The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Ven. Richard I. Cluett

This is not an easy scripture lesson to hear, and it is not an easy one to get, to understand what it meant to Jesus and what it might mean for us.

Let me start by saying that it is the 4^th in a series of parables placed together in Luke. We have the story of a lost sheep, a lost coin, a lost son and then this story of a rich man and his manager. But what have they lost?

The rich man has lost his property and the good will of his people, and the manager has lost his own money and the good will of both boss and farmers. The rich man did not have safeguards in place and the manager seems to have squandered the money. It doesn’t say he did anything illegal, by the way. When he realized his plight he went to each of the tenants and gave them a reduced amount to repay, so they could pay it back as soon as possible, so that he could pay the owner. Basically, what was deleted was his commission.

What did each gain? The landowner gained more of what he was owed than he ever received before, he gained the good will of the tenants (which he never had because of what he charged them) for reducing their debt, and he gained a grudging respect for the manager. The manager gained the good will of the farmers and the commendation of his employer.

Does this ring true for the world economy we live in? Does it relate to the economy of God’s kingdom? Luke is unrelenting and adamant throughout his gospel that the kingdom view of property is that it exists for the benefit of all.

Today’s economists tell us that in the world’s economy, money that sits idly by is not a resource at all. Money is useful, they tell us, only when it is in motion. It is the movement of money that brings prosperity to those through whom it moves.

And the divine economists, we call them prophets and saints – and we call one of them by the name of Jesus – they tell us that wealth and property in the economy of God are for the wellbeing of all God’s creation, and when the kingdom is fully realized money and property will not belong to anyone, it will be a resource for all. There will be no debtors.

And if he did nothing else, this manager did relieve people from their debts, and he dedicated his personal profit to that end.

It is significant for us to remember to whom Jesus is giving this teaching. It is not to the tax collectors and other sinners. It is not to white-collar criminals, not to the Pharisees, Sadducees, or Scribes. It is not to the rich merchants of Galilee. He is teaching his disciples. He is preaching to the faithful about their faith and their life. The teaching is about how the faith of the disciples of Jesus, then and now, informs our values, ethics, behavior and relationships with God, people, and money.

Some have said that this parable is not as much about morality as it is about apathy.

“And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly; for the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.”

There's a story about Henry Ford, the inventor of the automobile, who was visiting his family's ancestral village in Ireland. Two trustees of the local hospital found out he was there, and managed to get in to see him. They talked Ford into giving the hospital five thousand dollars (this was the 1930's, so five thousand dollars was a great deal of money).

The next morning, at breakfast, he opened his daily newspaper to read the banner headline: "American Millionaire Gives Fifty Thousand to Local Hospital." Ford wasted no time in summoning the two hospital trustees.  He waved the newspaper in their faces.  "What does this mean?" he demanded. The trustees apologized profusely.  "Dreadful error," they said.  They promised to get the editor to print a retraction the very next day, declaring that the great Henry Ford had given not fifty thousand, but only five. Hearing this, Ford offered them another forty-five thousand, under one condition: that the trustees would erect a marble arch at the new hospital entrance, and place upon it a plaque that read, "I walked among you and you took me in."

C. S. Lewis wrote about Christians, “Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us…”

So, what is it that the steward has done here?

The steward forgives. The steward forgives debts. He forgives things that he had no right to forgive. He forgives for all the wrong reasons, he forgives for personal gain, he forgives to compensate for past misconduct. It is this decisive action that he undertakes to redeem himself to be restored in his relationship with the farmers and with the landlord. He forgives.

So what's the moral of this story, one of the stories unique to Luke’s Gospel? It's a moral of great emphasis for Luke and for Jesus – forgive.

“Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors…" That comes from Luke (11:4-5). Forgive us our debts, forgive us our trespasses, forgive us our sins… as we forgive. 

One theologian put it this way: “Forgive it all. Forgive it now. Forgive it for any reason you want, or for no reason at all. Why forgive the debts of debtor nations… Why forgive someone who's sinned against us, or against our sense of what is obviously right? We don't have to do it out of love for the other person, if we're not there yet.

