Grasping at Heavenly Things: The Parable of the Desperate Manager

This sermon was given by Kellogg Fellow Emily Garcia on Sunday 22 September at the ECH evening service in Christ Church Cambridge. The readings for the week are available here; the parable in Luke in particular is available here.

I love the Collect, the collecting prayer, for today. Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, to hold fast to those that shall endure.

We know that some of these heavenly things, the things that shall endure, are qualities, and moments, and actions that we learn from God himself: love—all kinds of love—, mercy, forgiveness, patience, faithfulness, kindness.

We love and hold fast to these heavenly things not just in the abstract. We hold fast to them when we find them in our loved ones, in strangers, in ourselves, in our families, in art, in the natural world—in many places we can find heavenly things to hold onto.

I’ve always thought of the “earthly things” as appearances—the way things seem to us with short-sighted glasses. At the risk of sounding like your high school health teacher, I want to tell you that being cool is one of those earthly things that passes away. Being popular, also earthly. Being loved, that’s a very different thing, and that’s heavenly, I think that endures. Helping others, surely that’s a heavenly thing too—but being famous for it, that’s probably not. Making something beautiful and excellent out of love—I think, I hope that that will endure; but again, attention, importance, fancy notes on my resume—ultimately, these will pass away.

Knowing the difference between enduring and quickly-passing things isn’t always so easy, of course. Our readings this week dramatically display examples of how people do or do not hold on to heavenly things. I wish I could talk about all of them, but because I love you I’ll limit myself to the trickiest one, the parable in Luke.

This is, in fact, one of the trickiest parables in the New Testament. Most of us are inclined to hold onto that last, apparently conclusive six-word sentence: You cannot serve God and wealth. God, heavenly, the enduring thing, and wealth, earthly, something that will pass away.

But we don’t see such a simple dichotomy in the parable. The parable is a lot more like our lives—in fact, it’s hard even to figure out some of the basic story. How exactly was the manager squandering the rich man’s property in the first place? What precisely was he doing when he reduced the people’s debts—was he further cheating his master by simply reducing their debts in order to save his own skin? Was he righteously removing the interest that had accrued, as the Book of Deuteronomy would command him to do? Or is he generously sacrificing his own commission in order to reduce the people’s debt? And THEN, the master commends the manager because he had acted shrewdly! Note that it doesn’t say righteously or well—but shrewdly, better translated “dishonestly.” Is Jesus telling us to be dishonest and sneaky?

It seems that the Gospel authors were equally baffled, because following that closing line are a couple different explanations probably amended to the original parable: children of the light need to be more shrewd!, and part of the shrewdness means finagling some after-life item with dishonest wealth!

But scholars agree these seem to be nervous attempts to pin down the original parable. In fact, any attempt to make the manager into a well-behaved man requires imagining apparently unrealistic interest or commission rates. As the New Interpreter’s Bible notes: “the simplest solution, and the one that gives the parable the greatest punch, is to take the first alternative: the steward is dishonest, and he continues to squander the master’s goods by arbitrarily slashing the amounts owed by his debtors.”

So WHAT can we learn about heavenly and earthly things from this dishonest manager?

Here’s what I think. I think this manager had been spending his time occupied with earthly things. When he’s fired, he, very reasonably, wants a comfortable life, not begging or doing work he can’t do. He’s not thinking about the truly important things, like asking for forgiveness or making things right. He’s desperate. He wants something.

BUT! In his desperation, he grasps at something heavenly—good relationships with people around him. A mutual indebtedness, a shared gratitude, rather than the debt of money owed. He may not have done it with perfectly altruistic intentions, but he did a good thing. He forgave debts. He reconciled himself to those around him, those who were probably in need, those whom he had probably cheated earlier.

