SermonStudio

Parallel Parable: Matthew 20:1-16
The Laborers In The Vineyard

George Gustafson had been a builder in central Texas nearly 40
years. He had come by the trade naturally, for his father having been
a cabinet maker and some-time home builder; and even though he was
pretty much wiped out during the depression of the '30s, George's
father encouraged his only son to pursue a career in the building
trades. "People are always going to need a place to live," he told
George more than once. George's grandfather had come to central Texas
from Sweden just before the turn of the century, and it was from him
that both George and his father inherited that inner quality of fine
craftsmanship that made them both highly skilled in their trade.
As George's father had been highly respected throughout central
Texas for his quality work, George now enjoyed the same reputation in
the building industry and to a certain degree among the general
public. And George's son Charles, with an engineering degree from
Texas A & M, had joined his father's firm and from time to time
debated with himself as to whether or not he wanted to take over the
business from his father some day. George hoped he would, but didn't
say much about it; he would rather have Charles take over because he
wanted to, not because Daddy wanted him to.
It was September when George heard from the school board that his
bid for the new school building had been accepted by the school board,
and could he get started immediately? They needed the new school for
classes one year later.
"People who hand out building contracts are all alike," he fussed
to Charles (whom he called Charlie). "They deliberate and ponder for
weeks, then they give you a contract and say they want the building
done on their time schedule. I wonder do they think I'm sittin' on my
hands while I"m waiting for

37

them to make up their minds?" George was nearly always an even-
tempered man, but he did chafe a bit when he was pressed to get things
done in an unreasonable amount of time. And one year to build the new
school was unreasonable, considering its size and design, besides the
fact that his crews were still busy on other jobs.
"There are contractors who are sitting on their hands waiting for
work," Charlie offered, "We're not out of this slump yet, Dad."
"I know, I know," George said rather half-heartedly as he searched
the contract for details. "Look at this, Charlie," he said. "They want
me to use union labor! I"ve never used union labor for 40 years, and
I"ll be damned if I"ll start now!"
"Sooner or later -- maybe sooner -- unions are coming to the south,"
Charlie remarked.
"Well, they"re here, but I'm not using them. They can keep this
contract if that provision has to stay in."
"Well, my guess is if they want you badly enough, Dad, they'll give
you some room on that," Charlie said, trying to take some of the edge
off his dad"s reaction to the contract. "You want me to call them and
talk about it?"
"No, I know the people there. I'm just going to tell them -- as I've
told anyone else who will listen -- that my workers get better pay and
benefits than those of any other construction company, including union
employees, and I'm not going to hire union people just because
somebody on the school board thinks I should. That's probably what
it's about too, some union person on the board insisted that this
provision be put in."
Apparently George did indeed get to the right people, because they
deleted the union provision from the contract and George began
assigning tasks to his key people so the project could get started as
soon as possible. "Next September, my eye," he said as he turned the
plans over to Charlie and their construction superintendent Tony
Contreras.
Tony had been with George for more than 20 years, and he was
invaluable to the company. As a Tex-Mex he could

communicate well with the Mexican laborers hired from time to time,
but he also had a keen eye for analyzing building plans, including
spotting errors and goofs made by draftsmen as they drew up the specs.
Charlie enjoyed sitting at Tony's elbow in the construction trailer
and soaking up some of his experience. "Charlie," Tony said after a
long quiet survey of the plans, "It's going to be a job to get this
thing ready for turn-key by next September. Maybe next Thanksgiving,
but I don't know about September."
"Don't remind Dad," Charlie advised.
"No, we'll just see what we can do," Tony said rather quietly.
Charlie trusted Tony's good sense.
They didn't actually get started on construction until the week
after Thanksgiving. What with finishing up a few other jobs, getting
building permits, arranging for supplies and subcontractors, the weeks
simply flew by. They now had nine months to complete the job. Frequent
phone calls from school board members wanting to know why the building
wasn't up yet didn't help matters.
Shortly after the slab was poured unseasonable rains delayed
construction, and patience wore a bit thin. Spring came and went, and
George and Tony figured they were about two months behind where they
ought to be if they were to be finished by September opening. "No
way," George said as they figured what still had to be done.
"Unless ... hmmm ... Tony, I'll tell you what I've been thinking of
doing. You and I are going to take a trip into Austin and pick up some
of those guys who are hanging around looking for work every day."
"Without knowing what they can do?" Tony asked as though he was
hearing things.
"Yeah, there are bound to be a lot of those guys who wore a nail
belt at one time or another and could help us out. I've tried the
employment agency and I can't get any satisfaction there."
"I don't know," Tony mused, "I'm not sure it's going to work to put
guys you know nothing about on our construction site with the crews
that know what they're doing."

