Reading the newspapers these days, I don’t think that it is
hard for any of us—no matter what our political leanings—to find cause to point
an angry and accusatory finger like the prophet Amos. The worsening political deadlock,
no matter who you chose to blame it on, is frustrating, and the social consequences
are frightening. How good it feels to sit in my armchair and to bellow like
Amos, “Hear this, you who cheat the poor and trample the needy! God is going to
let you have it! Justice will prevail! You are going to be so sorry!” Yes, Amos
seems appropriate for our times. But what about today’s Gospel lesson?! It is
one of the most difficult parables to understand and to accept in the whole New
Testament. I have read commentary after commentary on this passage, and I haven’t
seen one scholar or preacher who gives a satisfying take on it. Instead of
pronouncing judgment on those who cheat and steal, instead of encouraging us to
take the moral high ground like God is supposed to, this parable sounds like
God wants us to connive and cheat like the worst politician in order to
accomplish our goals. Can this be?
As we begin to
reflect on this story, we need to remember that parables take images that don’t
fit together and place them next to each other in ways that are meant to blow
our minds. Like poems and like metaphors, parables are made of language that is
supposed to enable us to see the world in a new and different way. The trouble
is that in our hurry to resolve the discomfort that parables create in us, we
often turn them into comfy allegory as we read. “Oh yes,” we say to ourselves
as we read this parable, “the steward in this story stands for the church, and
the landowner represents God, and the debtors are sinners.” The problem with allegory,
however, is that it would have God telling us that we are to be commended for
being sly and even for profiting from dishonest wealth! Surely that is not
Jesus’ goal. Parables are not straightforward representations. To avoid such
misinterpretations—and to let the parables work their magic on us—we have to
use our imaginations to enter into the vision that they hold out to us—a vision
of the complex kingdom of God.
Since this is my “stewardship sermon”
for this season, I was tempted to take advantage of the holes in this parable in
order to work my own message into this confusing mess of a Gospel text, making
it clearly say, “Give your money and your time to St. Thomas!” But that just
didn’t feel right. So today in my sermon, I am going to be as frustrating as
Jesus. I’m going to give you neither answers to your questions about
stewardship nor Amos-like accusations toward those who are not giving. Instead,
I’m going to try to intensify the images in our parable so that they can mess
with your minds all by themselves! Close your eyes if you’d like, and turn on
your imaginations—just don’t fall asleep on me!
First,
visualize the happy landowner, standing in the middle of fertile vineyards and
olive groves. He is wealthy and accomplished. Think of times when you have felt
strong, powerful, and sure of what you own, looking with well-earned pride at
your new car or your remodeled house or your brilliant performance at work.
Now, with an imaginary pen, write in lots of Jesus’ words about wealth all
around the image of the rich man’s head and across his productive fields. Write:
“The rich will be sent away empty.” “Blessed are the poor.” “Fool, do not store
up treasures for yourselves on earth.” “Sell your possessions and give alms.” “Give
to everyone who begs from you.” “The Pharisees were lovers of money.” Do you
feel the uncomfortable conflict between God and wealth growing in your heart?
Now, hold up
the image of that tricky steward. Everything that he owns really belongs to the
master. He is charged with turning a profit with it, but it is not really his,
even though he seems to have forgotten this fact. Do you ever forget that
everything that you are and everything that you have really belongs first to the
God of all creation? Watch the tricky steward take the landowner’s precious
wealth and scatter it imprudently around every which way, like seed in the
wind. Feel the joyful freedom of the carefree steward. Think of Jesus, casting
the Good News of God’s kingdom around, imprudently and with the same abandon. Think
of the Prodigal Son, appearing just before this passage in Luke, who scatters
his father’s savings among gamblers and prostitutes, as if it were worth
nothing. Then feel the righteous indignation of the landowner as he fires his
imprudent steward, face red and angry, but remember also the joyful forgiveness
of the prodigal’s Father, running out to his son with open arms. As you picture
this scene, can you feel your notions of ownership and prudent stewardship
being turned upside down? What is the right kind of stewardship?