We could forgive the other person because of what we pray in Jesus' name every Sunday morning, and because we know we'd like forgiveness ourselves. We could forgive because we've experienced what we're like as unforgiving people… We could forgive because we are, or we want to be, deeply in touch with a sense of Jesus' power to forgive and free sinners like us. Or we could forgive because we think it will improve our odds of winning the lottery.

Pick one of the above or pick none of the above. It doesn’t make any difference.”

So, in the words of the Nike ad, why not “Just do it”? And if we do, I believe that you and I will find ourselves living a little more in line with the kingdom way that God showed us in Jesus.

The Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

The Very Rev. Anthony R. Pompa

This morning I want to tell you about my brother and his wife. They are blessed, or my brother was smart enough to marry who he married, with acres of land just north of that little town we all grew up, in Jim Thorpe, on top of what is called Kattner’s Mountain. My brother was smart enough to marry a Kattner and, therefore, they are blessed. About two miles deep into the woods of the land which is theirs, they built a very humble cabin that has been there for 20-some years. Over the last 20 years or so, for their family, for our family, and for any who they invite, (the key word is invite), this has been a refuge. It has been a place accessible only by terrain vehicles. It is graced with beautiful hills and valleys, deep woods and brush, and two beautiful streams that, for those who fish, are a delight. They, themselves, have a routine, particularly when the weather is nice on Sunday afternoons, of disappearing into the woods, set upon a day to enjoy God’s grace and nature, to build a fire as the darkness comes on, over which to roast marshmallows and whatever might be caught in one of those streams. It is a delight and it is a blessing.

Some 10 years ago or so, when Felicia and I were still living in Virginia, my phone rang one Sunday evening. As the prayer goes, as the darkness of the day was coming upon us and the fever of the world was coming to a hush. My phone rang, and it was my brother on his cell phone asking me to pray because my sister-in-law’s niece, who was down at the cabin with them that day, had violated commandment #1 of going to the cabin. “Do not ever disappear into the woods by yourself.” Well, their niece, Keri, 11 years old, took a familiar path, a path she had been on many, many times as a child. In the delight of what was around her, she lost track of time and lost her way. She could not figure out how to get back.

If you ever visit that land, and it does come by invitation only so chances are slim, you will know that it is filled with laurel and deep brush, particularly around the streams. There are little walking paths that our Native American brothers and sisters once walked. In the midst of the summer, those walking paths become slimmer and darker. Keri kept going up, we learned, different paths, thinking she was on the right path, but then recognizing the path she was on went only into darkness. As the story goes, the search party was called, literally the State Police, the rangers, and any family member or friend who was willing, and they set out about the task to find Keri as darkness set in. We know, because you know how the story ends, from Keri that she became disoriented and the darker that it got, the more panicked she got. The more panicked she got, the more fearful she got. The more fearful she got, the more desperate she got, trying each and every path that she could find. She finally gave up and this young, 11-year-old just sat down next to what was becoming a very cold, cold stream under the darkness of the mountain laurel brush. She sat there, waiting, crying, and wondering, “Is anybody looking for me? Is anybody looking for me?”

Well, we learn from this story a bit about human nature. On Keri’s side, we learn (if we see this a bit as a metaphor), that we do sometimes get off on the wrong path. We do sometimes set forth in our journey in life assured that we know the way back. We do sometimes, on that journey, get confused and misguided, and we lose our way. We do sometimes get filled with anxiety and panic, and in Keri’s case, what sometimes happens to us happens when we violate the law. Don’t ever go off on your own. On the other side, for those who were desperate and filled with anxiety for Keri that day, for those who loved her, who were worried about her, who were angry at her, who were desperate in their anxiety --  we learned about human nature, didn’t we? 

This is the context that I lay out as we enter today’s Gospel lesson, a familiar one, I am sure, as Jesus indeed teaches us again and speaks in the midst of our human nature to reveal to us something about God’s divine nature.