And that isn’t even the whole picture. As the New Interpreter’s Essay points out, this parable is like other parables told by rabbis at the time, parables in the great trickster tradition. Instead of holding up anyone’s dishonesty for ridicule, this parable “turns on the [manager’s] shrewd response to the urgency of his situation and invites hearers to understand that they are [,] likewise [,] in the midst of a crisis that demands an urgent decision if disaster is to be avoided. Faced with the loss of his position, the dishonest manager acted decisively to secure his future. One who hears the gospel knows that just such a decisive act is required of those who will stake their all on the coming kingdom of God.”

In this man’s desperation, he made the choice for something heavenly. And in the urgency of his situation, he was decisive. This is what we can learn from him.

I remember a sermon in the Evangelical Free Church in which I grew up, asking the congregation to live each day as if it were their last, to live as if they might die at any hour. Not the best thing for a nervous kid like myself to hear, and not, I think, a truly sustainable way to live each day.  But I agree with that preacher that keeping in mind that we are “placed among things that are passing away”—this can be a good way of thinking about the urgency and importance of all our actions in God’s eyes.

We may not have the chance to forgive a monetary debt—to save a life, to write a law, to stop a war. But every day we have the chance to be faithful—to be decisive—in small things. Is there an opportunity to say a kind word? Is there someone who needs to be reminded of how much we care for them? Is there a chance to be patient with someone who’s feeling frazzled? Is there a chance to show mercy when we might reasonably be angry? Is there a debt, or a hurt, of another kind we need to forgive?

Is there some urgent change of habit that needs to be made in our lives? Is there something we need to stop doing, or something we really need to stop thinking? Is there some enduring, heavenly thing we need to pay more attention to? something we’re supposed to reach for, in our current, small moments of desperation?

All of what I’ve been trying to get at tonight, it’s much more simply summed up in Luther’s and my favorite closing benediction. You’ll hear it at the end of today’s service: “Life is short, and we haven’t much time to gladden the hearts of those around us, so be swift to love, make haste to be kind, and may the blessing of God Almighty be with us now and always.” Amen.

B-PEACE Resource Day

Abi Strait is the new 2013-2014 Micah Fellow at ECH!  She comes to us from Wisconsin via the Lutheran Service Corps in Delaware, where she worked at the Ministry of Caring. As a Fellow in the Life Together Program, she'll be splitting her time between ECH and our mother-parish, Christ Church Cambridge.  

Last year, after the murder of a 19 year-old young man, Bishop Shaw decided it was time to take meaningful action youth violence. To do this, the diocese started B-PEACE - a campaign to address the root causes of violence. This follows in the footsteps of two St Stephen’s youth programs; B-SAFE, a summer program, and B-READY, an after school one, that aim to keep kids learning when out of school. (Incidentally, the Chaplaincy’s own Emily Garcia has worked with B-SAFE for the past two summers!) The B-PEACE campaign has three core initiatives to address the root causes of youth violence; gun reform advocacy, creating meaningful jobs and workforce development opportunities for youth, and improving mentoring and educational opportunities through church partnerships with underserved schools.

All that, while it excites me, is about the extent of my knowledge on the B-PEACE program. Of course, as it’s a social justice program connected with the diocese, and I’m working on social justice projects for two Episcopal ministries, it’s something I’d very much like to be more knowledgeable about. Luckily, the program is putting on an event in a few weeks specifically designed to help congregations and individuals learn more and find ways to participate. So I - along with Emily, some members of Christ Church’s congregation, and a whole host of Life Together folks - will be attending the Congregational Resource day on September 28th. I’m hoping to bring back with me a better understanding of the program and ways for individuals or communities to be involved back to ECH and CCC.

While you can of course expect a report on the day from Emily and I after we attend, registration is still open - and free! - if you would like to experience it first hand yourself. More information (whether you want to attend or not) can be found here: http://www.diomass.org/event/fall-resource-day-2013-b-peace. Otherwise - look for on update on what we learned from our B-PEACE day in a few weeks!

Understanding Without Being Understood

Emily Garcia is in her second year as Kellogg Fellow at ECH. She’s a Postulant for Holy Orders in this Diocese, sponsored by ECH, and will be attending seminary next fall. When she’s not at ECH she’s working in Children’s Formation at St. John’s, Charlestown; waitressing; and working at a start-up.