Now hold up
another picture next to the first two. Imagine the steward hearing that he is
going to be held to account for the money that he spent. Uh oh. Think of those
politicians in Washington. Watch him planning a wild scheme to cover himself,
an ingenious scheme worthy of the likes of Brer Rabbit or Lucille Ball. Watch
him skip over to all of the landowner’s debtors and gleefully collect only a
portion of what the landowner is owed. Watch his pockets grow large with wads
of cash. Feel his great relief that he will have something to show the
landowner when he is asked to produce the profits from the land and hear him
chuckle about how the landowner’s debtors are now also indebted to him. At the
same time, picture the debtors kneeling before the steward. Feel their poverty.
Feel the dread in their hearts every year when this steward shows up on their
doorsteps looking for what is owed, no matter how bad the weather had been that
growing season. Picture their relief that he is giving them a break this year! Across
the foreheads of the landowner’s debtors and over the landlord himself and over
the steward write the words of the Lord’s Prayer, Presbyterian version: Forgive
us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Feel the joy of unexpected forgiveness.
Feel the importance of relationship grow and the importance of wealth diminish.
Now, listen to
my true story, keeping all of the feelings from the parable with you in your
hearts:
Last fall, the
room down the hall where we now have our nursery was packed full of toys.
Shelves lined every wall, and from floor to ceiling, there were bins full of
curriculum modules: every kind of plastic dinosaur for the dinosaur unit; every
kind of plastic food for the nutrition unit; bins full of blocks; bins full of
art supplies. When one of our teachers wanted to teach about something, she
knew to go to that supply room and look at just the right spot on the shelf and
pick out just the right toys that she needed to get her lesson across to the
children in a fun way. That supply room was our pride and joy—built with care
over many years, much better than the supply closets of other preschools. When
I was touring the church before being hired three years ago, the Preschool
Director, beaming with pride, took me straight to this supply room to show me
how impressive it was, and I, a former teacher, was indeed impressed.
Our Preschool,
however, had to close in May. Unsettling change, uncomfortable failure,
difficult economic times … they all came in and summarily fired us from our
preschool mission. After closing, when vestry members and I went into that
supply room, all of those possessions stacked wall to ceiling suddenly lost
their glow. “So much stuff!” we moaned. But we were in debt to ourselves from
the closing of the school. We needed money. Suddenly, the room looked
different. Dollar signs rather than educational value flashed across all of
those treasured bins. “How can we sell these to get the most money,” we asked
ourselves. We didn’t care if we got the full value; we didn’t care how much
they had once meant to us. We just wanted to maximize our profit to get out of
the mess that we were in. We had a big sale, and we patted with crafty satisfaction
the wads of dollar bills that rolled in. The preschools that bought our
supplies for less than their store value were delighted and relieved. “Well
done, good and faithful stewards,” you said to us. Of course, not everything
sold. The stray remnants of our treasured supply room still sit in cardboard
boxes in the hallway and in the empty community building. Things that had once
been an integral part of a lesson plan are now useless pieces of plastic that
stand in the way of our new plans for our space. “Ugh, throw them out,” we cry.
Even treasured possessions are only the means to an end, aren’t they? When the
end or goal changes, so does the value of the possessions.
Stewards of
God’s gifts at St. Thomas, is your end, your goal, to build your house upon the
power structures of this world, filling your house with bins of rules and right
answers, relying upon a judging God to condone your grasp of the status quo and
a full bank account to insure your future? Or, precious stewards of God’s gifts
at St. Thomas, are you ready to make your home in Jesus’ tent, blown about by
the gusty winds of the Spirit, using your wealth and your possessions as means
to God’s Kingdom of love and grace? Really, Amos and Jesus are both asking the
same question, aren’t they?
