• Sermon on the Dishonest Manager

    Here’s what I made of yesterday’s dreadful gospel reading…

     

     

    Why am I preaching on this terrible gospel reading?

    Why do bad things happen to good Provosts?

    In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

    I ranted and I raved. I roared and roamed about the Cathedral office like a prowling lion seeking whom I might devour whom resist steadfast in the faith.

    “Why” I cried. “Why am I on the preaching rota scheduled to preach on the parable of the dishonest manager?”

    What’s the point of having a Vice Provost if you end up preaching on the most difficult of gospel readings yourself?

    How come, I shrieked – how come I’m preaching on this? Who was it put me down to preach this week.

    Members of the cathedral staff in the office looked at me in a bemused way and reminded me that against their better judgement it is me, the same very provost who was complaining who compiles the preaching rota. It was me who had scheduled myself to preach on this wretched story.

    Wretched?

    Difficult?

    Impossible?

    Why so?

    Well, how on earth do you preach the good news when the gospel reading is all about seeing the good side of a dishonest manager?

    Really, what on earth was Jesus on about?

    And so I grumbled and moaned and sulked.

    My joy is gone. Grief is upon me. My heart is sick, I opined channelling the very spirit of the prophet Jeremiah at his gloomiest.

    Why do bad things happen to good provosts?

    Why do bad things happen to good people?

    Who hasn’t asked that question at one time or another?

    When you are merely cynical you ask why bad things happen to good people.

    When you graduate to being both cynical and bitter you ask why good things happen to bad people too.

    Those questions come up in Scripture. There are answers to those questions too – different contradictory answers which indicate that asking questions like that is part of the human condition. We’ve recently been reading the book of Job at morning prayer and it is page after page of people trying to find answers to those questions.

    I have no idea how you cope with a story in which a dishonest manager is the central figure.

    Is the dishonest manager being likened to God?

    Are we really being encouraged to behave like dishonest managers and with what are we being expected to be dishonest.

    This is one of those bible stories which make me wonder whether they even heard Jesus correctly when they were trying to remember all that he said.

    The sudden blast of wisdom that we get at the end “That you cannot serve two masters, you can’t serve God and money” is brilliant, instantly memorable and both true and profound. Yet it goes no way at all to answering the question of whether Jesus is promoting dishonesty or what we should make of it if he is.

    It seems to me though, on reflection that there’s a nougat of glory stashed away in this parable that might make us forget for a moment at least about that question.

    Isn’t it amazing that a dishonest manager might remind us of God?

    And isn’t that truth something that we might need reminding of.

    We are so ready to divide the world into the good and the bad (most of us presuming that we fall into the good category automatically).

    The thing is, problem with the very question “why do bad things happen to good people” is not the answer but the very question itself.

    In telling a story about a dishonest manager that someway is a way of passing on something about God and goodness, Jesus is reminding us that everyone bears the image and likeness of God.

    If we are going to ask pertinent questions, we might well ask why it is that bad people can sometimes be good.

    Why might a murderer be kind to an animal? Why might someone who is known in one context to be kind be cruel in another?

    The trouble is, we are complex creatures.

    For a long time I used to think that no-one was intrinsically evil.

    I have to admit that this was challenged when I became an ordinand and found that original sin was the only way I could really understand the cruelty of some of those who were trying to shape me and form me as a priest.

    But do I believe that people are utterly, intrinsically wicked and by nature separate from God?

    Plenty of bits of the Christian faith teach that this is so. Indeed I grew up having to sign up to the believe that and I quote: “all men have become sinners, totally depraved, and as such are justly exposed to the wrath of God.”

    I don’t think that now.

    I don’t think that because I believe people are more complex than that. And I don’t believe it because I think God’s love is more simple than that.

    I don’t think that now because I don’t believe in a God who is in the business of wrath. And I believe that human beings are generally more complex than simply being bad and depraved and then suddenly saved into being good.

    God’s love is either for everyone or God isn’t a God worth dealing with.

