Faithful In a Little

Luke 16:1-13

September 21, 2025

 

            In the months leading up to my discernment of a call to go to seminary, I was out of work and desperately trying to find a full-time job. I was doing everything I could to keep the proverbial body and soul together. I worked temp jobs. I worked as a part-time nanny. I moved out of my apartment and lived with good friends from church so I could save money on rent. I would have walked dogs, answered telephones, run errands, and just about anything else I could to make ends meet. One Sunday at church, I was talking to a friend of mine, and I told him that I had applied for a job with the new state lottery association. They were looking for someone with publicity experience. I had that, so I applied. He looked at me and said, “Oh Amy, would you really want to work for the lottery? Think about the ethical implications.”

            At the time my response was “Right now, I need to think about the implications of not being able to pay my bills. I need a job.”

            I didn’t get the job, but I understood my friend’s concerns about the possibility of me working for the state lottery. The lottery seems like a good idea. The money from the lottery is designated as a help to schools and infrastructure, and it brings in tons of money for those needs. We’re not big lottery players at our house, but we’re not against it. I get intimidated buying a lottery ticket, but one of the things we do at Christmas now is buy scratch-off tickets as stocking stuffers for the entire family, and it’s always fun to watch everyone scratching their tickets to see if they won anything. Yet with that said, I also know that there are people who use their hard-earned money to buy lottery tickets with dreams of winning it big, when they would be better served just saving that money. They’d have more money from saving it than they would ever see buying lottery tickets. But winning the lottery is an enticing fantasy, which is why it is such a successful business. Folks buy into it, literally and figuratively. My friend worried that it exploited people for those reasons.

            I didn’t get the job so I didn’t have to wrestle too much with the ethical conundrums that might have arisen if I had, but I do think about what he said. I think he was asking the fundamental question of do the ends justify the means? Being unemployed and constantly worried about money made me realize that short of doing something completely illegal, I was prepared to see a steady paycheck as an end that justified whatever means required to earn it. But if we are looking for a passage of scripture to give us a definitive answer to the moral question of ends and means, then this passage from Luke’s gospel will not help. Not even a little bit.

            Jesus begins his parable in what would seem to be a straightforward way. There was a rich man. The rich man employed a manager to handle his business for him, and charges against the manager were brought to the rich man’s attention. We don’t know who brought these charges – a business associate, or a tenant, or another person who worked for the rich man, but what we do know is that the manager is accused of squandering the rich man’s property.

            The rich man summons his manager and tells him what he’s heard.

            “Give me an accounting of your management, because you cannot be my manger any longer.”

            The manager, knowing the jig was up and realizing that he wasn't strong enough to dig ditches and contrary to the classic song by The Temptations, knew he was too proud to beg, decides to make friends so that when he was dismissed he would secure a place where he would be welcomed. He goes to the people who owe debts to the master and reduces them.  How much do you owe to my master? 100 jugs of olive oil? Okay, cut that in half. Now you owe 50. You owe 100 containers of wheat? Well, now you owe 80.

            You would think that this would make the rich man even angrier, but here’s where this parable takes a bewildering twist. Instead of condemning the manager, the rich man commends him. The manager has acted shrewdly, and that’s a good thing. And if you weren’t already surprised and confused enough, Jesus then says some of his most confusing words ever,

"And I tell you, make friends for yourself by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes." 

I’m sorry, what? Is Jesus also commending the dishonest manager? I’m confused. I bet you are too. And sadly for all of us, I don’t really have a way out of the confusion. This parable has baffled scholars and theologians for years, centuries even. Every commentator I read said the same. This is a parable that leaves most of us scratching our heads and saying, “What?”

The response to the manager’s actions by the master and certainly Jesus' response to them seems counter-intuitive to everything we think about discipleship. Dishonesty, even though it is used to do something good, is still dishonesty. But in this passage the dishonesty and quick thinking of the manager is praised. Even though the text gives us no reason to believe that the manager was acting out of anything but self-interest, the way he deals with the situation helps other people in debt, so he finds himself not condemned but praised. Jesus lifts him up as an example of shrewdness, of someone who can think on his feet. What?

