We all know that religious clergy should never endorse or advocate for political candidates in worship or in congregational literature. Likewise, though they can express their own personal views, in those particular contexts, they should not tell anyone how they should cast their votes. This is important legally. It’s also important morally.
But by all means, it is crucial to speak out consistently when people are harmed, discriminated against, and maligned in our culture and cultural discourse. And it is crucial to speak with care and empowerment toward people who are traumatized. Both of these are central to faithful witness and relationships.
Tomorrow, religious leaders will stand before religious communities and speak up against misogyny and other forms of hatred. And. . . in some contexts, they will then be attacked for being “too political.”
I’m just going to be honest here:
For clergy, and women clergy in particular, if they are attacked in this way, it’s going to add to the trauma of this weekend.
How can it be off limits to uphold the humanity of women, people of color, refugees, and immigrants? Intentions and actions to love our neighbor remain a central part of the life of faith. It is also a central part of what it means to be human.
Nationalism is not the center. A party is not the center. No political candidate is at the center.
Our neighbors do have a central place.
Please be kind to religious leaders tomorrow. They have a difficult job. And male clergy, we need you to be good allies tomorrow. This can’t be on the backs of women alone, though we will rise to the moment.
Love, prayers, peace, and fierce neighborliness to everyone tonight.
A friend and colleague recently introduced me to a poem that I love. From time to time over the next few weeks, I’m going to keep reading it aloud. We can live this vision together.
I’m also curious how you would answer the last line. I really want to know. I invite you to post a comment or send me a message. What do you dream and imagine?
This poem is by Marlene Marburg of Victoria, Australia:
“Dreaming a Grace”
I imagine a place
a-fire
people gathering, sharing
food and conversation and
their deep desires
for the way things can be
in this world at this time
in places
where Church is crumbling
and a new consciousness
of God in all things
(in joy and pain)
is emerging
without competition,
without striving to be or do anything.
I imagine listening and awakening, and holding
as precious each other
and each other’s gifts and each other’s dreams,
inviting each other to speak,
to show and tell stories,
to challenge and be challenged
by the arts,
to say what can only be spoken
in airy spaces,
to separate stifling rules and blinkered vision
from expansive love and kindness.
I imagine insight and discernment
and holy decisions and implementation.
I imagine shared prayer
and the uplifting grace of love
that won’t tolerate stinginess,
maintaining the way things have been.
I imagine leadership that enables
recedes from its own ego,
from the disabling power of self-doubt.
I imagine a ritual of reclaiming, reshaping
a communion of souls,
lifted and raised to the Mystery of God
the mystery of each other.
I imagine a quiet interior ‘yes,’
a buoyant ‘yes,’ risking the storms
which try to drown God’s feet in us.
I imagine daring and courage
until they are no longer such.
I imagine the ‘yes’ of Jesus
tipping tables and healing hearts,
the ‘yes’ disposition to all-things-God
that took him to Gethsemane.
I imagine post-resurrection people,
Pentecost people
living the unquenchable flame.
Please visit Marlene Marburg’s website to learn more about her poetry and work as a spiritual director. She recently wrote a book called Dreams and Desires, in which she asked the question, ‘What do you imagine?’ of 120 people and edited their replies in prose and poetry. Please check that out here.
When my husband and I moved from California to Michigan, we took a cross-country road trip. We saw gorgeous landscapes all along the way, though the first day gave us the best vision of all. On that day, we rolled out of our driveway in Pasadena and drove to the Grand Canyon. The grand architecture, carved by one river over an immense amount of time, included some of the most breathtaking scenes imaginable.
We admired that landscape in the daylight, but after sunset, we encountered another view just as profound. With all forms of light pollution removed, we saw the immense sky of stars. To this day, I’ve never seen anything quite like that view.
It took our eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness and take in the full expanse with its multitude of small details. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so many stars as I did that night. While we were standing outside and marveling at the view, Ian said something rather obvious, but I had truly never thought about it before.
“For the vast majority of human history, this is what everyone used to see.”
Assuming a sky clear of clouds, any night and every night, most of our human ancestors viewed a sky just as rich. In these last hundred years alone, the lights of our cities have begun to keep most of the stars hidden, even at nighttime.