    And part of my justification for that is the existence of this story of the dishonest manager.

    All kinds of people are heaven bound – dishonest managers amongst them.

    All kinds of people reflect the essence and nature of God. And not the people who would come at the top of our lists.

    For in this kingdom we are heading for things are not quite what you expect anyway.

    From time to time I ask people for suggestions for the badge stall at the back of the church. One of the surprising good sellers is a badge that simply says, “make no assumptions”.

    And we must make no assumptions about the bad and the good.

    For all are made in the image and likeness of God and all are loved anyway.

    All are loved anyway.

    Must make that into a badge.

4 responses to “To be an Episcopalian is not to be respectable”

  1. Eamonn Avatar

    Superb take on this difficult story from Matthew, and the other stories of Jonathan Daniels and Robin Angus. Thank you.

  2. Philip Almond Avatar

    But Mark records Jesus as saying, ‘Permit first to be satisfied the children;for it is not good to take the bread of the children and to the dogs to throw[it]’. That word ‘first’ tells us that Jesus already knows that there will be a ‘second’, that his ministry will extend beyond the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

    These words of Jesus also suggest that ‘I was not sent except to the lost sheep of [the] house of Israel’ refers to this phase of his ministry.

    Also, if the following incidents were earlier in time than the incident of the healing of the woman’s daughter, your

    ‘In that moment, she seems to know his mission to save the whole world considerably better than he did. And she changes him. He thinks again’.

    is disproved.

    Luke’s account (chapter 4) of the visit to Nazareth, because Jesus’ reference to Naaman and the widow of Sidon suggest that he was aware that his mission, like that of Elijah and Elisha, would extend beyond the covenant people.
    Matthew’s account (chapter 8) of the healing of the centurion’s servant, giving rise to Jesus’ ‘And I say unto you, That many shall come from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven. But the children of the kingdom shall be cast out into outer darkness: there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth’.
    Jesus’ explanation (Matthew 13) of the parable of the tares of the field: the one sowing the good seed is the Son of man; the field is the world (my emphasis); the good seed are the sons of the kingdom; the tares are the sons of the evil one.

    What are your reasons for being sure that these three events are later in time than the healing of the woman’s daughter?

  3. Martin Reynolds Avatar
    Martin Reynolds

    We do not live for the poor, we do not live with the poor, we do not identify with the poor.
    We wear silk vestment adorn ourselves with elegant titles and eat at the best tables and are welcome in the highest corridors of power.

  4. Sarah Lawton Avatar
    Sarah Lawton

    Kelvin, thank you for your email today pointing back to this sermon. I appreciate your pointing to Jonathan Myrick Daniels, who was a friend of my parents. My mother always felt she had a part in his death, I think, because she was one of the organizers of the seminary group that responded to the Rev. Dr. King’s call for church leaders to go to Selma, and it was she who persuaded Jon to go. One of her last acts on this Earth was to help put his name on our Church’s calendar (first reading, General Convention 1991). But then, we are baptized into Christ and therefore each other, which is I think what you are saying in this sermon. That means we are implicated in the ills of this world but also share in Jon’s martyrdom. We live in the hope of resurrection but the way there is through the utter scandal of the cross. Jon in his latter months of life rejected theologies of complacency and also self-righteousness as he committed himself to a ministry of presence.

    Martin Reynolds, there is no question our particular church tradition has some history with money and power. My own little congregation identifies strongly with the poor, the folks sleeping rough right outside our doors, and the immigrant families of our neighborhood. Our Sunday services can be a little chaotic as a consequence of the varieties of folks in various states of mind who come on a Sunday, but our spiritual life as a congregation is pretty good; it honestly feels like a gift to be there in the communion circle. We’re a longtime LGBT congregation, so I think it’s part of who we are to have economic diversity and also a rejection of traditional social masks. We’re also deeply rooted in prayer, which is how we got through worst of the AIDS years and all the funerals.

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