"Well, look," George said, somewhat in defense, "Maybe we can help
this terrible problem of the homeless or the street people or whatever
by putting people to work. Hey, if the guys don't work out, we'll drop
'em and try a new bunch the next day."
"Let's go," Tony suggested. He knew better than to try to talk
George out of his hair-brained idea.
George and Tony stopped near the Salvation Army building, at the
corner where the homeless crowd always gathered looking for a day's
work. Some of them wanted work for only one day, enough to buy a
bottle of cheap wine and a pack of cigarettes. Others were hoping to
land a more permanent job in an effort to get back on their feet. Some
had a wife and children whom they had sent to live with relatives in
another state until the man found a job. And without a doubt some
among them had indeed been fairly good carpenters or masons or sheet
rockers before they hit hard times. Maybe George and Tony would be
lucky enough to make contact with some of those former tradesmen who
wanted more than just a day's work.
George's truck had hardly stopped when it was virtually surrounded
by guys wanting work. They knew, as if by instinct, that the truck
belonged to a contractor and that the men in the cab had come there
looking for workers. These streetwise men had been through this day
after day, some of them for years. Some days a few got work, other
days a good many of them would be taken away by contractors, and would
be back the next morning waiting for the pickup trucks of one or more
contractors to pull up at curbside.
As the street people shouted for attention -- all of them claiming,
of course, that they were skilled workers -- the jabbering sounded like
an oriental bazaar. Tony was speaking in Spanish to a half dozen
Mexicans -- who were probably not legally in the country -- while George
tried his best to pick a half dozen or more men. Obviously, they
couldn't take all the guys who wanted to go to the job site, but by
some hit-and-miss process, Tony and George together sorted out about

10 men -- four Mexicans and the rest an assortment of Anglos -- and
stacked them in the bed of the pickup.
Charlie was the first person to meet the truck when it arrived at
the job site. He suspected that George and Tony had gone to Austin to
pick up some workers ... both George and Tony would not have gone off
together unless it was for an attempt to get a mixture of Hispanic and
Anglo workers. One look at the gang getting out of the pickup bed, and
Charlie confirmed his suspicions. Tony gave Charlie a knowing look as
he got out of the cab. It seemed to say, "I don't know about your dad
..."
Charlie drew his father aside and asked, "What's the deal, Dad? I
kind of thought that's why you and Tony went to Austin, but a whole
gang of guys?"
"We need to get that damned school finished, son," George replied
somewhat defensively.
"But you don't know anything about them, what they can do, whether
they can work or if they'll sit on their butts all day," Charlie said,
trying not to sound like he was scolding his Dad. Charlie held his Dad
in high regard, but he tightened up every so often when George would
do something that seemed a bit too generous or impractical. Charlie
knew, for instance, that every so often his Dad would slip a few extra
big bills to one or more of his Mexican workers so they could send
more money back to the family in Mexico. That was okay, Charlie
thought, but this business of getting workers off the street was a bit
bizarre.
"Dad, what are you going to pay them?" Charlie asked.
"I told them I would pay them the going rate for the kind of work
they can do," George replied, trying to make it sound very logical for
his son with an engineering degree. "If they can do the work of a
carpenter, I'll pay them carpenters' wages, if they can only do common
labor, I'll pay them common labor wages. Now, let's not stand around
and talk about it all day, let's get these guys to work. Charlie, you
and Tony try to sort out what the guys can do and let's go!"
"They don't have any tools, Dad."