There is a huge form of loss in that recognition. I pondered that while I stood in the chilly Arizona air. But that night, privileged to see this rare sight, I also felt rooted to a set of big-picture connections.
I thought about those ancestors, most of them beyond my imagination, who were able to view the night sky in the way I was seeing it now.
Connections across time.
I thought about those enormous, fiery stars, also beyond my imagination. Though farther away than can easily be fathomed, they are large and powerful enough for us to see them right here.
Connections across space.
Since that roadtrip just three years ago, more earth-like planets have been discovered around those enormous, fiery stars, raising even more questions about the potentiality of intelligent life elsewhere. Could intelligent beings have marveled at the sky that night from their locations, so distant from us, yet asking similar questions?
Connections across life.
When we begin to wrap our mind around the size of the universe, we easily feel miniscule in comparison. Perhaps, we also feel insignificant. But if we get away from the cities and take in the expanse of the sky, we might also feel connected to this great, significant existence. Who knows? Perhaps we’ll even find our place in it.
This sermon was preached at Milford Presbyterian Church in Milford, Michigan and was focused upon Luke 16:19-31. The video recording is above and a written manuscript is below.
This morning, I would like to begin with a poem. It’s by Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet. It’s entitled, “The Guesthouse.”
The Guesthouse
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
My friends, this morning we are present for a time of worship. In this time and space of worship, we are welcomed fully as we are. And from this reality of worship, we are invited to see the world as it truly is –
God’s sacred world in all its need and pain,
God’s beloved world in all its worth and value.
Today, we are invited see our sacred story come alive.
That holy story is God with us.
This story – God with us — invites us to see the world as God dreams it to be.
Before this story, we make confessions.
We have fallen short of this dream.
This story – God with us — invites us to turn toward the direction of the Kingdom of God.
Before this story, we repent.
We are called to new directions.
This story – God with us — invites us forward from this place to participate in God’s mission, working to bring that world into being.
Before this story, we are sent with boldness and humility.
We are commissioned.
Today, we are invited see our sacred story come alive.
That holy story is God with us.
All of this is worship.
And as God is with us,
Today, in worship, we ourselves are with God.
We are like that Guesthouse.
Every time we enter this sacred reality of worship, we are like that Guesthouse.
We bring joys and concerns with us.
We bring memories.
We bring emotions.
They enter this space with us —
a joy, a depression, a meanness,
the dark thought, the shame, the malice.
We could extend beyond the language of the poem to name all the hopes and all the heaviness we carry into worship today.
We certainly find ourselves connected to a world reeling with need and pain.
Our nation has experienced a very painful week. We have heard news stories of violence and loss. This week began with explosive devices found in New York and New Jersey, and then, a suspect was detained by police officers. It continued with the news that three black people have been killed by police officers –
Tyree King, thirteen years old, in Springfield, Ohio,
Terence Crutcher, father of four, in Tulsa, Oklahoma, and
Keith Lamont Scott, father of seven, in Charlotte, North Carolina.
Our week concludes with mass protests, and they will continue beyond this week. There have been some instances of rioting, but most are protesting peacefully and fiercely, calling our attention to forms of systemic racism in our country.
We carry all of this into worship.
We bring it all here, and as we do so, we dare to live the sacred story we share,
which is God with us.
Today, Emmanuel, God with us,
sees the pain we feel,
sees the pain we know,
and invites us to see the pains of our neighbors,
including any pains which we have yet to recognize.
And that large, sacred story we share is found in the small, particular story before us today.
Once, while Jesus was teaching his disciples about money, some of the Pharisees began to ridicule him. So Jesus told this story:
There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. This man had all that he needed and more. He was marked with clothing which indicated that he had worth and value, and he ate a delicious feast every day – anything and everything he could want.
But meanwhile, at his gate, lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man’s table. While this rich man feasted daily, Lazarus received nothing, not even a crumb. Perhaps he wished that his life was marked with worth and value too. Meanwhile, the dogs came and licked his sores. Lazarus had continual suffering.
The rich man never acknowledged Lazarus or his suffering. It seems as though Lazarus was mostly ignored. . . never seen. But Jesus indicates that Lazarus is seen, known, loved, and cherished by God. Jesus indicates that Lazarus has a life and identity marked by worth and value.
