Bible reading: Matthew 21:28-32.

Message.

Moira and I had a minor tiff (and it was minor!) last Saturday. It arose because we both enjoy reading. Although some of our books come from the library, we also buy many. That then leaves us with a problem: what should we do with the books once we’ve read them? Obviously there’s not much point hanging on to a murder mystery once you know who the killer is! Although a few, usually non-fiction, books get kept, most end up in an ever-growing pile, destined either for the book stall at our church fair or (sorry Ian) the Oxfam shop in town.

By last weekend the pile had got quite large. Moira, who was going into town for a Welsh coffee-and-chat meeting, said, “What will you be doing? You should take those books to Oxfam”. Well, I didn’t want to do that, and told her so: the books are heavy, and the trip would mean a 45-minute bus journey each way. “I’ll wait until I have other things to do in town”, I said. Moira went out, but she was not pleased.

So I reflected. Did those books need taking? down Absolutely. Did I have anything better to do with my time? I did not. So I put the books into two heavy-duty carrier bags (thank you, Waitrose), caught the bus, duly delivered them to the charity shop, and then went to meet my wife, who was both surprised and pleased. For I’d first said, “no”, but had then done as she’d asked. Was that to please her or was it to escape possible recriminations? I leave that for you to judge!

Hopefully my story will ring some bells with you as we look at today’s parable. For I’m sure we’ve all behaved in the same way as those two sons: we’ve said, “Yes, I’ll do it” but failed to keep our promise, or said, “No, definitely not” but then changed our minds. The first response leads to disappointment or even anger, the second leads to a practical result and gratitude. Of course there is another, more famous, parable in Luke’s gospel of a man with two sons; it’s been suggested that today’s story was a “dry run” or rehearsal for it. That may be a fanciful idea; but there are definite similarities in the stories and their meanings.

For Jesus was saying that the religious leaders of his day, scrupulous in keeping the ceremonial law and maintaining correct doctrine, were less likely to get into God’s kingdom than the looked-down-upon tax-collectors and prostitutes. We can imagine how shocked and furious those leaders would be when they heard that: “What? That lowlife scum getting into heaven before us?”. So why did Jesus say it? The answer is quite curious: it’s because the so-called “sinners” had welcomed the unorthodox John the Baptist as a genuine prophet from God and had embraced his teaching, while the leaders had rejected him and refused to change their minds. God was doing something new, but those leaders were inflexible: tradition had to be upheld at all costs. In the same way, they hadn’t been willing to accept Jesus, an untutored outsider from outside the religious establishment.

What we should recognise is that this scathing parable was told at a crucial moment of Jesus’s ministry, in fact during the final week of his life. He has already upset both the Roman and Jewish authorities, first by his entry into Jerusalem which mocked king Herod, and then by his rampage through the temple, scattering the market traders. Presumably sensing that matters are coming to a head, he now seems to be throwing all caution to the winds, perhaps to the delight of the listening crowds and the horror of his disciples who were known to be his associates. Were Jesus’s words putting them in danger?

One way of describing a complete change of mind is to say that you are making a U-tern. (And that’s not, as people sometimes say, a 360 degree turn because that would leave you facing the same way as when you started; a U-turn is only 180 degrees). Now we usually hear about U-turns in the context of politics, and they are usually regarded as a bad thing, a sign of weakness or indecision. Some of us will recall Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher’s words at the Conservative Party conference in 1980 (although they were actually penned by her speech writer): “To those waiting with bated breath for that favourite media catchphrase, the U-turn, I have only one thing to say: You turn if you want to. The lady’s not for turning!”. (It’s still groan-worthy today!).

Well, the Press loves to chastise Government U-turns with words such as “humiliating”, “indecisive” or “a climbdown”. However opinion polls tell a rather different story. As someone has said, it’s not easy doing politics in a rapidly-changing world. Many folk like politicians to be responsive to the groundswell of public opinion, although they also like them to be decisive. Yes; a U-turn, perhaps stating that a previously announced project will not now be going ahead, or that a policy is about to be reversed – can be a sign of weakness. On the other hand it may show leaders who are willing to admit they got things wrong. That’s not easy to do, and they should be praised for their humility.

Most of us are not politicians! But there are times when we, as human beings or, more specifically, Christian believers need to do a U-tern and say, “I got that wrong, I’ll need to change my mind”. That can be difficult, even embarrassing, and open us up to hurtful criticism. I’m not just thinking of ministers who announce a grand new initiative, taking up months of discussion and planning, only to conclude that going ahead would be foolish. Nor am I thinking of church members who promise to go onto the cleaning or washing-up rota but have to withdraw because of a family crisis or illness – these things happen. I’m also thinking of people who’ve very strongly and publicly held a particular doctrinal position but who see things differently. Current live issues in the British churches include sexuality and gender, the roles of men and women, Israel and Palestine, racism and immigration, and (in the Church of England) whether reparations should be paid to African and Caribbean nations as compensation for the horrors of slave trading. For someone to stand up in a Synod or Church Meeting and say, “This is what I used to believe, but I’ve changed my mind” takes a great deal of courage.

Yet I think that it mirrors Jesus himself. For, while he never attacked basic belief in God nor, in fact, the Jewish laws, he did often redefine faith and practice. One phrase we hear him using again and again is, “You have heard it said …” (traditionally strict interpretations of faith) “but I say to you …” (a new and more flexible approach). We know that some scribes and Pharisees, such as Nicodemus, were open to Jesus’s thinking and welcomed it; many others were hostile and rejected it. As Jesus so cruelly said, prostitutes and tax-collectors were more willing to hear him than those leaders, proudly preoccupied with keeping the Law but completely missing its human love and compassion.

It is easy to take this little story at face value: of promising but failing to do a task, or saying that we won’t do a job but then doing it after all. That’s part and parcel of human experience, and I hope that we don’t make rash promises to help which we don’t fulfil, or sit lightly to our responsibilities, for that puts a big burden on the folk who have to fill the gaps we’ve left – they are entitled to feel grouchy and put-upon. On the other hand, turning up to volunteer after we’ve said we wouldn’t puts a smile on peoples’ faces and also boosts our credibility no end!

But, while it’s good to learn that lesson from this tale, it’s true message goes deeper; in fact it’s really about the way we respond to God. Those Jewish leaders genuinely thought they were following him, but they weren’t: in fact God was speaking through John the Baptist and then Jesus: voices which they refused to heed. So: will we say, “I’ll listen to you, God; I’ll do what you ask” but refuse to take any action; or will we initially say, “No, I’m not going to listen” but then take notice and act. Just as for those two sons, the choice is ours; let us be people of open ears and willing hearts whose response is what God wishes.