"Well, you know where the toolshed is -- come on, get them started."
It didn't work too well. After that first day, George and Tony took
six of the 10 back to town -- the other four said they would sleep at
the construction site that night. The six didn't pan out. They either
didn't know diddly about construction work or they were lazy. So early
the next morning George and Tony were back in Austin again looking for
workers. This time they picked about eight men -- and almost selected
one of the six who hadn't worked out the day before. After two or
three more days of trial and error, they had added a dozen men to
their work force, and had found several who had indeed worn a nail
belt at one time or another. It wasn't an ideal situation, but they
were getting additional work done. Some of the Mexicans they hired had
experience in tile work, and were added to the crews that would soon
be tiling restrooms and other areas.
But not all was rosy. The regular crew was grumbling. They worked
with the newcomers because they had to, but at lunch time they
gathered in their own little groups. In fact, the new workers didn't
have anyone to pack a lunch for them, so George sent someone to a
nearby quick-food stop to pick up sandwiches and soft drinks for the
newcomers. That only added irritation to the rest of the crew.
"What's eatin' these guys?" George asked Charlie at lunch time one
day.
"Well, Dad, these guys just don't like having a bunch of newcomers
off the street come in here and help finish the project. You know, our
crew has been out here in the rain and sleet and yucky weather, and
now these guys come in in the nice weather to put in their two cents'
worth."
"Well, that's just tough. Tell 'em to grow up! I'm responsible for
getting this job finished on time, and I'm going to damn well do
whatever it takes to finish it!"
"Dad, I'm not arguing with you on that point. I know the job has to
be done and I must admit it's working out pretty well now that we
finally got some guys from the street who can work," Charlie conceded.

42

"What's the beef then?" George asked.
"It's the wages," Charlie answered.
"What about the wages?" George asked, although he knew full well
that his wage offer to the temporaries would be resented by his
regular crew.
Charlie tried to be logical again, "Apparently some of the new guys
told the regulars what you offered to pay them, and our guys are just
plain teed off. I can't say that I blame them."
"Well, la de da," George replied with some disgust. "Our guys have
been fairly treated by me all the time they've been with me. I give
them raises and benefits and they've always agreed that they are
getting well paid. I still say, what's the beef?"
Charlie then said what he didn't want his Dad to hear, "Our crew
thinks it is not fair to pay the newcomers standard wages, when they
haven't proven their loyalty. We don't know if we can trust them. We
don't know when they'll just take off when we need them most."
"You know what the trouble is?" George asked without waiting for an
answer, "They're jealous, that's what. They don't want me to treat the
newcomers as well as I treat the regulars; it's as simple as that, and
I'm going to tell them so."
Charlie offered some advice, "Dad, go easy on them, they're feeling
a bit hurt, and some are a bit angry."
"Well, let's call a meeting for after work today and talk it out,"
George said with a sigh. "I don't want them stewing about it all
during the weekend ... just the regular crew, Charlie, I don't want
the temporaries in the meeting."
Charlie and Tony made the rounds during the lunch hour and told the
regular crew the boss wanted to meet with them after work. "It's about
time," one of them grumbled, hoping neither Charlie nor Tony would
hear.
When the crew showed up after 5 p.m. around the construction
trailer, the lead carpenter asked in rather hurt tones, "George, how
can you pay some of these guys the same wages you pay us, and we've
been with you, some of us for several years?"

43

Another chimed in, "Some of these clods can't lift a shovel ..."
And George broke in, "... and they're getting minimum wage."
"Not all of them," the lead carpenter noted. "A couple of the guys
said you were paying them carpenters' scale."
"That's right," George said. "Those fellows who can do the work of
a carpenter are getting carpenters' wages. I think that's only fair."
"I think it stinks," one of the carpenters chimed in.
"Well, it's a free country, Sam; you can think whatever you want.
But let me ask you, are any of you on my regular crew getting short-
changed? Didn't we agree on a new wage scale this year, and am I not
paying that?" No one answered, and George didn't expect an answer. He
knew -- and they knew -- they were all getting what they had agreed upon
at the beginning of the year.
Since it seemed there was nothing more to talk about, George added,
"I'm sure you guys are aware of the fact that if we don't finish this
project on time, we get penalized to the tune of $500 a day. Now I
would rather have that money go to some extra help so we can get the
job done on time than for the money to go back to the school board."
Someone mumbled, "Yeah, he's got a point there."
George concluded the meeting with, "Besides, we're always fussing
about homeless people and street people begging for work or for food.
So I saw this as a chance to turn some help in that direction, too."
When George returned home that afternoon, after delivering the
temporary help back to Austin, his wife Doris asked, "How was your
week, honey?"
"Oh, I think we're making some progress."