In the story, both men die and are brought to Hades, the Greek underworld of the dead. Biblical scholars believe that Jesus used an old Egyptian genre of storytelling to express this next part of the story – a genre where characters are separated in the afterlife in order to contrast their lives on earth. So this is less about the geography of heaven and hell and more about that great contrast and how it functioned. It’s about how that great contrast still functions in our world.
It’s also about a great reversal. This reversal is a major theme of the Gospel of Luke. “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first,” we hear from Jesus. In the first chapter of the Gospel, we hear from Mary, the mother of Jesus, “God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”
This great reversal does not reveal a lack of love for the wealthy and privileged; God loves all people and the whole creation. But rather, it reveals God’s posture toward those who are suffering, deprived of what they need to live. It reveals God’s love and posture toward those who are robbed of the worth and value of their lives truly hold.
And with this reversal on display, we are confronted with questions: How will we live toward those who are suffering and deprived of what they need to live? How will we honor those whose worth and value are being maligned daily? What will our love look like? What will be our posture?
In the rest of the parable, we see that the rich man’s posture has not changed. Even in the afterlife, as he is being tormented, he cannot see Lazarus as a full person. He doesn’t address Lazarus but instead, asks father Abraham to send him as a personal servant. “Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in the water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” He still cannot see Lazarus as a full person of worth and value. Then he wants Abraham to send Lazarus to warn his brothers about this terrible place. “Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father’s house – for I have five brothers – that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.”
And this is when Abraham speaks some intriguing and challenging words. Perhaps we are called to hear these intriguing and challenging words from the voice of Jesus today. Abraham replies, “They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.” They have these holy words of worship which reveal God’s posture toward those who are suffering. They should listen and let these words change their own posture.
But the rich man protests. “No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.”
Abraham says, “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced if someone rises from the dead.”
And this very day, Jesus says to us, “If you do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will you be convinced if someone rises from the dead.”
And those words grab me this morning. . . Those words challenge me. . . They nearly bring me to tears. . . Because we have seen someone risen from the dead. We hear that story. We speak to that reality. We proclaim its truth, and we gather around that sacred story – God with us, alive – week after week, Sunday after Sunday, but are we convinced? Are we convinced to the point that we shift our own posture toward those who are suffering? Do we love with the same love that a resurrected God demonstrates? Do we honor the worth and value found in the lives around us, recognizing the new life Jesus breathes into our world?
During a week of painful violence and loss, does this resurrection make any difference? Does it change us?
I’ll be honest. It’s always interesting to be the guest preacher during a week when we must address racism and all of that challenging work that is before us, not only because we are Americans, but most especially because we are Christians, followers of Jesus, our resurrected Lord. And I’ll tell you, I’m not an expert on race or the ways that racism functions in our world. I’m not fully enlightened as one who has risen above it. I have to ask myself challenging questions all the time.
But I do see the suffering. I do see that black people and people of color face indignity, discrimination, systems of mass incarceration, violence, and death, many times because of the color of their skin and the internalized ideas that those with greater power and privilege carry within them.
I see Jesus, one who was unjustly accused, imprisoned, tortured, and killed by state violence. And I see that it could not defeat him. We tell the sacred story – God with us, alive – for he is resurrected, among us, beyond us, and calling us to new things.
Does this resurrection make a difference? Will we be convinced to shift our posture and the collective posture of this nation?
Because this time of worship is the Lord’s Day. It is the sacred day of resurrection. We bring ourselves and all that we’ve been carrying to this time of worship. We are a Guesthouse of hopes and heaviness.
But we also encounter the resurrection. We encounter the resurrected Lord who calls us, and we are invited to carry that new life forward beyond this place.
So my friends, will we do it? Will we see our neighbors? Will we value them? Will we take the worship we have experienced in this building and bring it outside, so that the world around us is a Guesthouse of
Justice,
Peace,
Worth,
Value,
Togetherness,
Life.
Will we do it? Will we change our posture? These questions linger before us.
With a great deal of gratitude, I have wonderful news to share.
Last Tuesday, the Presbytery of Detroit voted to approve a big proposal. They are making me a Community Chaplain to Nones and Dones, a position and role which has never existed before.
Outside the bounds of any particular church building,
Outside the bounds of any one town,
Outside the bounds of what we’ve thought ministry positions can look like,
the Presbytery of Detroit said YES to something new.