At our Leadership Retreat last Saturday, as we sat in the sunshine in Manchester-by-the-Sea, our Vice President Alice Kenney mentioned some conversations she’d like ECH to have as a group. Alice and I are often on the same page, and this was the case with the topics she mentioned: doubts and questions, beliefs in relation to the church, and how we (mis)interpret “love thy neighbor as thyself.” I think Alice and I both have a tendency to take this to mean “love your neighbor more than you love yourself,” and even “love your neighbor potentially to the detriment of yourself.”

I kept pondering how we might approach the topic in the Chaplaincy, and the next day at St. John’s found myself singing Hymn 593, “Lord, make us servants of your peace.” I’m always moved by St. Francis’ prayer, and especially by the line rendered in this hymn as “[May we not] look for understanding hearts, but look for hearts to understand.”

Here was the same problem though! It’s distressingly easy to go from this prayer to the idea that we should never need consolation. Many of us have accidentally come to believe that being a good Christian means giving to others without ever receiving anything in return. This attitude is certainly appropriate in tithing, but it becomes very problematic if we apply it in all areas of our life. For many, it leads to burn-out or an inefficient exhaustion. In the worst cases it can lead to serious emotional and mental strain and suffering, as people give and give without receiving the love and energy they need to keep giving.

Later that same Sunday I sat in the Chaplaincy listening to Paul’s heart-rending, imperious appeal to his “dear friend and co-worker” Philemon to accept “his own heart,” “his son,” Onesimus. Surrounded by students and friends new and familiar, I heard two very simple and clear responses that cut through the potential risks of Christ’s commandment and St. Francis’ prayer.

First, it becomes easy and simple to accept help, consolation, and love, if we remember our ultimate weakness in comparison to God’s complete strength. We know that we depend on Him; God loves, strengthen, and consoles us in many ways, and one way is in the voices and hearts of those around us.

Second—if everyone only ever looks for hearts to console, there won’t be anyone to be consoled! Both the commandment and prayer seem to assume an interdependence—we depend on each other. Because we’re dynamic creatures, going through times of more obvious strength and weakness, we can be always on the lookout for hearts to understand as well as God’s own understanding from others’ hearts.

A September Sermon: Welcoming Strangers and Entertaining Angels

This sermon was given by the Rev. Luther Zeigler at Christ Church Cambridge on 1 September 2013. The readings for the day are available here.
 
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”  Hebrews 13:2

When I woke up this morning, and glanced over at the calendar on my wall, I realized that it is time to tear off the page called “August,” and stare “September” in the face.  I don’t know about you, but I do this with mixed emotions.  On the one hand, there is a certain sadness that summer, for all practical purposes, is over.  All those novels we intended to read will have to wait for another time, those lazy days sitting on the beach or by a lake are now behind us, and although we’d like to deny it, we’re beginning to notice that the days are getting just a little bit shorter as the sun sets a tad earlier each evening. 

On the other hand, September means autumn, one of the most glorious seasons of all.  In these past few weeks we’ve already had a preview of the deliciously crisp air that fall brings, as the humidity and heat of summer begin to recede.  And, as the night air becomes almost chilly, we remember how sweet it is to sleep more deeply with windows open to dry, cool breezes. 

But September is special for another reason:  it means the beginning of school.  I have served my entire ordained career in schools – first as a chaplain to an elementary school, then at a middle and high school, and now as a chaplain at Harvard – and I confess that one of the many reasons I am drawn to the academic world is because of the fresh start that each school year brings.

The start of a school year is like a little resurrection.  Whatever mistakes were made last year are now forgiven; whatever disappointments we may have experienced then we now see were occasions for growth and learning; and instead of being weighed down by the past and what has been, we behold a marvelously open year ahead of us, full of promise, another chance at growing into that person God is calling us to be.  Whether we are students, teachers, or staff, we all share in this sense of newness and re-birth.

