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Luke 16:1-15 · The Parable of the Shrewd Manager
Soul Deep Not Skin Deep
Luke 16:1-15
Sermon
by Leonard Sweet
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In the Pacific Northwest (and elsewhere), it's now hunting season. But instead of gun-racks in the pick-ups, our most fearless, intrepid hunters drive around with old doors or ratty-looking sheets of plywood strapped to the hoods of their cars, or hanging out the tailgates of their pick-up trucks. These hunters are after one of the most vicious of quarry, one capable of both long slashing wounds and deep punctures. It can only be approached by cautiously creeping towards it on a broad protective plank - like a door - and even then one of its hundreds of arms is sure to inflict some painful scratches.

We're talking blackberry picking. Is there any more well-protected fruit than this one? The long, supporting vines can have diameters of well over an inch. They are studded with huge, curved thorns, hooked on the end. The smaller vines hold the luscious fruit, but they too are awesomely armored. Smaller barbs surround the berries completely, no matter how slender the stem upon which they hang. Even the underside of the leaves, tracing down each vein, are covered with needle-sharp prickles. For extra discomfort, the smaller thorns are especially good at breaking off into the skin they encounter.

But the reward! The sweetest, juiciest, most delectable fruit in the world: the blackberry. Only pick the ones with the slightly dulled sheen, the ones whose individual kernels appear heavy and plum, for they're the sweetest. Forget the fact that your hands will be stained purple for days; forget the fact that you may have to leave your shirt hanging in shreds on a vine; forget the fact that your arms and legs may look like you've been trying to wrestle full-grown tigers: those are all but hunting injuries. The prey is worth the fray. One taste of fresh blackberry pie . . . and you become a lifelong hunter, a member of the Homo Sapiens hunter species.

In today's gospel text the unusual, even unpopular parable of the dishonest manager not only presents a thorny issue, but it places a particularly prickly person at its center. The dishonest manager, although he remains unconvicted of any charges during Jesus' parable, is hardly a likeable character, for he comes across as shifty, shady, and self-serving. At the very least this manipulating manager seems an unlikely candidate to be selected as a good example. The reason this wily guy sets about adjusting the debt levels owed his master is to make the debtors beholden to him, owing him a reciprocal favor.

First-century culture was organized and orchestrated by strict social rules. The rules of reciprocal hospitality were in no way optional. Rather they were the supporting ligaments that bound together status and honor, safeguarding roles and responsibilities through right relationships. The dishonest manager has no doubts that he will be able to collect on the favors owed him when the time comes. He will get by, despite his looming unemployment, because he knows how to work the system, or in the more contemporary terms of network, because he knows how to make the net work.

Jesus doesn't admire the thorns that bar the manager's dubious situation. Neither does Jesus concern himself with the man's self-serving character. What Jesus focuses on is the fruit that results from the manager's shrewdness (machinations?). Jesus sees a man unafraid to push the accepted limits in order to bring about a needed change. And he sees in this shrewdness something that his disciples might well learn from.

The commentary Jesus offers after this story is as central to this parable as the debt-dealing details. Jesus focuses on the effective and efficient use of worldly, dishonest wealth, not for money-making, but for relationship building and hospitality. The manager accepts a reduced return on investment for his boss in order to establish and cement relationships, relationships that his society wouldn't ordinarily embrace.

Jesus reminds his disciples, to whom he addresses this parable, that the kingdom isn't about bean-counting, the kingdom is about recreating our relationship with God and recreating our relationships with each other.

Both previous parables of the great dinner and the prodigal son demonstrated just how unexpected, and even off-the-wall, these new kingdom-mandated relationships might look to the rest of the world. First, the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame (14:21) are brought to the banquet table. Then the worthless, spendthrift, disreputable son (15:21) is celebrated and welcomed. And now, even the debt-canceling actions of a dishonest manager is praised. These are unlovely people whose harsh, ugly lives can't be hidden. Yet as their actions bring the reality of the kingdom closer, their lives open up to reveal God's power at work within them.

Let's bring Jesus' parable into the 21st century. Our role models today aren't those who do good, but are those who look good - no matter what they do. Twenty-first century culture is a celebrity culture. We worship these celebrity icons and look to them to lead us in the ways of perfection and holiness - perfect faces, perfect figures, perfect physiques, perfect clothes, cars, and cribs. We non-celebrities try to copy their perfection, their holiness as much as possible. We have makeovers for our bodies, our homes, our wardrobes - all in an effort to match the trademarked perfection we worship in our cultural celebrities.

"Life Is What You Make It" is the newest advertising slogan of the American Society of Plastic Surgeons. What the slogan really suggests is your life can only be as good as your plastic surgeon makes you look. The skills of the surgeon will give your life its worth. The statistics from 2002 report a 228% increase in cosmetic surgery between 1997 and 2002. In 2002 over one and a half million patients got cosmetic Botox injections, and the numbers rose even higher in 2003. (For more such statistics see Virginia L. Blum, Flesh Wounds: The Culture of Cosmetic Surgery [California University Press, 2004]). We're a culture committed to going only skin deep - a culture of skin-deep perfection and skin-deep holiness.