Within the geographical region of the Presbytery of Detroit, I am commissioned to be a chaplain, pastor, community organizer, and friend to people who are religiously unaffiliated (the ‘Nones’) and people who have left Church behind, often for very good reasons (the ‘Dones’). Their perspectives and forms of spirituality matter, and I am learning a great deal from them. Together in community and shared conversations, we will continue to go deeper as we explore faith, spirituality, meaning, and justice together.
This proposal is large in its scope and breaks a lot of typical ministry norms, but it also commissions me toward a particular context. For that, I am just as grateful.
This proposal brings this vision to students at the University of Michigan. In partnership with Canterbury House, I will build friendships with student Nones and Dones. Canterbury House is the Episcopalian ministry for the University of Michigan, and as a partner, I will also help with their own ministry and student community. I look forward to working alongside them.
I want to express my gratitude to everyone who made this possible. And as you read this, I also thank you for adding your support, enthusiasm, prayers, and good energy too. I am grateful that you follow Smuggling Grace, and as always, I’m thankful for your support.
We’ll have some more work to do as we build this vision. When it comes to community, we’ll continue to meet new people. When it comes to the position, we’ll be working to consider funding. As of yet, there is no funding for this role, but I asked the Presbytery of Detroit to approve this proposal in advance, recognizing that official support often opens doors toward opportunities. Folks from the Presbytery will continue to brainstorm this with me. And if you have any ideas, let me know!
Finally, I’ll say that I have been floating and glowing ever since I learned this proposal was likely to be approved. Now that it is, you just can’t imagine how grateful I am! I keep listening to “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket” from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
Feel free to listen and imagine me this happy because I am!
I think Grandpa Joe sums it up:
“I never dreamed that I would climb
over the moon in ecstasy,
but nevertheless, it’s there that I’m shortly about to be.”
Nevertheless!
It’s there!
that I’m shortly about to be!
As we head toward the weekend, our nation is reeling from the challenging events of the last few days. Our week began with explosive devices in New York and New Jersey, and then, a suspect was detained. It continued with the news that three black people have been killed by police officers — Tyree King, thirteen years old; Terence Crutcher, father of four; and Keith Lamont Scott, father of seven. We are ending our week with mass protests and reports of rioting.
Many of us feel fear and anger. . .
Many of us long for real solutions. . . Some of us are afraid of our own feelings.
And ultimately, this is problematic.
Black lives matter more than white feelings.
In the face of racism and state violence, there are more than enough temptations for white people to remain silent. Sometimes, we are afraid of saying the wrong thing and causing more harm. But other times, within ourselves, we are tempted to silence our thoughts and empathy too. Rather than grapple with the reality of systemic racism, we are tempted to move toward denial and blame. And if we feel inconvenienced by it all — hearing about it, feeling through it, or acting against it — we can simply walk away from the conversation. It does not endanger our lives to do so.
And this is a total privilege, because black people and other minoritized communities simply cannot do the same. As a white person, I cannot speak for people of color or represent their full experiences. But I can share some of what I hear.
This is what I want to share today:
While white people choose whether or not to grapple with racism —
at times, fearing their feelings more than the loss of human lives;
at times, turning the shields of denial and blame into weapons —
Black people live with the threat of continual trauma.
Black people live daily with the threat of continual trauma.
We’re invited to listen, wake up to this reality, and act. Silence is a privilege. It is also a form of violence when it bolsters the very racist systems which continue to cause death, discrimination, detention, and despair.
Let’s listen and be led by black voices directly. Here is a powerful video from KevOnStage:
This is abundantly true: I am in love with writing.
Truly, I am.
This website and its blog are nearly a year old, and I want to express gratitude for everyone who has visited, read, followed along, shared, and cultivated conversations here. The last year has taught me how much I love to write, and I want to thank you for that. I am especially grateful when others have added their voices too, as it has allowed me to meet new people and hear a variety of perspectives. Thank you for your presence and encouragement.
