Endless Chain. Emilie Richards
with a narrow front porch stood back from both, on the side of a low hill. Sam didn’t have to knock on doors to find George. He was standing to one side at the front of a group of men, and before Sam even turned off the engine, he could hear him shouting.
“You don’t like what I’m paying, you go work for somebody else. You think there aren’t a million more just like you who’ll do the work cheaper? You think you’ve got real skills you can sell? Go be a doctor or a lawyer if you want more money!”
Sam got out of his car, but only after struggling with himself. Trying to talk to George was the right choice. But the other possibility, going behind his back to neutralize him—much the same as George was doing—was far more appealing.
George turned his head to see Sam approaching. For the briefest moment he looked embarrassed, like a boy caught bullying the new kid; then the moment ended and his scowl returned. He waved the men away, making it clear he was finished with them. They had started off toward the greenhouse before he stalked over to Sam.
“These people! You think we’d put out a red carpet from here to Mexico, the way they act. Doesn’t matter what I give them, what I do, it’s not enough. I tell them they start getting paid the minute they start working, but no, that’s not good enough. They want to be paid for the hour they stood around waiting to see if I was going to hire them this morning. They can go back to Tijuana for all I care.”
Sam took time for a deep breath before he thrust out his hand. “Good morning, George.”
George’s hesitation was noticeable, but grudgingly he accepted Sam’s hand for the briefest of shakes. “I know you and your kind, too. You think I’m not being fair, don’t you?”
“I just got here. I wasn’t privy to your conversation with those men.”
“I know what you think. Treat every one of them like they’re good hard workers, even if they aren’t. Oh, some are, I’ll give you that. I’ve had a few men I could trust to do exactly what I was paying them to. But most of ’em?” He made a derisive sound deep in his throat. “They’d lie in the sun and drink tequila all day if they had their way.”
Sam tried to speak gently, as if he could remember at that moment why he had chosen ministry as his life’s work. “For that matter, I’d lie in the sun all day if I could, George. So would you. But that doesn’t mean any of us will actually do it. You and I know we have responsibilities, and these men are no different. That’s why they’re here looking for work at minimal pay instead of hawking drugs in the barrio.”
“Hell, these people aren’t anything like you or me, and that’s what you don’t get. That’s why all this do-gooder stuff you’re forcing down our throats is just a big waste of time. These people don’t belong here. Not here at my place, not here at the church, not here in this country. And now I’m forced to hire a Spanish-speaking foreman just to stay on top of them. You know what that’s going to cost me?”
About half what it should, but Sam knew better than to say so.
“I ought to send them all packing,” George said.
Sam attempted to reason. “Just out of curiosity, if these men weren’t here, who would do your work? I don’t see any born-and-bred Shenandoah boys lined up at your gate. How many of Leon’s friends applied for jobs working outside in the hot summer sun?”
“That’s not what you came about, is it?”
“I’m afraid it’s an example. It’s clear you and I don’t see eye to eye on a number of things, and even clearer that you’d like to see me disappear so you can find a minister who’s more your style.”
“That about sums it up. You sure came with three strikes against you, didn’t you? I don’t know how many more the board thought they needed not to hire you.”
Sam ignored George’s speech. “The problem is, there may not be any ministers you’d find agreeable. We ministers are supposed to challenge you. We all need to be challenged or we’ll never change. If the next minister didn’t challenge you, he wouldn’t be earning his pay, and we know how you’d feel about that.”
George shoved his hands in the pockets of baggy pants. “You think I need changing? I’m raising a son by myself. You don’t have kids. You probably never worked a full day at a real job. You don’t know what it’s like to run a business or do the things I do.”
There was no point in explaining that a church was like a business, and that nothing was more real—or exhausting—than the mission each good minister or rabbi, priest or mullah, embarked on: to open hearts and minds to the love of God.
“I’ve got a story about this,” Sam said instead.
George sniffed. “I don’t have time for your stories.”
“Humor me.” Sam heard the edge creeping into his own voice.
For a moment he thought George would leave him standing there, but the other man shrugged. “Make it short.”
“Your situation here is what reminded me,” Sam began. “Only the man in my story owned a vineyard, not a landscaping business. One morning this man needed some extra laborers, so he went to the market where they congregated and hired the number he thought he’d need. Then, later in the day when he went back to the market, he saw a few more men who needed work and thought, ‘Maybe I’ll just hire them, too, and get things finished quicker.’”
“Are you finished yet?”
“Given the chance, I’ll be finished in a minute.”
George narrowed already narrow eyes.
Sam continued, trying to tamp down his anger. “So the vineyard owner hired the extra men. Fortunately, he was a man who could change his mind, and as the day progressed, he hired more and more workers as he saw there was more to be done.”
“What in the hell are you getting at?” George demanded.
“Let me cut to the chase. When the workday was finished, there were a number of men waiting to be paid. But when the foreman paid them, the men discovered every one had gotten the same amount of money, no matter when they started.”
“Then either the foreman or the owner of your vineyard was a fool.”
“Maybe not,” Sam said. “You see, right at the beginning the owner told the first men what he would pay them, so that’s what he paid. It was his decision to pay the other men just as much. In fact he said, ‘So the last shall be first, and the first last.’”
“You’re speaking in a bunch of damned riddles.”
“You’ll find that particular riddle in the book of Matthew. It’s one of the parables of Jesus. He didn’t want His words to be easy. We’re supposed to think hard about their meaning before we apply them to our lives. I think the point is that God is merciful and His grace is given through mercy, not through a calculation of the hours we’ve put into doing the right thing or working hard. Likewise—and no less important—it’s our job to be as merciful in our dealings as God is in His.”
“You think this means something to me?”
“I think it could, if you let it. There’s nothing to be gained by working as hard as you do, George, unless you’re doing it with a merciful heart. And there’s nothing to be gained by putting ourselves above anybody else. The last shall be first and the first last. We’re all God’s children, and He doesn’t care if we start life with a vineyard or as the laborer pruning the grapes. The reward’s the same.”
“You think I should lie down and roll over, let these men—let you, of all people—walk over me?”
Whatever patience Sam had snapped. “I think you need to take a deep breath and ask yourself any number of questions, starting with whether you could better serve the Lord by being kinder and more understanding.”
George tried to interrupt, but Sam