Proverbs 27:17
Saturday, October 3, 2026
Entering the Weekend with Christ
Hi everyone,
This weekend, we are reminded that all of our talents are merely gifts from God's grace and to be used with love so when harvest time comes, we each hand over the fruit of justice, mercy and love. Just as so many of you do each Thursday!
Pastor Tim
"God has led you to the desert, and spoken to your Heart."
Mount of Olives Lutheran Church
3546 E. Thomas Rd
Phoenix, AZ 85018
602-956-1620 office
Dominion: Stewardship, Not Ownership
If you watch toddlers in a sandbox, the first word they master after naming their parents is rarely "thank you" or "please." It is almost universally the word: "Mine." We laugh at it in two-year-olds, but the tragedy is that most of us never truly grow out of it. We just learn to dress it up in adult vocabulary. We call it property deeds, intellectual capital, proprietary territory, and personal rights. We convince ourselves that whatever we touch, cultivate, or manage belongs fundamentally to us. We confuse the gift of dominion—which Scripture frames as gentle, caring cultivation—with ruthless, autonomous ownership.
This Sunday, as we remember St. Francis of Assisi—that joyful radical who stripped off the fine clothes of his wealthy merchant father and stood barefoot in the public square to wed "Lady Poverty"—our readings confront this great human sickness. Scripture asks us a penetrating question: Are we faithful caretakers tending the Master’s vineyard, or have we convinced ourselves that we own the ground?
The Song of the Heartbroken Planter (Isaiah 5:1–7) We hear the depth of God’s care in the haunting melody of Isaiah’s Song of the Vineyard:
"Let me sing for my beloved my love-song concerning his vineyard: My beloved had a vineyard on a very fertile hill. He dug it and cleared it of stones, and planted it with choice vines; he built a watchtower in the midst of it, and hewed out a wine vat in it..."
Notice the tenderness, the sweat, and the radical investment of the Planter. God held nothing back. God prepared the soil, built the protective walls, and anticipated a harvest of rich, sweet grapes. "Then he looked for it to yield grapes, but it yielded wild grapes."
The Hebrew text here uses a brilliant, devastating play on words:
• God looked for justice (mishpat), but saw bloodshed (mishpach).
• God looked for righteousness (tsedaqah), but heard a cry of distress (tse’aqah).
When human beings assume ownership, the harvest turns bitter. Instead of justice—which ensures the flourishing of the whole community—we produce bloodshed and division. Instead of righteousness—which honors right relationship with the earth and our neighbors—we create systems that exploit the weak and leave the cries of the wounded hanging in the air.
Stripping Away the Profit-and-Loss Ledger (Philippians 3:4b–14) How do we break free from this obsessive drive to possess and dominate? The Apostle Paul gives us the answer through his own radical transformation in Philippians 3.
Paul had the ultimate worldly resume. In the currency of religious status and institutional prestige, Paul held an impressive portfolio. Yet listen to how he speaks once he encounters the risen Christ:
"Yet whatever gains I had, these I have come to regard as loss because of Christ. More than that, I regard everything as loss because of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things, and I regard them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ."
Paul did what St. Francis would do over a thousand years later in the streets of Assisi. He tore up the ledger. He took everything the world told him was an asset—his lineage, his status, his titles —and categorized it as rubbish, so that he might be found in Christ.
Paul realized that the moment you cling to your status as an owner, you become enslaved by what you possess. But when you empty your hands, you finally gain the surpassing wealth of knowing Jesus.
The Hubris of the Wicked Tenants (Matthew 21:33–46) This brings us directly to the vineyard of Matthew 21, where Jesus takes Isaiah’s ancient song and turns it directly upon the religious and political authorities of His day. A landowner plants a vineyard, equips it completely, leases it to tenants, and goes to another country. When harvest time draws near, he sends his servants to collect his share of the fruit.
• The tenants seize the servants: they beat one, kill another, and stone a third.
• The owner sends more servants; they treat them the same way.
• Finally, the owner says, "They will respect my son."
Look at the insane logic of the tenants when the son arrives:
"This is the heir; come, let us kill him and get his inheritance."
How utterly blind must a person be to think that murdering the heir gives them a legal deed to the land? Yet that is the absolute delusion of human pride. When we believe we own the vineyard, we see the true Owner not as a Father to be loved, but as a rival to be eliminated. We push the Son out of the vineyard and nail Him to a cross outside the city walls so we can continue running things our way.
Jesus looks at His accusers and quotes Psalm 118: "The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; this was the Lord’s doing, and it is amazing in our eyes." Then He delivers the verdict: "The kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people that produces the fruits of the kingdom."
The Franciscan Call: Sister Water, Brother Sun, and Open Hands St. Francis understood this parable better than almost anyone in church history. Francis looked out at creation—the birds, the wolves, the trees, the rivers—and he did not see natural resources to be bought, sold, mined, and drained. He did not see commodities. He saw kin. He called the sun his brother, the moon his sister, and the earth his mother.
Why? Because Francis knew that God alone holds the deed.
When God commanded humanity in Genesis to have "dominion" over creation, God never meant domination or exploitation. Dominion means stewardship. It means carrying the image of the Master into the field—tending, protecting, watering, and serving the garden so that every creature has room to breathe, live, and praise its Maker.
When you think you are an owner:
• You hoard your resources. You exploit other people as tools for your production. You ravage the natural world for short-term profit. You live with anxiety, terrified that someone will take what is "yours."
When you realize you are a steward:
• Your hands open in radical generosity. You treat every person as a sacred bearer of the divine image. You care for creation with reverence, knowing the earth is the Lord’s and everything in it. You walk with peace, knowing you don't carry the burden of the universe—the Master does.
This weekend, look at your life today: your home, your bank account, your talents, your career. None of it belongs to you. It has all been leased to you by the gracious Landowner, who simply asks that when harvest time comes, you hand over the fruit of justice, mercy, and love. Step into the freedom of St. Francis and the joy of the Apostle Paul. Fall in love with the true Cornerstone, and pray the prayer that transforms every anxious owner into a joyful steward:
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love.
Where there is despair, hope.
And where there is selfishness, the radical freedom of your grace. AMEN!
This Teaching Clip made me think of you. Watch Saturday Night Prayers - Lectio 365 by 24-7 Prayer:
This Teaching Clip made me think of you. Watch Saturday Night Prayers - Lectio 365 by 24-7 Prayer:
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