In a multitude of ways, this last year has been an incredible journey. In addition to this blog, I have been working to form a new spiritual community called Michigan Nones and Dones. Its formation emerged as a bit of a surprise when I started a group on Meetup.com, then realized I had stumbled completely into a vision that is needed. Michigan Nones and Dones is a community for those who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious.” It includes people who are religiously unaffiliated (the Nones) and people who have left traditional, institutional churches (Dones). We meet in coffee shops and restaurants to talk about our experiences and hopes for our spiritual lives. This community, its formation, and most especially, its people are a real gift.
Earlier in the summer, I was invited to a retreat to talk about this new vision and what I am learning. While I was there, a participant asked me, “So are you tentmaker?”
Now you might wonder what on earth she was asking, or how such a question might emerge out of the blue. But I knew what she meant. She wasn’t curious if I am especially adept at designing tents. I’m definitely not! She was referring to a type of ministry service.
Tentmakers are people who practice forms of ministry without pay, as they are funded through alternative means. The term has its origin in the 1st century with the Apostle Paul who traveled around Asia Minor, forming new churches and funding his work by making tents. At the time of her question this summer, while so much was in process (and these days, it still is) I answered, “Yes.” Then after a short pause, I added, “But I don’t know what my tent is!” We laughed.
This is why I am featuring a photo of tent this morning. This amazing, emerging calling of writing has become as a bit of a tent. It is “that other thing I do,” except it’s not simply a side project. I have discovered that I am truly in love with writing. It is a part of this new chapter.
This work will always remain free of charge. So in that sense, it’s not really a tent. Perhaps I need a tent for this emerging tent! But it has occurred to me, in part because folks actually ask (thank you!) that people would love to support what I do, especially this tent of writing.
So today, I am offering that opportunity if you so desire. If you would like to give a gift to this work at Smuggling Grace, you can go to this link and donate: Support Smuggling Grace. Your gift of any size contributes toward the cost of maintaining this site, and it supports all those coffee and restaurant dates with this new, unfolding community.
[The Garfield Bulldog football team takes a knee during the national anthem Friday at the Southwest Athletic Complex. Visiting Garfield played West Seattle. Dean Rutz/The Seattle Times.]
Over the last few days, people have posted news stories and videos on social media, accompanied with feelings of anger, dismay, and pain about the violent death of Terence Crutcher at the hands of police officers. Let’s just go ahead and call it what it is — state violence and murder.
Terence Crutcher’s vehicle broke down on the interstate. He was on his way home from the community college where he takes classes, and with a stalled SUV, he was in need of aid. He committed no crime, and he had no weapon. As it circled above, a helicopter captured video. Police cars nearby also captured the footage. While the video is recording, Terence Crutcher holds his hands up and complies with orders. From the helicopter, we hear someone say that he looks like a “bad dude.” On what basis does he make such assumptions and assertions?
We never hear the words that are spoken on the ground, but there is no lunge or act of aggression in that video, even in defense as police officers have their weapons drawn. Instead, suddenly, there’s a man dying on the pavement from gunshot wounds, and officers do nothing to render aid. Instead, one begins to console Betty Shelby, the police officer who shot Terence Crutcher. They do not assist his dying body. They do not console him as a person.
Terence Crutcher, a beloved father of four children, church leader, student, musician, and friend is now additionally one more unarmed, black person killed for no crime and no aggression. And the nation waits again, sadly expecting more of the same. When police officers practice brutality and exact violent death of unarmed citizens, especially citizens of color, they rarely face accountability in the justice system.
The police officers who killed Tamir Rice, Natasha McKenna, Eric Garner, Aura Rosser, and John Crawford never went to trial. Four police officers were indicted in connection to the death of Freddie Gray, but in the end, none of them was held responsible. There are other examples also.
I do not paint all police officers with a broad brush, as I know they do not all behave in these ways. But we have a larger system of injustice and a code of silence which keeps accountability from being realized. This renders safety unrealized.
So today, I want to say this clearly:
This is the reason Colin Kaepernick takes a knee during the national anthem.
It is not to disrespect veterans.
It is not to disrespect patriots.
It is a cry and a call for respect —
respect for people of color,
respect for their value,
respect for their lives, and
respect for their families.
It is a cry and a call for respect
to live in a nation without
discrimination,
state violence, and
continual fear.
So where is our outrage for this? Does it not deserve our outrage, undivided attention, and wholehearted action? If so, we can learn how to stop patterns of police brutality in our nation and act.
