V/ My eyes are turned to You, O Lord.
R/ You are the joy and gladness of my youth.
V/ Grant me the Wisdom that sits by Your throne.
R/ That I may dwell as a child in Your presence.
Let us pray:
Lord, in Your all-providential plan, You have led me to this moment to rediscover myself in Your Word and Wisdom. Aid me to make this time of meditation and prayer enriching, transforming, and liberating for my well-being and others.
THE REJECTED LOVER’S BALAD
By Clement Obiorah, OCD
27th SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME, YR A
Isaiah 5:1-7; Psalm 80(79):9, 12-16. 19-20; Philippians 4:6-9; Matthew 21:33-43
Reflecting on the lection for this Sunday through the dual lenses of St John of the Cross’s Un Pastorcico and Fr James McCaffrey’s God’s Unrequited Love underscores the profound nuptial and tragic dimensions of salvation history. The readings cease to be merely a forensic account of covenantal failure and become a deeply intimate revelation of the divine heart, wounded by the indifference of the beloved.
In our first reading, Isaiah’s ‘love song concerning his vineyard’ perfectly captures the tragedy of unrequited divine love that McCaffrey so masterfully traces through the prophets. The prophet uses the language of meticulous, tender devotion: the Beloved digs, clears, plants, and builds. The haunting question, ‘What more was there to do for my vineyard, that I have not done in it?’ is not the demand of a distant landlord, but the bewilderment of a spurned lover. The yield of wild, sour grapes represents not just ethical failure (bloodshed instead of justice), but the bitter rejection of a deeply personal intimacy. God has made Himself utterly vulnerable to His people, and that vulnerability is met with barrenness.
In the Gospel, the mystery of Incarnation transposes Isaiah’s vineyard into the immediate Christological crisis and the eminent rejection and crucifixion. The sending of the servants (the prophets) culminates in the ultimate, staggering risk of divine love: ‘They will respect my son.’
It is here that the Sanjuanist lens of the Pastorcico becomes overwhelmingly poignant. The tenants cast the Son out of the vineyard and kill Him. Outwardly, this is a narrative of greed and violence. Inwardly, mystically, it is the profound agony of the Little Shepherd Boy. As St John of the Cross writes, the shepherd boy does not weep because of the physical afflictions he endures, but because he has been forgotten by his shepherdess:
The heir is murdered because the tenants have forgotten who they are and who He is. They view the vineyard as a possession to be grasped, not a communion to be received. Jesus, cast out of the vineyard to die, is the shepherd boy climbing the tree (the cross), where he opens his arms, his heart ‘del amor muy lastimado’ (deeply wounded by love).
As Pope Benedict XVI so often emphasised, the Cross is the radical turning of God against Himself in which He gives Himself away in order to raise man up. The rejection of the Son—the crushing of the truest grape in the winepress outside the city walls—becomes the very mechanism of salvation. The rejected stone becomes the cornerstone. Psalm 80 echoes the desolation of the ruined vineyard, ravaged by the boar. It is the cry of a people who have realised the devastation of their own rejection of God. ‘Visit this vine and protect it… the son you have claimed for yourself.’
Yet, it is St. Paul in Philippians who provides the framework for our response to this unrequited love. In the shadow of the Cross and its folly, Paul does not counsel despair, but profound Eucharistic gratitude: ‘by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known…’ Rightly so, Paul’s use of the word for ‘thanksgiving’ points towards the Eucharist disposition to prayer.
To live a life of prayer in the Teresian tradition is precisely to offer this thanksgiving—to keep watch in the vineyard, to gaze upon the wounded Shepherd Boy, and to requite the unrequited love of God. Where the tenants offered hostility and the shepherdess offered oblivion, the contemplative offers a heart guarded by ‘the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding.’ We are called to be the ones who do not forget Him, yielding the sweet fruit of communion that the Beloved has sought from the very beginning with tenderness and unmatched devotion.
Prayer
Lord, forgive my indifference to Your tender devotion. Cultivate the vineyard of my heart so it may yield the sweet fruit of communion with You. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Ponder Questions
- Where do I treat God’s gifts as possessions to grasp rather than a communion to receive?
- How do I respond to the vulnerable, unrequited love of God in my daily life?
- In what specific ways can my prayer become an act of Eucharistic gratitude to all the graces and privileges from God, the wounded lover?
Practice for the Week
Sit in silence for five minutes before a crucifix. Gaze at Christ not merely as a victim of violence, but as the spurned lover wounded by your indifference, and offer Him a silent act of profound thanksgiving.
Phrase to Remember
Faith is not a possession to be grasped, but a communion to be received.