The rhythm of life in a parish like this one is not that different.  Modeled after the academic year, we organize our church life around a program year that also begins in September – and thus, we kick off our new year at Christ Church next Sunday.  And so, the parish and the University have in common this time of transition, as we together leave the summer behind and move into a new season of possibility.

During this past week, I was invited by both the Freshmen Dean’s Office and the graduate student dean to represent the Harvard Chaplains in orientation programs for new students, as well as for residential advisors and proctors who will be responsible for overseeing residential life at Harvard.  One of the primary topics we discussed is the importance of community as one of the foundations of a healthy University.  My own contribution to that discussion was to offer up the biblical practice of ‘hospitality’ – which is the theme of today’s readings – as an essential aspect of creating communities of genuine human flourishing.

‘Hospitality’ is one of those words that has lost some of its original meaning.  For some, it evokes images of genteel sweetness, polite conversation, perhaps some tea and finger sandwiches – a tame and pleasant practice, something your grandmother might insist upon, but nothing of real substance.  For others, it is a word that has been hijacked by the hotel industry only become just another buzz word in a Holiday Inn slogan.

But the biblical foundations of the concept of ‘hospitality’ are far richer and deeper than these contemporary connotations.  The underlying Greek word literally means ‘love of the strange.’  And, the Hebrews were from the beginning strangers, wanderers in search of home, a nomadic people dependent upon the hospitality of others for shelter, protection, and the basic stuff of life.  Even when the Hebrews inherited the Promised Land after their time in Egypt, God constantly reminded them that this land of plenty ultimately was not theirs but a shared gift.  They were merely caretakers, stewards, living on the land by God’s grace.

And because the Hebrew people deeply understood what it means to be a stranger, to be vulnerable, to be outside the power structures, they were able to emerge from this experience of vulnerability with an authentic appreciation for their God’s imperative of hospitality.   

We are all familiar with the two great biblical commandments – to love our God with all our heart, all our soul, and all our mind, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.  Yet, the rabbis remind us that neither of these are the most frequently uttered commandment in the Hebrew Scriptures, but rather the slightly different admonition that “You shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”   This appears some 36 times in the Books of Moses. 

In Jesus’ life and ministry, of course, this ethic of hospitality takes on an incarnational reality of even greater urgency and subversiveness.  Jesus eats with tax collectors, touches and cares for lepers, forgives prostitutes, gives hope to the poor, defends the weak and the widowed, and weeps with those in mourning.  Jesus’ ministry is at its core about unreserved welcome.  It should come as no surprise, then, that one of the central images of Jesus’ ministry is the shared meal around a table where all are invited, where no one is turned away, and where those at the table are urged, as we are urged in today’s gospel reading, to make room for others, especially for the lowliest among us. It is in hospitality such as this, Jesus assures us, that we find true blessing. 

So, when the author of the letter to the Hebrews in today’s epistle lesson urges us not to neglect hospitality, for in showing hospitality to the stranger many have entertained angels without knowing it, he is drawing on a long and powerful theological tradition.  Through hospitality to others, we not only imitate God’s welcome to us, but often are surprised to find ourselves in the company of God’s messengers.

Sadly, the wider world in which we live is defined more by hostility than hospitality.  Not only is our world wracked by horrible violence – the dire situation in Syria is only the most recent reminder of this – but even more subtly, our world is increasingly filled with fearful, aggressive, and suspicious people who anxiously cling to their possessions, their money, their status, and their position, because they view these things as their only protection against a hostile and insecure world.  In turn, the message the world consistently sends is that life is a zero-sum game of haves and have-nots, that life’s goal should be to end up with the haves, and that the clearest markers of success in this race are to wear the right clothes, own the right things, have the right kind of body, vacation in the right places, pursue a powerful career path, hang with the right crowd and not be caught dead with the wrong one.  Indeed, central to the world’s message is the construction of complex social barriers and boundaries of identity that are intended to separate the right people from the wrong people. 