There are three things we need to know about our context this day, three dynamics at play in this story. There is grumbling, there is searching and seeking, and there is rejoicing. The context today is that Jesus has been sitting down with tax collectors and sinners, those who, in the eyes of those looking through human nature, particularly the religious authority of the day, those who had broken the law, those who had set themselves apart, and those who had distanced themselves through their beliefs and their behaviors. Those who, at the very best or least, were unworthy of those in authority at this time and certainly, in their limited view of God’s divine nature, unworthy of God’s time. They are grumbling. They are unhappy. Who is this Jesus to sit down with these unworthy tax collectors and sinners? Jesus tells them, teaches them, through parables known to you and to me. Hear them, if you can, with the immediacy of the day.

In the parable of the lost sheep, Jesus looks at those in the day, giving them a parable of what they would know. Which one among you, if you were a shepherd, wouldn’t take the time to go and do all that you can to find one lost sheep? Because you know, better than I know, that is what you would do if you were a shepherd. You would go after that one lost sheep. You would take that staff, the tool that you have been given, and you would cut through the woods and the forest and the trees. You would kick out the debris from the roads. You would try to find the path that sheep has taken. Then when you saw that sheep, sitting there waiting, you would take the end of the staff and you would pull it in. You know that because just one of your flock escaped means that your very life, and your very way of life, is threatened.

Which one of you wouldn’t, if you were a woman who is keeping her house, count your pennies to make the mortgage, to pay the rent, to keep the lights lit, and to keep food on the table? Which one of you wouldn’t get the brightest lamp that you could find, put it in the best position in the house, and take the tool of the day – your broom – and sweep away every nook and cranny of dirt and debris so that you might see that shining coin again? Which one of you wouldn’t do that, grumbling, searching and seeking?

Jesus reveals to us, in our human nature, the divine nature. Would not our Father in heaven seek and search that piece that is lost, that piece of us that has wandered away? When he found you, would that not be cause for celebration? Would that not be cause for great celebration? Would that not be just the way our God is – the divine nature? You know the story goes like this. What is God like? God seeks and searches for the very least, seeks and searches for those who have gone astray, seeks and searches for you and me when we are lost, seeks and searches for those who we think are unworthy of our time or God’s time.

What is God’s character like when such a finding has been found? It is like a member of a search party who finds a little girl, sitting along the side of a cold stream, now in the darkness of night, afraid, crying, shivering, and wondering if anybody is looking for her. That’s what it’s like. It is like ushering that young child back up the side of that mountain to safety, to warmth, and to the embrace of her parents and family and friends. Oh, what a celebration! Oh, what a celebration for one who has been lost and now is found. Human and divine intersect.

So our question today, the question we ask as we engage the Gospel – where can I ask God’s grace to help me see past my human nature, to see where I have given up on another who is lost, one who I have judged as unworthy of my time and even God’s, one who I may be grumbling about, even on this very morning, even if it’s I? When I am found by God, or when that person we think of is found by God, can we imagine throwing a party for the sole reason of finding something that had been lost? What would that be, that thing, that person, that dream that had been lost? What would that celebration look like? Certainly, I hope, not a burning of books (couldn’t help that one). Perhaps a fatted calf, the finest wine; a relationship broken is now restored. A dream that has been dashed has been rediscovered and uplifted. A sense of newness in our own spirit and being has been reassured and reclaimed. A new-found hope for a broken world, reaching out across all faiths that might, indeed, build on God’s peaceable kingdom -- something

worth celebration.

Amen.

The Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

September 5, 2010

The Rev. Canon Mariclair Partee

Recently I spent some time at my parents’ house in Marietta, GA. For various reasons this was my first trip “home,” to the house I grew up in, in a little over a year. I think, because of that (for me) unusually long interval, I was able to look at this very familiar place with fresh eyes, and notice things that, though they may have been in place for decades, I simply had been too used to to note. It also helped that my visit, as my mother characterized it, was a lot like that of a college kid home for the summer, meaning most days I slept in, spent hours reading, watched more than my fair share of television, and probably wore pajama pants more than one should. This is my favorite sort of vacation, one with absolutely no schedule.