Or we can just add our misplaced outrage to the young students who follow Colin Kaepernick in protest. They are experiencing lowered grades and death threats for taking a knee or refusing to stand. By all means, if we have no empathy or decency, we can just place all of our outrage there.
Speak words into the air.
Launch them into being.
Create entire worlds of meaning
from
sound,
voice,
intention.
Expand the universe of thought and possibility,
Propel it forward with sacred truth.
From your mind and heart, begin to introduce
your being,
your worth,
your value.
I AM,
I AM,
I AM.
We are the Word’s cultivation,
formed,
shaped,
nurtured.
We are the world’s culmination,
unearthed,
revealed,
valued.
So
Speak words of form, We are born!
Sound words of grace, We are free! Shout words of love, We are known!
And from
your very breath,
your very being,
let air become sound,
let sound become word,
let word become truth, for
you are transforming,
you are becoming,
YOU ARE.
You.
Are.
This poem was inspired by a beautiful and powerful video of a father sharing morning affirmations with his three year old child. Click here to watch the video.
This sermon was preached at New Life Presbyterian Church in Sterling Heights, Michigan and was focused upon Luke 16:1-13. The audio recording is above and a written manuscript is below.
This is an intriguing parable. And if you’re wondering, “What is Jesus really saying here, and what does it all mean?” you’re in good company. This parable about the dishonest manager is only found in the Gospel according to Luke. It shows up in the Revised Common Lectionary once every three years, and each time it rolls around, pastors all around the world scratch their heads, and wonder, “What does this mean? And what should I say about this parable?”
It turns out that pastors and preachers are in good company too because Biblical scholars are also unsure of what to make of this parable. They aren’t convinced about how to interpret it. There are many unique details in this parable which speak directly to the culture in which it was told and then later written, and we just don’t have a clear window to view how those details functioned.
But with boldness and humility, let’s just go ahead and dig in.
So a rich man had a manager, and he heard that the manager was squandering the property. “What is this I hear about you?” he asked. “Give me an account of your management, because you cannot be my manager any longer.”
The manager must have panicked, realizing he was going to lose this position. What could he possibly do next? What if his reputation was about to be ruined, and there would be no future opportunities? He said to himself, “What will I do, now that my master is taking the position away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg.” So he came up with a plan, and this is where the parable becomes particularly interesting. The manager said, “I have decided what to do, so that when I’m dismissed as manager, people may welcome me into their homes.” He comes up with an intriguing plan and then gets to work.
One by one, he contacts the debtors of the rich man and reduces their debt. “How much do you owe my master?”
“A hundred jugs of olive oil? Okay, take your bill and make it fifty.”
“A hundred containers of wheat? Okay, take your bill and make it eighty.”
One by one, the manager contacts all the debtors and puts this plan into place. Here’s something scholars simply do not know: How do these actions square up with the customs of the day? Is the manager doing something illegal? Is he reducing the debt by his own commission, relieving the debtor but taking the hit himself? Something else? We’re just not sure.
But we know what comes next in the story. The rich man discovers what the manager has been doing, and he commends him for acting shrewdly. We don’t know if he gets to keep his job or not, but we do know he is commended.
And here’s where we might get more confused. Jesus commends the manager too. He says, “For the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes.” What does that mean? Is Jesus truly commending dishonesty? Surely not, so is he being sarcastic? Something else? Even scholars aren’t sure.
But his next words offer much for us to ponder. Jesus says, “Whoever is faithful in very little, is also faithful in very much; and whoever is dishonest in very little, is also dishonest in very much.” Perhaps this statement reveals something about character. Or perhaps it encourages the disciples, reminding them that their faithfulness in the small things is truly having a large impact of faithfulness. Perhaps it charges the disciples to serve faithfully with what all that is before them, acknowledging that God is about to entrust them with larger things.
Then Jesus says, “If you have not been faithful with dishonest wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches?” If we’re not faithful with what we have in this world, how will we be able to enter a reality of deeper meaning and connection? How will we see, know, and participate in the Kingdom of God?
And Jesus finishes with this statement. Perhaps it is the culmination of where he is going and an interpretive lens for the rest: “And if you have not been faithful with what belongs to another, who will give you what is your own? No slave can serve two masters; for a slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.”