In the last verses Luke's Jesus seems to be explaining why he thinks this dishonest manager's actions are praiseworthy. But quite frankly, the explanations leave me more confused than ever. If you're faithful in a little, you're faithful in much. If you're dishonest in a little, you are dishonest in much. If you cannot be trusted to do the right thing with someone else's wealth, how can you be entrusted to do the right thing with what you have been given? It culminates with these words. A slave cannot serve two masters. You will love one master and hate the other. You cannot serve both God and wealth.

            The dishonest manger is praised for being shrewd. Another way to translate the word that is used for "shrewdly" is "worldly." The dishonest manager was worldly in how he dealt with his situation. Again, this seems counter-intuitive. Aren't we as believers supposed to be in this world but not of this world? Aren't we supposed to stay outside of all that is "worldly," because we have been taught to believe that "worldly" is wrong or bad or tainted? But here's the thing, we are in this world. And in small ways and large, the world is in us. We live in a world where money matters. Maybe it's wrong that money matters, but it does. Will any of us upon leaving here today repudiate what wealth we have? Will we sell all that we have and trust that we'll be taken care of? Anybody? No, we won’t do that. Because even if we don't have firsthand experience with poverty, poverty and the terrible hardships that come with it are all around us. Poverty is not glamorous. It is not a spiritual win. Poverty is hard, and it is dangerous. Suffering is suffering. I doubt that any of us would gladly surrender all our wealth. I know that I would rather not. But perhaps the point that Jesus was trying to get across was not that being dishonest was okay, but that when it comes to wealth we have to be realistic, not idealistic. The dishonest manager was praised for his shrewdness, his worldliness. What does it mean, then, for us to be worldly when it comes to wealth? 

            Maybe it means that we must recognize that we are going to be thrust into situation after situation where we must make hard decisions. Are we going to serve wealth? Or are we going to use whatever wealth we have to serve God? In the end the manager acted shrewdly by using wealth to build relationships. Are we enslaved to wealth or do we find a way to use our wealth to build up the kingdom?  Do we use our wealth to further relationship, with others and with God? It becomes a question of stewardship. How do we use our wealth to serve God?

            I’m not convinced that I’ve gotten any of my interpretation is correct. I suspect not. I know that I am leaving this passage as confused as I was when I went into it but I also know that the parables Jesus told were never about giving easy answers to complex questions. Jesus told parables to shock, to challenge, and to push those who heard them to wrestle with their meaning and their implications, and money and faith provides an ongoing wrestling match. This is true for us as individuals and this is true for us as a congregation. What does our budget reveal about our faith, our priorities? How are we called to be shrewd and worldly when it comes to our money and our discipleship? Those are questions that we wrestle with and will continue to wrestle with at least until the kingdom of God comes in its fullness.

            But here is one thing that the commentator Amy Frykholm wrote about this passage. We may not understand it. We may never understand it. But in every aspect of it there is grace to be found. There is grace in what the manager does for the people who owed the master. Reducing their debts was gracious. There is grace in the response of the rich man to the manager; praising him rather than condemning. And even though it may not be overt, there is grace in Jesus’ words to the people. You cannot serve two masters, but when you try to do it anyway, there is grace. And when you mess up in this call to discipleship, there is grace. When you stumble and fall, there is grace. When you try to walk away, I will call you back because of grace.

            We are given grace upon grace upon grace, so may we show grace to others and to ourselves. We are given grace upon grace upon grace. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.” Amen.  

Words Matter

 

            Words matter.

24 years – the same age as my son. I will always remember the number of years that pass since September 11, 2001, because I watched it unfold live on television while holding my two-month-old son and trying to distract my two-year-old daughter from what was being displayed on the screen in our living room.  

            24 years. 24 years ago, we watched the horrific consequences of violent rhetoric live and in color. Yes, they were consequences of violent rhetoric. It began with words – words of hatred and venom and destruction. Words that came from a mindset that some should live while others die. And I’ll go so far as to say that those violent words were inspired by violence that began with violent words that were used against those who planned 9/11.

            Violent rhetoric begets violent action which begets more violent words. Where does it end? With violence upon violence upon violence. It is, literally, a vicious cycle. And it begins with violent rhetoric.

