Sunday, September 18, 2022 | 10:00 a.m

Sermon

Matt Helms
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 113
Luke 16:1–13

So I feel like I learned an important lesson a few weeks ago: it’s always important to double-check the scripture passage in the Lectionary before you agree to preach on that Sunday. In all seriousness, if you were left feeling a bit confused by a parable commending a dishonest manager for cooking the books and Jesus encouraging the disciples to “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth,” I suppose the good news is that you’re not alone. So I did what any confused preacher would do—I turned to a few biblical commentaries hoping they could help shed some light on what might be going on in this passage and contextualize it to some degree. Here’s what I found: “None of the parables of Jesus has baffled interpreters quite like the story of the dishonest steward.” From another: “Most likely, there are as many perspectives and interpretations of this parable as there are readers.”And another: “The parable of the dishonest steward poses significant theological challenges.” And finally—and this one is my favorite—“It is no exaggeration to say that the parable’s meaning has stumped even the best and most creative interpreters of Scripture.” Well then!

So let’s begin unpacking this a bit. One of the issues scholars and readers have noted is that it’s not entirely clear where this parable ends and Jesus’ instructions to the disciples begin—or if the portion of the text that begins with “Whoever is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much” and ends with “You cannot serve both God and wealth” is meant to be read as a sort of counter-commentary to the behavior of the dishonest manager. The short answer, unfortunately, is that it’s probably not. It’s a little too neat of a way to avoid Jesus’ clear message to the disciples to “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth.” So, instead, perhaps one of the first things to do is to try to figure out why Jesus might have been telling this parable at all.

Elsewhere in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus shares several parables in which we can clearly identify God or Jesus through the metaphors used in the text. Last Sunday’s sermon on the Parable of the Lost Sheep is a great example. It’s safe to say the shepherd rejoicing at the return of the lost sheep is an obvious stand-in for the Divine. Same goes for other parables like the Great Banquet, or Two Debtors, or the Parable of the Prodigal Son (which we’ll actually return to a little later). It is easy to identify God’s presence in them. Not so with this parable. And yet the parable’s approval of the dishonest manager is echoed by Jesus—not for his dishonesty, but for his shrewdness—in Greek fron’-ee-mos, which can also mean intelligent, wise, or prudent. That wisdom, that shrewdness, seems to be at the center of this parable. It’s what Jesus seems to want for the disciples rather than anything related to the enigmatic term of “dishonest wealth.”

Scholars are split about what exactly the manager was trying to accomplish in adjusting the debts of those who owed money to his boss or what made him so shrewd. Some have suggested the manager was merely removing his own cut of the money owed, effectively reducing the debt to what was truly owed and creating a more just system. Others have made the argument that the manager was reducing debts merely to curry favor from the debtors, hoping to parlay this into a future position, a reading that seems to be supported by verses 3 and 4. Still others have held the view that the manager’s reduction merely increased the odds of repayment and that’s what the master was so pleased by.

Regardless of how you understand it, though, there is an important distinction being made between whatever shrewdness the manager is being praised for and what he is accused of in the first verse: ”squandering” his possessions, which comes from the delightful Greek word dia-spor-pid’-zo. I know you all didn’t sign up for multiple Greek word etymologies in a single sermon, but bear with me a second. I promise this is important. That Greek word dia-spor-pid’-zo appears only two other times in the Gospel of Luke and scarcely at all in the rest of the New Testament. It appears once in Mary’s Magnificat using the more common definition of “scattered” and again in the parable that immediately proceeds our passage today, the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

One of the trappings we often fall into is reading scripture passages in a vacuum rather than seeing them in conversation with each other, and it seems like this series of parables from Jesus in Luke 15 and 16 is indeed meant to be read together. The oversimplified version of the Prodigal Son is that it picks up on the exact same themes of the Lost Sheep and Lost Coin: the younger son asks his father for his inheritance early, only to squander it and lose it all, leading to a dramatic reunion where the father welcomes his lost and wayward son home.

It can’t be a coincidence that these parables are back-to-back, both dealing with someone squandering what they have been given—one in the form of an inheritance, the other in the form of responsibility—and both occurring in a wider series of parables reflecting on being lost and found and the need to prioritize our relationship with God.

