There once was a rich man who owned an invaluable gemstone weighing well over 100 carats, one of the largest cut diamonds in the world. And the local factions in his country fought over it for at least a century, until it passed into the hands of a colonial queen in a far-away land. All of the rich men who had ever owned the diamond continue to claim ownership even now, but the queen’s family made a shrewd move. They keep the diamond on public display, where all her loyal subjects can enjoy it. The queen—by all accounts a very good one—has passed away, God rest her soul. So while the original owners are still clamoring to have their diamond back, few of the queens loyal subjects want to return it. That is the story of the Kohinoor diamond, and this is not a parable.
We did hear a parable in the Gospel this morning, one that would seem to suggest that dishonesty in the service of covering one’s own backside is a good thing. And then, after the parable concludes with the master commending the manager for cooking the books, Jesus launches into a series of inscrutable and in some ways apparently contradictory teachings about faithfulness with dishonest and true wealth.
Since this parable is not found in other gospels, Scripture scholars tell us that it’s likely that in the lesson we heard today, the evangelist Luke gathered a disparate collection of Jesus’ teaching about money into one. And surely he had a point in doing so, even though it’s not readily apparent to us. One commentator suggests that the dishonest manager was commended for writing down his master’s debtors because the debt was usurious—hence in violation of Jewish law—or because he forwent his own commission. All of which is possible, but its not what the text says, and to justify it that way feels a little bit like gaslighting the manager’s brazen dishonesty.
Why is this text so hard to interpret? Well, why is life so hard to figure out? Every day is full of of choices whose antecedents and impacts we can never fully know. It’s entirely likely that when try to behave as the children of the light that Jesus calls us to be, we will end up being children of this age like the dishonest manager. Who knows, maybe one of us has inherited a valuable diamond that came from a disputed South African mine. Really, the only way to avoid dishonest wealth is to simply opt out of hard decisions about the resources we control, or control on behalf of others.
Some years ago I was called to offer pastoral care for a very sick man who ultimately died. It was a tragic situation, both because he was rather young and because of his peculiar personal circumstances. He came from a very wealthy family that was also very judgmental, evidently of him in particular. So although he was in control of a family fortune and a family foundation, he couldn’t do anything good with any of it. He was depressed and a hoarder, and unable to make any decisions about the use of his stuff, his time, or his money because he was so afraid he’d make the wrong choice. He was both a master and a manager, but could not do anything—good bad or indifferent—in either role.
We’d never do that, right? I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but I have to confess that every time I move—which I’ve done twice in the last six years—has been a pretty sobering reality check. On the surface, my house looks tidy, but Lord have mercy on what I‘ve managed to stuff into forgotten corners of closets or under beds. Truth to tell, I’m still unpacking after moving from Portland almost three years ago. And as I unpack the remainder, box by stored away box, I keep asking myself what I could possibly have had in mind in keeping this and such.
Most of what I have kept is of no value other than sentimental—things like children’s artwork—and of that I could have kept 10% and it would have been enough. But there are a few things I’ve stored up that I could have sold them or given them away to people who might really have needed them. But instead I found more efficient storage systems, our generation’s equivalent of building bigger barns or burying things of value. Something about which Jesus had plenty to say as well.
So back to this bewildering parable. I’m not looking for a way to justify or excuse the manager’s malfeasance, but I do find myself wondering if Jesus’ point was something beyond that. Perhaps this parable is not so much ethics—what we do with the stuff we control right now—as about eschatology. That is to say, with the things that ultimately belong to God anyway. The entire witness of Scripture—played out in the lives of masters and managers, slaves and soldiers, woman and men—is an unrelenting call to become a community of stronger and deeper and more mutual relationships. Because God’s own nature is revealed in Trinitarian relationship.
Whatever else the dishonest manager’s sins of omission or commission may have been, he used the resources he had to invest in strengthening his relationships. Jesus said “make friends for yourself,” and he did. Maybe he did it in the right way, maybe he did it in the wrong way. This parable does not make it clear how we are to judge his choices, just as it is not always clear how we are to judge our own. Fortunately, that’s not our job. In the fullness of time, we’ll either be commended by God, or our sins will be covered by God’s infinite mercy. Love God, love each other, and give freely. My friends, invest in relationship, by all means.
We at Trinity are in the midst of some exciting new ministries. We’re putting our historic campus to use in some exciting new ways, in partnership with the Canterbury Bridge Episcopal Student Ministry, and we’re developing new partnerships in service, like Octavia’s Kitchen. In a sense, both of these endeavors put our leadership in the role of God’s manager and so—taking a cue from this parable—I hope you are courageous in building relationships. With those already present here, with those who long to be part of this community but just don’t know it yet, with those in the surrounding community who need your compassion, and with those who won’t ever profess Christianity. But who will meet Christ through you.
The only way you can make the wrong relationship is by not making one at all, like the poor gentleman who died with his family foundation intact. There’s another parable of Jesus—the parable of the talents recorded in Luke and Matthew’s Gospels—in which the greatest sin is failing to put the master’s resources to use. It seems that Jesus wants us to know that it’s OK to use our resources in all sorts of ways, just so long as we don’t bury them. In the almost-three-years that I have had the privilege of serving alongside you, I’ve seen some talents exhumed at Trinity. I’ve gotten to minister alongside those of you who have exercised new leadership in teaching, preaching, administration and pastoral care. And now you are embarking on even more courageous investments in ministry. Be brave, brothers and sisters. Don’t bury the riches entrusted to you, be they treasure, talents or time. You cannot serve God and wealth, Jesus tells us. But we can use our wealth to serve God. And indeed, we must do so.