This is one of those deeply convicting and deeply troubling statements of scripture because it’s easy to nod our heads in agreement but then struggle in our hearts with our own wealth or our ideas about how wealth should function in our world. Money is not evil in and of itself. It’s a resource and a valuable one. But it’s also a powerful one. Our relationship with wealth and our ideas about how wealth should function can become idolatrous.
So here we are. . . with a challenging parable. It’s challenging to understand and interpret, and it challenges us as we consider how God calls us to live our physical and spiritual lives. There are many directions we might go because the parable is so complex, and this is a reminder that we are invited to have a humble relationship with scripture. Before scripture, we are always invited to ask God, “What are you revealing in my heart today? Which part do I especially need to ponder? How are you calling me to act in the world? What are you asking of our church? How can we live faithfully as disciples toward our neighbors?”
And with all these questions swirling about, it’s also a good reminder that each one of us, and all of us collectively, are always part of the sermon on Sunday morning. The sermon does not belong ultimately to the preacher. It’s not something that can be fully contained on pieces of paper, or in my case today, an iPad. It is not encapsulated in a link or a recording that will be placed on the church website later. The sermon is a moment we all participate in, and every holy conviction in this room is a part of it. Every action lived in response to this scripture today is part of the sermon. You are co-preachers with your thoughts, words, and actions. We live this moment together. So how is God calling each one of us, and all of us collectively because we’ve gathered around this parable today? I wonder how that answer will emerge.
I will lift up one particular observation about this parable. Most weeks, I listen to a wonderful podcast. It’s called the Pulpit Fiction Podcast. The two co-hosts of the show delve into the scriptures which are about to appear in Sunday worship. They call their show a “lectionary podcast for preachers, seekers, and Bible geeks.” So if you fit into any of those categories, you are most welcome to listen sometime.
This week, Eric Fistler, one of the co-hosts, said something about this parable which got me thinking in a particular way. He made this observation: Even though the manager was ultimately dishonest in his actions, he chose those actions in the service of relationship. He hoped that reducing amounts of the debtors would gain favor and build the trust of relationship as he moved forward in a new direction. In this parable, Jesus says, “. . . the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.” Eric Fistler invited listeners of the podcast to consider how we might use our means – wealth, time, talents, convictions, commitments, love, and compassion – toward relationships. If this dishonest manager did so through dishonest means, how much more should the children of the light use good means to build and honor relationships with our neighbors?
And what would happen if we entered a season of pondering questions about relationships. How can we use our wealth, time, talents, convictions, commitments, love, and compassion toward relationships? How can we build and honor relationships of trust with our neighbors?
I believe this is a vital question for churches. In the next few weeks and months, many congregations will enter a time of stewardship – a season to consider faithfully how to use our resources and to consider prayerfully how we might give to support the ministries of the church. Eric Peltz, a good friend and colleague, is the pastor of a congregation in Silver Spring, Maryland, and he recently published an excellent article in the Presbyterian Outlook magazine entitled, “Trusting Stewardship.” He raises the point that many of our neighbors do not trust churches. Some do not trust that they will not be welcomed fully. Others expect poor ethics from leaders.
I know this personally in my own work. I’m the organizer of a community called Michigan Nones and Dones. We often describe ourselves as a community for people who are “spiritually curious but institutionally suspicious.” Our community includes people who are religiously unaffiliated (the Nones) and people who have left established, institutional churches (the Dones). In coffee shops and restaurants, we explore spirituality and the teachings of Jesus together. We talk about our life experiences. We’re not discouraging people from having a relationship with a congregation. But we are recognizing that many of them have had painful experiences with congregations, or they are very suspicious based on what they’ve seen. Very frequently, they have felt manipulated by Christians who want to grow their churches and may view them as just another number sitting in the pews for worship. . . or just another person who might give money to sustain the congregation’s budget. They want more than that.
It’s clear that the Church needs to build a stewardship of trust. How might we use our wealth, time, talents, convictions, commitments, love, and compassion to build healthy, trusting relationships? That is something that we will answer with our lives.
Responding to God’s call, where does this parable find you today? It is a complex one, hard to interpret and hard to live. But you are co-preachers every time we gather together before scripture. So how will we live in response?
Smuggling Grace 