But while the parable of the Prodigal Son is a reminder of the forgiveness and grace extended to each one of us when we fall short, this Parable of the Dishonest Manager wants to follow up on that message and make something clear. Yes, God’s grace is an ever-present reality and God’s love and grace will always transcend any of our mistakes. But even with that truth, we do still have a calling and responsibility to use our God-given gifts wisely and not to squander them. What Jesus is lamenting as being absent in the disciples is not a desire for them to suddenly start acquiring wealth by dishonest means—after all, the rest of the Gospel of Luke is repeatedly challenging our relationship with our possessions and asking us to see life’s purpose as something bigger than acquiring more and more things for ourselves or for our family. Instead, what Jesus is lamenting is that the disciples don’t seem to have the urgency, the creativity, and the shrewdness shown by that manager to use the resources already given to them by God in order to help bring about God’s purposes in this world.

The second half of our passage today builds on that idea, regardless of how you interpret its relationship with the parable. “Whoever is faithful in very little is faithful also in very much,” Jesus tells the disciples. “If then you have not been faithful with the dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches? If you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own?” One of the things we profess as a denomination is that everything we have is a gift from God but those gifts are not given as a reward for our faith, nor are they meant to be used for our personal benefit like proponents of the prosperity gospel claim. Every gift we are given comes with a great responsibility, a responsibility to serve God and God’s people, because doing so matters far more than anything we can have or buy.

I’ve spent a lot of my life living in a deficit mentality of what I have to offer—wishing if only I had x, y, or z then and only then could I actually make a difference. If only I had more time to volunteer. If only I were better at communicating my ideas in writing or speaking. If only I had more money to donate. If only I didn’t spend so much time commuting. And on and on. Perhaps you have your own list of “if onlys,” but that thinking ignores the very real gifts God has given to every single one of us and opportunities God has set before us—gifts and opportunities that are vast and varied and different for every single person in this room or watching this online. I believe what Jesus is asking of us in this parable is to trust that each of us does have gifts we’ve been given and to use them freely and fully, not to squander them or pretend like they don’t exist. Be shrewd with them. Maximize them. Trust that what you do and say and give matters, because it absolutely does.

One of the cruel traps that is so easy to fall into is believing that we have no power to make a difference in this world. I know because I fall into that trap all the time, and in many ways this pandemic time has made that feeling all the worse. There is a haunting verse from the book of Proverbs. Proverbs 29:18, at least in the King James rendition of it, states that “where there is no vision, the people perish,” and I can’t help but feel one of the myriad casualties of this pandemic time has been many of our individual and collective visions of hope or purpose or a better future. One of the trends I keep seeing pop up is the idea of “quiet quitting”—something mostly used in the context of work but frankly that could apply almost anywhere, including here at church. But part of what seems to be at the heart of this phenomenon is the idea that no matter how hard we try—no matter how much we give or are asked to give—nothing ever seems to change anyway. So, why bother?

I’m not going to pretend that individual actions are enough to change entire systems, but that doesn’t mean our choices don’t still have an impact. Every time we make a choice that benefits human beings more than the bottom line, every time we support businesses that pay fair wages, support fair trade, and are ethically sourced, we are doing our best to live out Jesus’ closing message in this passage: a reminder that we cannot serve God and wealth at the same time.
Yes, we cannot change the world on our own, but we do not believe we are on our own. Instead, trusting in God’s grace, may we let go of all that might hold us back and live lives that proclaim what we truly believe.

As we all start trying to find our way into a post-pandemic reality—and obviously we have to get there on an epidemiological level first—one of our biggest challenges will be finding a way past the pandemic mentally and spiritually, recognizing and reclaiming that greater sense of purpose in our lives and realizing each one us will be needed if we’re ever going to succeed, reminded of a truth Paul and the early church knew: all of us are part of a shared body, and “when one member suffers, all suffer together with it.” We are meant to build one another up, person by person, community by community, until that day when we can truly see the kingdom and kindom of God all around us.

In wrestling with this passage, the professor and biblical commentator William Barclay ended up concluding Jesus was trying to tell us “true wealth is not in what is kept, but what is given away,” and that’s not merely a reference to money, even though I know stewardship season is right around the corner. Living generously means trusting that giving of ourselves ultimately does not deplete us. Paradoxically, giving is exactly what fills us up. There is an urgency for us to engage deeply and fully in others’ lives—and in our communities, neighborhoods, city, and world. It’s overwhelming at times—maybe even all the time—but that does not mean we should retreat into ourselves. Trust that what you have to offer might be exactly what someone else needs in this moment. Live generously and use the gifts you have been given by God for the benefit of others rather than risk denying or squandering them. Allow yourself to be open once more to hope in the better future God is building in and around and among and sometimes even through us. May that vision guide and sustain us, and with wisdom, courage, and the Spirit’s help may we be a part of making that vision our reality. Amen.