            Words matter. Words harm and hurt and abuse and violence in words can lead to violence in action. A man was killed yesterday. Students were shot yesterday. Children were bombed and attacked and starved yesterday. And the day before that and the day before that and the day before that. Words matter, and when our words are violent and unchecked, how can we believe that those words won’t be taken literally and used to justify violence in more words as well as in deeds. It is a terrible irony that the man who was killed yesterday stated that some gun deaths were necessary in order to maintain our 2^nd Amendment rights. He probably never thought that he would be a gun death as well. He did not deserve it, no one does, but surely his words contributed to the possibility that it could happen.

            Words matter. But we can’t seem to learn this lesson. The tragedy and heartbreak of this day 24 years ago should have caused us all to carefully consider our words. But violent rhetoric has only increased, and it should surprise none of us that violent action has escalated as well. And innocents are always caught in its wake. Because the trauma of yesterday’s violence, and the trauma of the violence on each day before, causes not only physical harm but spiritual harm, emotional harm, and psychological harm to everyone who bears witness. If we don’t address this harm, if we don’t address the pain that we inflict, if we don’t change our words and demand that our leaders do the same, this cycle will never be broken. Violence will catch us all, one way or another. It will be embodied in large ways and in small. Every violent, tragic, unnecessary death wounds our souls. Every vitriolic utterance causes us damage. Words matter, and words open the door for action. We have a choice to make – words of violence or words of compassion; words that revile or words that forgive. I want to choose the latter. I want to choose words and actions that reflect love of God and love of neighbor. I want to speak words that are tender and words that heal. I must choose the latter because I know how easy it is to do otherwise.

So may my words be words of love. May my words be words of justice. May my words be words of peace. It is easy, far too easy, to speak words of hate. May my words speak love and may my actions do the same.

            Words matter.

What Is the Cost?

Luke 14:25-33

September 7, 2025

 

            Several years ago a commercial aired that became extremely controversial. It infuriated some people, while other folks applauded and defended it. There was backlash against the makers of the product. People on the other side of the controversy made sure that they voiced their support of the brand. Nasty things on both sides of the divide were stated on social media. The firestorm over this commercial revealed, once again, some of the great divisions in our society. What was the product that caused such a hullabaloo, that provoked such outrage? Cheerios. Yes, you heard me correctly. Cheerios. Cheerios the cereal. Cheerios the cereal with the name that sounds like a happy British farewell, as in Cheery-O! Cheerios, my kids’ first finger foods. Cheerios.

            Several years ago now, Cheerios ran an ad that featured a little girl, box of Cheerios in hand, coming to her mom with a question. Is Cheerios good for your heart?  Her mom looked at the box and told her that some of the ingredients were helpful in lowering cholesterol which is heart healthy. The little girl thanks her mom, takes the box, and runs off. The next scene is the father waking up from a nap on the couch, and as he sits up, a whole bunch of Cheerios positioned over his heart, falls off his shirt. The commercial ends with him calling his wife’s name, obviously wondering what the heck was going on.

            So what’s the controversy? The commercial featured an interracial couple. The wife/mother was white. The husband/father was black, and the little girl was biracial. That representation made some people really, really angry, while others thought it was great. But on both sides of the debate the words “family values” were used. What constitutes family values? What weakens family values? What are family values? Was this commercial a building up of family values or a breaking down of them?

            However we may define family values, I would hazard a guess that all of us agree that they are important. Valuing families, caring for them, supporting them is the lynchpin of our society and probably most societies. While family values may be a buzzword from the last century and in our present one, the ideas behind family values are not new. Families, however they may look, whatever the makeup, are essential now and they have been essential. Families were just as essential, maybe even more so, in Jesus’ context as they are now.

            In the culture in which Jesus lived, families were more than just what we define as a nuclear family – mother, father, children. Families included the extended family of grandparents. cousins, aunts, uncles, etc. Family meant protection. Family meant security. To be alone, to be without family, was to be vulnerable. Scripture, in both testaments, repeatedly speaks to the need to care for widows and orphans. Why? Because they were often without family, which meant they were some of the most vulnerable in that society. They had no family. The book of Ruth tells the story of two widows, who lose family and rely on each other for protection and go to seek extended family who will help them.

            Yet in the opening verses of our passage from Luke’s gospel, Jesus says something that seems to violate everything that his culture and ours would consider family values.

            “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

            I read a commentator this week who wrote about one of his pastors. Whenever this pastor would preach on a particularly difficult text of scripture, he would say something like, “I know I can’t get an amen, but can I get an ouch?”