Anyway, as I was lounging around being lazy, I noticed that the mantel in my parents’ living room displays a series of misshapen, lumpy little bowls, and then I remembered the pottery classes I took as a little kid, of which these fine specimens were the fruit.

Starting at about 8, I was enrolled in a class at our local art museum, down in the basement in a little studio, given by a woman who adored children and was also a bit of a holdover from the late sixties/early seventies arts and crafts movement. She taught us how to use clay to make everything from coil pots to scenes from fairy tales to gifts for our parents. (My mom still has the teapot I made for her in the shape of a pig, despite the fact that it leaks water from the feet and is completely unusable for the purpose for which it was designed.)

Eventually we advanced enough in our clay skills to learn how to use pottery wheels, and I was flooded with these memories in reading the passage from Jeremiah today. I think that I was too young at the time to fully understand it, but I got something special from the experience of starting with a lump of clay and watching as a bowl emerged with the help of my hands and fingers. In that moment of creating something out of nothing, in a way, I was closest perhaps to the feeling God had, when he crafted this world, when he crafted us, at the beginning of time. I was surprised every time I was successful. The key to successfully making a pot is centering the clay exactly on the middle of the spinning pottery wheel, and this was quite a difficult skill to learn. Often it would seem that the clay was centered until the bowl or pot was almost done, its walls brought high and thin, only to see a slight wobble start and then watch as the whole thing spun out of control and destroyed itself. And then you just had to scrape up the scraps and start all over again. It was a little heartbreaking to a young child, to see my work self destruct after such a promising start, an experience that, I think, also brings one close to the mind of God, perhaps, as he watches his creation, his beloved creations, and muddle through, sometimes unsuccessfully.

In the passage we read from Jeremiah today, we see God in one of these moments, when the house of Israel has gained the upper hand in its never-ending struggles against persecution, and has turned into the persecutor. God explains, through the prophet Jeremiah, to the wayward tribe of Israel the fragility of its existence. Like a potter reworking a spoiled vessel, so could God destroy the House of Israel, and start fresh.

“At one moment,” God says, “I may declare concerning a nation or kingdom that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it, but if that nation…turns from its evil I will change my mind about the disaster that I intended to bring on it…And at another moment I may declare concerning a nation that I will build and plant it, but if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will change my mind about the good that I intended to do to it…Turn now, all of you from your evil ways, and amend your ways and your doing.” This is a harsh warning from a loving God to a people who had lost their way, once again. Judah and Jerusalem were living in anxious times, uncertain, scared, fearing their neighbors, bracing for invasion or displacement, plagued by famines and economic hardships, looking for someone to blame.

We are living in anxious times, ourselves. Many of us are uncertain economically, with many still worried about keeping themselves housed, employed, fed, clothed. We are at war on many fronts. We are unsure, I think, as a country, of our place in the world, and that uncertainty and confusion can too easily turn into fear.

While home I watched a little more television than I normally do, and was surprised at the panic and the anger and the fear and cynicism I heard trumpeted by commentators of all flavors, from all points along the political spectrum- the language of doom and destruction and apocalypse tossed out easily, and it was terrifying. Historically, during times of economic downturn we as a people, as a human race, have given in to blaming the other, tightening borders and closing ranks in an attempt to create some sense of safety, of control. We have created scapegoats, have vilified members of other races, or religions, or nationalities. Cynicism leads to detachment, which leads the denial of the shared humanity that unites us all which leads to inaction. The bowl of our creation begins to wobble, ever so slightly, threatening to spin out of control.

But all is not lost; the pot can still be saved. We must remind ourselves that God’s hands are embracing us from all sides, continuing our formation even as we try to shake free.

And, we are reminded, if we hold tight to the Gospel, to the good news of Christ and to the new covenant he gave us: if we love our neighbors as ourselves, and above all else, love God- we have nothing to fear.

AMEN.