“So the last will be first, and the first will be last,” says Jesus in Matthew 20:16, though He doesn’t only say it there. Jesus talks about the first being last and the last being first on five separate occasions in the Gospels: Matthew 19:30, Matthew 20:16, Mark 9:35, Mark 10:31 and Luke 13:30.
It’s not exactly the same phrase every time, because these aren’t five accounts of one speech. Jesus reused and reworked the saying, but the thrust is clear enough: when the Kingdom of God comes, things change. Our social system gets turned upside‑down.
It reminds me of what my socialist friends used to say to me at university — that when the revolution comes, everything changes. In their version, of course, the threat was that I might be one of the first lined up against the wall! Jesus’ revolution also threatens people, though it’s not obvious that anybody gets shot.
Jesus begins this teaching with “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire labourers for his vineyard.” (Matthew 20:1)
It’s a long story by parable standards, but the storyline is simple: this landowner hires workers throughout the day and promises each of them a denarius — essentially the minimum wage of the time. It was enough to keep you going but never enough to make you wealthy.
Plenty of people were happy to work for a denarius. Many start early. Others start later. Some don’t start until late afternoon. No one complains about the wage until those who’ve worked all day realise that the latecomers are being paid the same amount. They protest: “These last fellows worked only one hour, yet you have made them equal to us who have endured the burden of the day and the scorching heat!” (Matthew 20:12). “It’s not fair”, they say — and that’s exactly what I would have said.
Anyone who has raised more than one child has heard those words a lot. If you doubt the innate human sense of justice, try dividing a stash of lollies between two young children. The complaint is never “I didn’t get enough” but always “she got more than me!” That’s why King Solomon came up with the principle that if you’re dividing a piece of cake between two children, one cuts and the other chooses (I think it was Solomon).
And it doesn’t stop when we grow up. We just get more sophisticated. A trade union leader once told me that there’s never been a strike over low pay — only over pay differentials. It’s not that what we’re getting isn’t enough; it’s that we’re not getting as much as the person next to us.
A hard day’s work deserves a fair day’s wage. That’s basic to our sense of justice. It’s what our parents taught us, and it’s what we teach our children: you get what you deserve. That’s what we were taught in school too. When lazy Joe asked to see my homework because he’d had a big night, I could say “sure,” knowing he was only hurting himself. Then the exam results came in, and lazy Joe and I got the same mark! It’s not supposed to work like that!
Good, honest, hard‑working people like us are supposed to be rewarded, while useless layabouts who spend their days at the pub and take up our tax dollars to buy weed shouldn’t get the same heavenly pay‑cheque at the final checkout.
This is a confronting story. If the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t about justice, what is it about? Surely if you’ve worked all day in the heat, you deserve some recognition. Have we got our concept of justice wrong? I don’t think so. The problem isn’t justice — it’s the vineyard owner.
He replies: “Friend, I’m not treating you unfairly. You agreed with me for a denarius, didn’t you? Take what is yours and go. I want to give this last man as much as I gave you. Am I not allowed to do what I want with my own money, or are you envious because I am generous?” (Matthew 20:13–15)
It’s hard to argue with his logic. It’s just not the logic of justice. It’s the logic of generosity — of mercy — and there is always tension between justice and mercy.
Jesus saying to the woman caught in adultery, “I don’t condemn you either” — that’s mercy, not justice. Justice would have seen her stoned. Jesus saying, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they are doing” — that’s mercy, not justice. Justice would have seen His mockers strung up alongside Him.
“Doing unto others as they do unto you” — that’s justice. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” — that’s mercy, because that’s how we want to be treated. We don’t really want justice for ourselves, not if we’re honest.
Jesus concludes, “the last will be first, and the first will be last.” (Matthew 20:16) It doesn’t quite make sense, because the last aren’t really ahead — they’re equals. But if you were expecting those good‑for‑nothing layabouts to be miles behind you, perhaps it looks like they’re ahead when they’re suddenly alongside you.
The point, at any rate, Jesus says, is that the Kingdom of Heaven is like that.
Really? Is Heaven full of exhausted labourers and hung‑over latecomers? Is it a place of resentment and arguments? Is God not just?
If justice means everybody getting what they deserve, then maybe God isn’t just — at least not in that sense. What God clearly is, according to this story and according to the whole ministry and life of Jesus, is merciful.
If you’ve been to court, I’m sure you’ve seen Justitia – the Roman goddess of justice. She’s blindfolded, holding scales and sword, showing no partiality. The God of the Bible is never depicted that way. God’s eyes are open. God shows partiality, bending towards the poor, the needy, the weak, the oppressed, and God has mercy upon all.
Jesus’ parable isn’t trying to confuse us — it’s trying to convert us. The Kingdom of Heaven doesn’t run on the cold arithmetic of fairness but on God’s generosity. And if that generosity offends our sense of justice, then it’s our sense of justice that needs reshaping. For we are all held by mercy — from first to last, and last to first — and that, thank God, is the revolution Jesus brings.
First published in Father Dave’s weekly newsletter – September 19, 2026