            Can I get an ouch?

            We must hate our families to follow Jesus?! We must hate mother and father and brother and sister to be his disciple?! Isn’t Jesus the one who spoke about loving God and neighbor and ourselves? Isn’t Jesus the one who welcomed little children when everyone else wanted to shoo them away? Isn’t Jesus the one who hung out with the marginalized and forgotten and overlooked and judged? Isn’t this the Jesus who in the passage just before this preached about the openness and wideness of God’s table in the kingdom? But in seemingly the same breath, he then says that we must hate those closest to us in order to follow him. We must hate the ones who gave us life if we want to be his disciple? We must hate our families. Can I get an ouch?

            This seems contrary to everything Jesus has said before, but is it? Is it really? Jesus often used hyperbolic speech to make an impact and an emphatic point, and this certainly could be a technique that he was employing in this moment. It’s also possible that he wasn’t calling those who would follow to hate their families as in have hostility or show aggression toward them, but that no matter how much wannabe followers may love their families, they must love God and their call to follow more. They must prioritize their lives so that what is most important is discipleship. You may love your family, but you must be willing to let them go if you really want to follow me.

            But in saying this, I don’t want to soften or dilute Jesus’ words. They are hard and they are shocking. They would have shocked his original listeners just as they shock us today. If Jesus was trying to evangelize or grow the numbers following him even more, this was not the way to do it. Clearly, Jesus was not using a Dale Carnegie technique in how to win friends and influence people. Luke tells us that Jesus was being followed by crowds of people. Why would he deliberately try to thin those crowds out?

            Yet, here’s the thing, Jesus was not just randomly walking around the countryside. He was on his way to Jerusalem. He’s been on his way to Jerusalem for a while now, and that means that he is making his way to the cross. His cross. His death. And he doesn’t have time to waste, and he is not pulling any punches. If you want to follow me, then you are going to have be willing to walk away from the people you love the most, to separate from them. If you want to follow me, then you must carry your own cross. You must be willing to lose everything, including your life. This is not a volunteer position that you can do when you feel like it, and when your schedule allows. This is a commitment that could cost you everything, so you better count the cost before you make it. What is the cost you are willing to pay? What are you willing to sacrifice? What are you willing to give or give up? If you can’t leave behind family and friends and possessions, then you shouldn’t follow me, because my way is a narrow way and following in my footsteps will never be easy. Have you counted the cost?

            Can I get an ouch?

            What is the cost we are willing to pay? I dread these words of Jesus because I know how torn I am between the people I love and the possessions I own and discipleship. I know how much courage I lack, how much struggle I wish to avoid, how much sacrifice I am afraid to make. Jesus’ words cut me to the quick, because I know that I do not follow him as I should. I want to but I am afraid of the cost. Can I get an ouch?

            Yet I also know that I have had to hate and let go and walk away from a lot just to stand in this pulpit. I didn’t hate my grandfather, but I had to hate his conviction that women should not be ordained. I didn’t hate my grandmother, but I had to hate what she implied when she called my early sermons “my little talks” rather than the sermons they were. To make it to this pulpit required me to let go of and walk away from a lot of people that claimed and claim I have no business being here.

            What have you had to hate? What have you had to let go of? What have you been forced to walk away from to be here, to follow Jesus? Maybe it doesn’t feel like much or maybe it feels like everything. Maybe you carry a heavier cross than any of us can imagine, and maybe your heaviest cross is still to come. Carrying our crosses was never meant to be easy, but we were also never meant to carry them alone.

            There is no clean or comfortable wrap up to Jesus’ words today. They should make us say, “Ouch.” They should convict us and make us struggle and wrestle and wonder. But just because they carry a sting does not mean that they are not good news. We know that even those closest to Jesus messed up. They couldn’t carry their own crosses, at least not at first. They ran away in fear. They didn’t know how to let go of what they possessed and what possessed them. But still there was grace and still there was mercy and still there was forgiveness. That grace, mercy, and forgiveness are ours as well. We are called to carry our crosses and follow, but we are not called to follow alone. We are not alone. Even when we stumble and think we can’t go on, we are not alone. We are not alone. Thanks be to God.

            Can I get an ouch? Can I get an alleluia?

            Amen.