Homily: Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)
Isaiah 5:1–7 / Philippians 4:6–9 / Matthew 21:33–43
4 October 2026
Fr. Ricky Cañet Montañez, AA
I recently came across several memes about indebtedness. The funniest one shows the POV of a very frustrated unpaid lender: “Nangakong sa katapusan magbabayad ng utang… ’yun pala, sa katapusan ng mundo magbabayad.” (“Promised to pay the debt at the end of the month… turns out, he meant at the end of the world.”) 😄
There is something humbling about borrowing money. When we need to borrow, we suddenly become a little less proud. We lower our voice, choose our words carefully, and say, “Can I borrow a little?” We say “a little,” but we know exactly how much we need! Then we add the magic words: “I promise I’ll pay you back.” But when the due date comes, somehow the salary is late, an unexpected expense appears, and we suddenly discover another favorite phrase: “Can I have a little more time?” We reassure the lender, “I haven’t forgotten!”—while secretly wishing they had!
There is a similar tension in today’s Gospel. Jesus tells us about a landowner who planted a vineyard, prepared everything, and entrusted it to tenants. They could work in it. They could enjoy its harvest. They could benefit from it. But there was one thing that could never change: the vineyard did not belong to them. Eventually, the owner came looking for its fruit. The tragedy was that the tenants had forgotten the difference between being entrusted with something and owning it. They began to act as if the vineyard belonged to them. And when the owner sent his servants—and finally his son—they resisted the very one who had the right to ask for its fruit.
Perhaps that is where this Gospel becomes uncomfortable for us. We may not be violent tenants, but we can become possessive ones. We say, “My money. My house. My plans. My position. My ministry. My children. My time. My life.” There is nothing wrong with saying “my.” But faith reminds us that behind every “my” is a deeper truth: everything we have and everything we enjoy has been entrusted to us by God. Our life is entrusted to us. Our abilities are entrusted to us. Our relationships are entrusted to us. Our work and responsibilities are entrusted to us. Even our ministry is entrusted to us.
The First Reading from Isaiah tells us, “My friend had a vineyard on a fertile hillside; he spaded it, cleared it of stones, and planted the choicest vines” (Isaiah 5:1–2). God had done everything to prepare the vineyard. And then He asks, “What more was there to do for my vineyard that I had not done?” (Isaiah 5:4). That question is worth thinking about: What indeed has God not done for us, that we find ourselves blessed with so much that makes us happy, fulfilled, useful, important, and loved? And what have we done with what He has given us?
We can have a beautiful house but fail to make it a peaceful home. We can achieve success but leave broken people behind us. We can have authority but forget to serve. We can be active in church and still produce very little patience, forgiveness, kindness, or compassion. Remember, God is not simply looking at what we possess. He is looking for fruit. Isaiah says, “He looked for justice… for righteousness” (Isaiah 5:7). God wants the gifts He has entrusted to us to bear fruit—fruit blesses other people.
Sometimes, we hold on too tightly to things we were never meant to own forever, and this can become a source of so much anxiety. A position will end. Children will grow up. Responsibilities will change. Possessions will be left behind. And one day, even this life will be returned to God. Perhaps this is why St. Paul tells us today, “Have no anxiety at all, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, make your requests known to God” (Philippians 4:6). We can loosen our grip because everything is ultimately in God’s hands.
The Owner will come for the vineyard. And perhaps the most important question will not be, “How much did I possess?” but “What did I do with what I was given?” Did our money lead us to become generous? Did our home become a place of peace? Did our position make us servant leaders? Did our faith make us compassionate? Did our life become a blessing? In the end, we are not owners. We are stewards. We do not keep anything forever. We simply have to be faithful and fruitful while it is in our hands.
Today, instead of simply saying, “This is mine,” perhaps we can learn to say, “Lord, thank You for entrusting this to me.”
My family—entrusted to me.
My work—entrusted to me.
My ministry—entrusted to me.
My abilities—entrusted to me.
My time—entrusted to me.
My life and everything in it—entrusted to me.
And when the Owner finally comes, may we not have to say, “Lord, can I have a little more time?” May we simply be able to say, “Lord, what You entrusted to me, I have made fruitful.”