Twentieth century novelist James Joyce declared "modern man has an epidermis rather than a soul." Post-modern culture goes Joyce even one step further. The skin we long for isn't even our own; it's cut and stitched, sculpted, tightened, tanned, lightened, suctioned, all according to whatever celebrity trademark, whatever perfect look we hope to emulate of our cultural gods and goddesses.

Jesus' parables challenge us to get beyond our skin deep preoccupation. The gospel is more concerned with our souls than with our skins. Jesus looks at the eternal, not the epidermis. Life is not what you make it. Life is what you let God make it.

Turn away from the mirror for a minute, and let something else get under your skin:

Let compassion for others get under your skin;

Let feeding the hungry get under your skin;

Let forgiveness of those who have wronged you get under your skin;

Let a thirst for justice get under your skin;

Let the needs of your children, your spouse, your parents, your church, your community, get under your skin;

Let a desire for God's grace and goodness get under your skin;

Let a hunger for things of the Spirit get under your skin.

Our skin-deep society costs a lot of cash. It's not just the plastic surgeons who are getting rich on $10,000 face-lifts or $3000 liposuctions. There are also the cosmetic companies, the clothing industries, the fitness gurus, the drug companies, and the diet doctors. What would happen if we took some of the cash we spend on making ourselves look good and invested it in doing good in others' lives, for others' souls?

Brian Tracey tells this story about John D. Rockefeller, a robber baron capitalist that some might also call a dishonest manager.

"John D. Rockefeller, who because the richest man in the world, started as a clerk at 43.75 per week. Even at that small salary, he gave as much as 50 percent of his salary to his church every week to contribute to the betterment of others. Years passed. When he was fifty-two years old, he was extraordinarily wealthy, perhaps the richest man in the world. He was also extremely sick, and his doctors told him that he would die within a year. He thought back on his early years and the pleasure he got from contributing to his church, he resolved that he would spend his last year giving his money away. He sold half of his stock in the Standard Oil Company. He then began financing worthy causes around the country. Something incredible happened. The more money he gave away, the better he felt. His health improved. His illnesses went away. He recovered completely. He went on to live to age 91, in excellent health. By the time he died, he had given away millions of dollars. Meanwhile, the value of the Standard Oil Stock he had kept had increased so much that he died with more money than he had when he was on his deathbed many years before." (Brian Tracey, Focal Point (New York: AMACOM, 2002), 182-83.

When we let our lives be what God would make of them, we receive the power and perseverance of a life that's transformed SOUL-DEEP, not just skin-deep. When God's power and presence fill our soul our skin can't contain it. No matter how unlovely, how young, how old, how ordinary, or how seemingly incapacitated our skins may suggest we are, the Spirit's power under our skin can change everything.

We've all seen recent pictures of the Pope. For those of us who can remember when he was selected for that post, the image he presents now is shockingly changed. When John Paul II was elected he was young, hardy, active - a noted poet, a brilliant theologian, a dazzling figure of strength. He skied, hiked, and traveled more extensively to meet with his world-parish than had any previous pope. He looked like a vital, powerful leader.

Now John Paul II is a frail, old man. He remains seated during all his public appearances. His hands shake, indeed his whole frame shakes with the tremors that Parkinson's disease inflicts on its victims. His voice is soft, cracks and fails frequently. He seems to nod off frequently because he has trouble holding up his head. He drools uncontrollably.

No doubt the Pope has had wise advisors who have suggested that he should no longer be seen in public, for in human calculations his frailty reflects poorly on the church. How can the symbol of the biggest Christian body in the world be such a weak, frail figure? Doesn't it reflect badly on the church?

But John Paul II refuses to retire for a reason. He knows that his frail, weak body is the best witness the church could have in this 21st century that worships skin-deep strength and looks. His body is weakened by age and disease. But the Spirit which lies under his skin remains strong and unbroken. John Paul doesn't try to hide the imperfections of his body that time has brought. Instead he presents to the world the image of a servant who continues to serve regardless of the skin he lives in. When he was young and strong John Paul had no more, and no less power within him than he has today as a very old, very physically limited man. In fact, as Paul puts it, while his body is wasting away, the Spirit within him is growing in strength and power.

John Paul II keeps going, because God's presence and power are growing within him. His life in Christ isn't skin-deep, but soul-deep. The Spirit will never desert him, never fail him, even when he draws his last breath. (With thanks to a conversation with South African church leader Dr. Nelus Niemandt for the development of this insight).

Are you defining yourself by trademark external signifiers: the measurements your body bears, the brands your body wears . . . a flash of Elizabeth Arden here, a shaft of Jennifer Lopez there, a blast of Christian Dior everywhere?

A skin-deep life must shrivel, age, and decay. It's the reality of our mortality.

A soul-deep life, Spirit-filled and Spirit-powered, remains ever vital, ever ready to serve the needs of the kingdom.

It's this soul-deep life that leads to God's graced gift of life eternal.

ChristianGlobe Networks, Collected Sermons, by Leonard Sweet