What can help you change?
In our Gospel today, Jesus tells us the parable of two sons sent by their father to work in the vineyard. The first initially said no, but he later changed his mind and did as the father asked. The second said yes, but he never went.
Who is the first son? Our Gospel makes it clear: He represents the tax collectors and prostitutes who were following their own path, but after encountering John the Baptist, they repented of their former ways. There’s already a very valuable lesson here: God allows us to change—and hopefully, for the better.
Who is the second son? He stands for those the parable is addressed to: the chief priests and the elders of the people. They did not change for the better because they probably thought they had no need to change at all. They heard John the Baptist speak, but they did not heed his message. They might have thought themselves better than someone who ate locusts and dressed in camel hair.
What can prevent us from changing for the better? Our arrogance, our pride, our overblown self-image that deceives us into thinking we’re already better than most. Pause for a moment: Think of something in yourself that needs to change. If you can’t think of any trait or attitude beyond the trivial, maybe it’s time for some deeper self-examination.
What can help us change for the better? The lesson we mentioned above bears repeating: Knowing that God allows us to change should give us courage. Just like the vineyard owner from last week’s Gospel, the Lord comes to us at nine o’clock, noon, three o’clock—even five o’clock is not too late—just to invite us to the harvest. Remember that the chances he gives do not run out on the second, third, or fourth time; they go up to seventy-seven times.
What else keeps us from changing? I was talking with a teenager once who knew she had to be kinder and less masungit to her parents. She could see how much they loved her and had long ago lost count of all the sacrifices they had made for her. I asked her, “So what’s stopping you from changing how you treat them?” In one word, inertia. She had been so masungit for so long that it would be so jarring if she suddenly became nicer. Plus, if she changed how she was with her parents, she would also need to change how she was with her siblings. One change, if it were truly sincere, would snowball into many other changes she would have to make. It was easier to just keep things the way they were.
She was also afraid her siblings would scoff, “What do you want this time? You can’t fool us.” To change, we need to be surrounded by a community that will welcome growth without suspecting an ulterior motive. It would be amazing if we had this space, but even if we didn’t, maybe we can be that supportive space for someone else.
So far, I have been assuming that the change is for the better. But what if someone changes for the worse? A community can caution someone in the midst of change, but sometimes, we must also just let a person make a mistake. Sometimes, the best way to change is to fall down first. Hopefully, your community won’t just say “We told you so,” but help you up, dust you off, and let you try again. That is, after all, what God does—a second time, a third time, until the seventy-seventh time.
Your prayer assignment this week:
The Internet is full of psychological tips on how to change. You can break down big goals into tiny tasks—like starting with a simple 'Hi' if you want to rebuild a relationship. Or you can visualize your future self to stay motivated.
Our faith offers a slightly different angle: Don’t just focus on who you want to become; remember who you already are. In the parable, whether the sons obeyed the father or not, the father still saw them as his children.
Knowing this helps, but it isn't a magic fix. It won't erase the uncertainty that comes with stepping out—the fear of the unknown that so often paralyzes us. Reflecting on Elsa’s song from Frozen II, “Into the Unknown” might help bring this home.
She starts off just as stubbornly as the chief priests and the elders, “I can hear you but I won’t.” She chooses the safety of the familiar, “Some look for trouble while others don’t.” What finally helps her dive into the unknown? Elsa belts out:
Are you out there? Do you know me?
Can you feel me? Can you show me?
Real change happens when it stops being just a shift in perspective and becomes a response to a call—a call from Someone who knows you better than you know yourself, a Father who will always love you as his child.
Fr. Francis teaches Theology, Education and Scripture at both the Ateneo de Manila University and Loyola School of Theology. As a classroom teacher, he is first and foremost a student. As a professor, he sees himself primarily as a pastor.
