You have to stand a little dumbfounded by the mercy of God shown in the parable of the wicked tenants. After the tenants had killed the other messengers, he sent his son to them. Is that how you would have reacted to tenants that stole your vineyard—by sending your beloved child to try to get through to them? God’s mercy, revealed in stories like this, is staggering. The reason we think ourselves more merciful than God is we don’t perceive the depth of the evil of what we’ve done. God sent his Son, knowing full well what we would do to him. Why?
What keeps us from seeing the truth is not a lack of clarity in the evidence but the condition of our hearts. Jesus obscured truth so that only those who are pure of heart could see it. This isn’t something we easily accept. We tend to think that with the right intellectual capacity, we can discern everything we need to know—and if we don’t see something, it must be because we aren’t smart enough. But Jesus says otherwise: He reminds us that our dull minds aren’t usually the problem; our dull hearts are.
We may not know exactly what God is doing in our pain, but the cross shows us what our suffering can’t mean: It can’t mean that God has forsaken us or that he’s lost control. The cross was where God did his greatest work. That’s what he’s doing right now through your pain. It may feel to you like a dark night of the soul, but God is working in it the power of resurrection—where he entered into your pain for you, took death for you, and now stands victoriously by your side, promising you that one day you’ll stand with him in eternity.
The gospel message is not impressive on the surface. Its form—a preached word that we can set aside, argue with, even ignore—is mundane. But don’t let the form fool you—in these words are the very power of God. An acorn is so small you can crush it under your feet, yet it has within it the potential for a mighty tree whose roots can split concrete. In the same way, Jesus said, the Word, which is put in the mouths of ordinary people and contained in simple stories and parables, contains within it the ability to free the believing soul from the penalty and power of sin and infuse divine life into the hearer.
We all struggle with seasons where we are lukewarm, where we are striving to maintain a commitment to Christ but where we falter. I’ve been there, too. But the fundamental question is this: When you became a Christian, did it include a surrender to get engaged in the mission of God? Have you personally engaged in the mission of God, offering your time, talent, and treasures as a blank check to him? We talk a lot about the rest of the world going to hell, but maybe we should ask if some of us are.
In the book of Romans, Paul says that a great deal of our behavior can only be explained in terms emotional and spiritual repression—that underneath everything else, what we repress most is a fundamental hatred of God himself. The closer God gets to “our field,” the more we respond with a visceral spirit of territorial anger. Romans 8:7 says that our sinful heart has an inward hostility toward God: “The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so” (NIV). Our natural mind can’t submit to God. It possesses a deep hostility to his authority and glory. But there is a way out of this repression. When we repent, we recognize and confess our hostility, pleading with God to change it.