The landowner called the early ones before the sun had found its heat. “Come,” he said, "Come" And they went with eager feet.

At nine and noon, more worked the grapes. At three, more shared the task. At five as daylight slowly fades he still saw people standing slack, unhired, unseen, wondering if usefulness was really what they lack.

“Why are you standing here?” he loudly asked. “No one hired us, Sir,” they softly gasped.

Grace invites, invites again. Not, “Prove that you deserve it.” Not, “Explain where you have been.” Just “Come on. Let's get to it.”

The last indeed were paid first. They walked happily home with bread for their children and dignity as their own.

The morning workers looked around down at their promised pay and suddenly it felt too small because they'd worked all day.

Envy makes full hands seem light when another's hand is blessed. It stands beside abundance complaining, “No fair! Where's the rest?”

The cross is not a scoreboard. Grace was never wages not limited to the strongest, earliest, nor the wisest sages.

Let’s not measure mercy with sad and tight-clenched fists. There is grace more than enough. God’s generous love persists.