represent our own life: everything we have received, cared for, and placed in our hands. Because there is something fundamental that the parable wants to remind us: the vineyard does not belong to us. We are tenants, not owners.

This difference seems small, but it completely changes the way we live. The owner entrusts the vineyard to some workers and leaves. He does not remain watching everything, he does not control every movement, he does not intervene continuously. He leaves space for the tenants to act freely. And precisely that absence makes responsibility possible. God entrusts his vineyard to us and allows us to work in it with freedom. Our life, our vocation, our abilities, our communities, our responsibilities, even the people God places by our side, are gifts received in stewardship.

The problem begins when the steward forgets he is a steward and begins to behave like an owner. The tenants go as far as to say: “This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance.” Their sin does not consist solely of violence. There is something deeper: they want to appropriate what they received to care for. They have confused the gift with possession.

And perhaps here lies one of the deepest temptations of our life. We can begin by receiving something as a gift and end up considering it an absolute right. We receive a mission and end up believing it belongs to us. We receive a responsibility and think that no one can replace us. We receive a community and begin to consider it “ours.” We even receive faith and can end up using it to defend our own interests.

But God does not give us the vineyard so that we may appropriate it, but so that it may produce fruit. That is why it is significant that the owner does not immediately abandon the tenants. He sends first some servants and then others. His patience is much greater than our infidelity. And finally he sends his own Son. “They will respect my son,” says the owner. The verb used by Matthew, entrepō (to fear), expresses something deeper than fear: it is to recognize, to feel shame before someone, to let oneself be challenged by their presence.

The Son does not come to snatch the vineyard from the tenants. He comes to reveal to them to whom the vineyard really belongs and who they are. But precisely for that reason he becomes a threat to whoever has converted the gift into property. The Son is rejected because his presence recalls a truth that the human heart often does not want to accept: we are not absolute masters of our lives.

Christ, the cornerstone that sustains and unites

However, the story does not end with rejection. Jesus then introduces the image of the stone: “The stone that the builders rejected is now the cornerstone.” That which seemed useless, that which had been discarded, becomes the foundation. The cross, which seems to be the definitive failure of the Son, becomes the place from which God begins something new.

And here a word also appears for us. The cornerstone not only sustains; it unites. Christ becomes the meeting point between those who were separated. In him, the vineyard is opened and its fruits are no longer locked within the limits of those who claim to possess it. The Kingdom is given to those who produce fruit.

Therefore, the final question of this parable is not simply who those bad tenants were. The question is what we are doing with the vineyard we have received. Do we care for it or do we appropriate it? Do we bear fruit or do we demand recognition? Do we receive what we have as a gift or do we live as if everything belonged to us?

Bearing fruit is living grateful for the gifts received

The conversion that Jesus proposes to us is not born solely from the fear of punishment. It is born from recognizing the Son. From looking at him and understanding that the inheritance we wanted to possess has already been given to us as a gift. And that only when we stop wanting to be owners do we truly begin to be good tenants.

The vineyard still belongs to God. We remain his servants. And the fruit he expects from us is always the same: a life that, because it has received much, also learns to give.