Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

He in turn handles the tenants on the estate, who pay rent through a portion of the crops raised, but they also are expected to fork over something to the manager personally each year and at special occasions as well.

The manager will be criticized only if the demands for the “fees” are unreasonable.

Stories of mismanagement get back to the owner, and he calls in the manager.

He is fired on the spot and ordered to turn over the records of accounts.

But then there are several curious things.

First, the manager remains silent, and makes no defense to the owner.

In effect, he is admitting guilt, recognizing that the owner knows the truth and expects obedience, and also that he is not going to get his job back by offering excuses, so he remains silent.

And secondly, the owner has not thrown him into jail!

The master has been unusually merciful to him, a dishonest manager.

What is the manager going to do?

He hits upon a plan, that must be carried out quickly, before anyone in the village learns that he has been fired.

He calls in the tenants, one by one, (he can't have them talking to one another about things) and reduces their bills very significantly, in such a way that it appears that he is doing so under the orders of the owner.

And the tenants leave, rejoicing, and there is a great celebration in the village, praising the most generous owner of which they have ever heard.

Then the crooked manager takes the doctored books to the owner, who immediately realizes what the scoundrel has done.

What will the owner do?

Now the actions of the manger are of course illegal and could be nullified.

But if he does so, the celebration in the village will turn to gloom and the owner will be cursed.

He chooses instead to be silent, to accept the praise of the villagers, and allow the clever manager to be popular with the folks as well.

It is his choice to do this, out of his generosity, and with a laugh remarks to the manager what a clever fellow he is.

There is the story, and then Jesus adds the equally strange conclusion: “the children of this age are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light.”

So Jesus, what are you trying to get through to us?

We're having trouble seeing it, or admitting it.

When Jesus announces that a crisis is upon us, we get confused.

This is because we have grown so comfortable with the notion that Jesus comes to pat us on the back and tell us that everything is OK.

We don't find that in this story.

We're not able to say that we don't want or need change, just a little help.

Sin has us firmly in its grasp; we need more than a little chiropractic adjustment.

Upon whom can we depend in the time of crisis?

It is certainly not ourselves; that is what got the manager into trouble in the first place.

He had a good job and all of his cleverness lost him that job.

He experienced the mercy of the owner several times over:

--in securing the job at the beginning,

--in holding the job as long as he did,

--in not being jailed as he deserved when his first perfidy was discovered

--in not being jailed when is second round of chicanery became known by the owner.

The manager thew himself on the mercy of the owner, and won; it is the only way in which he could have won.

No excuses are sufficient, just “Have mercy, master.”

So why does Jesus tell this outrageous story to us, to nice people like us?

Perhaps because, deep down, we know that we are not such nice people.

To measure this, we need only pick a commandment, any commandment, and meditate on it through Luther's explanation in the Small Catechism.

Let's pick on #5 for the moment.

Perhaps we haven't murdered anyone yet today, but have we helped our neighbor in his every need?

No, the answer is no, we haven't.

Don't try to wiggle out of it by talking about good intentions or anything else.

We have not helped our every neighbor in every need.

It is called “sin”, whether we want to hear about it or not.

Remember the story about the man who fell among robbers, was left for dead, and who needed help?

The “good” people passed him by, remember; only the foreigner helped.

And the story about the Pharisee (good, righteous person) and the Tax collector (scoundrel, hated by all) coming to the Temple...remember that it was the scoundrel who was blessed by God.

Why would such a nice person like Jesus take such delight in the clever shenanigans of the manager?

Maybe because he is the kind of Savior who is willing to die hanging between two thieves.

It would take that kind of a Savior to see anything loveable about this crooked manager.

And if that is true, then we can give thanks that a Savior like Jesus might see something loveable, something redeemable in scoundrels like us!

There is the Good News of the day.

Oh, we dress up and try to look presentable, but we're still sinners.

Whenever we try the Pharisee's prayer “Thank you Lord that I am not like these other sinners...”, Jesus laughs at our pretentiousness.

When the crisis comes upon us and we are called to account for our stewardship of possessions, people, and the promise of the Gospel, with tremendous anxiety we realize that we have messed it all up badly.

If we huff and puff and come up with a list of excuses, will that change anything? No.

All that we can do is say “Lord, have mercy.,” ...in the confidence that he does.

Today Jesus delights in telling a story that seems just outrageous, a story about a rotten little scoundrel.

He tells it to good church people to remind us that we are not as good as we would like to think that we are.

It is a wonderful thing that Jesus tells this story, because Jesus did not come to save good people, but sinners.

So, let all of us, scoundrels redeemed by Christ, say Amen.

Please note: The preceding sermon is provided as a resource for the thought, prayer, and meditation of the members and friends of St. Mark's. It is the residue of a verbal event, and thus it does not have academic footnotes and other details that would be expected in a written document. The writer gladly acknowledges the prior thought and work of many Christians before him.