You do not have to live in such a world for very long to begin to feel anxious, threatened, insecure, inadequate, afraid, unwelcome – in a word, a stranger.  I worry that too many of our students, and too many of us, live in this place of estrangement and dis-ease.

One of the central missions of our Church – whether it be this parish or our Chaplaincy – is to expose this message from the world as a false and destructive one, to live into a different system of valuing and honoring people, and to hold up an alternative model of hospitable human relationship.  To use the words of Catholic writer Henri Nouwen, in truly Christian community we want to create a “free space where the stranger can enter and become a friend instead of an enemy.  Such hospitality is not designed to change people, but to offer them space where change can take place. . . .  It is not a method of making our God and our way into the criteria of happiness, but the opening of an opportunity to others to find their God and their way.  The paradox of hospitality is that it wants to create emptiness, not a fearful emptiness, but a friendly emptiness where strangers can enter and discover themselves as created free; free to sing their own songs, speak their own languages, dance their own dances; free also to leave and follow their own vocations.  Hospitality is not a subtle invitation to adopt the lifestyle of the host, but the gift of a chance for the guest to find her own way.”[1]

As part of our Chaplaincy’s renewed commitment to being a ministry of hospitality, I am delighted to share this morning some exciting news.  As you may know, our Chaplaincy owns a beautiful, old house just two doors down from the Church at Two Garden Street.  Donated to the Chaplaincy by Christ Church well over fifty years ago, the house was originally intended to serve as a center of Episcopal life for the Harvard community.  Sadly, because of financial pressures, several decades ago the Chaplaincy’s Board was compelled to lease out the house to others (first to Harvard University for administrative offices, and then for the last decade, to a social club on campus) in order to generate sufficient income to support the Chaplaincy’s operations. During this time, the Chaplaincy moved its campus ministry into the basement of Two Garden Street, from which it has been operating for over twenty years.  Now, however, all of that is about to change, as the Chaplaincy moves to re-claim and re-purpose this glorious, old house.

Starting in January 2014, the Chaplaincy will cease renting out the house so that we can embark upon a bold new partnership with the diocese’s young adult ministry, Life Together.   Seven Life Together fellows will be living on the upper floors of our house in an intentional residential community, while they serve 10-month fellowships helping local parishes and nonprofits to develop meaningful social justice and outreach programs.  At the same time these fellows move into the upper floors, the Chaplaincy will move its offices and common student space to the main floor of the house to create a vibrant and welcoming space for our ministry to Harvard students.  Starting in January, Two Garden will thus be a redeemed space of authentic hospitality, where Harvard students and Life Together interns will be able to worship together, share meals and conversation, serve the wider community together, host exciting programs, and teach and learn from one another.

Our dream is that through this exciting new partnership between a venerable campus ministry and a dynamic young adult ministry, the house at Two Garden Street will become what it was originally intended to be:  a visibly active and profoundly welcoming center for Episcopal life at Harvard.   We want our house to be a place where Christian leaders – both Harvard students and other young adults from the diocese and beyond – are formed and nurtured.  We are optimistic about the many growth opportunities that this bold experiment will offer and we invite this parish to be an active participant in helping us to build this new community.  We are not quite sure of all of the details, but we are confident in the promise of our future and trust in the Spirit’s guidance.

So, as we look forward to the year ahead, and to starting afresh as both parish and Chaplaincy communities, my prayer for us all is that we renew our commitment to being a welcoming and hospitable people, always remembering that we too were once strangers in a foreign place.  Who knows, by practicing the hospitality we preach, maybe we will find, in the phrasing of the old King James Version, that we have “entertained angels unawares.”  Amen.

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      [1]        Henri J.M. Nouwen, Reaching Out (London:  HarperCollins, 1990), p. 49.

Service at the Kennedy School

Abi Strait is the new 2013-2014 Micah Fellow at ECH!  She comes to us from Wisconsin via the Lutheran Service Corps in Delaware, where she worked at the Ministry of Caring. As a Fellow in the Life Together Program, she'll be splitting her time between ECH and our mother-parish, Christ Church Cambridge.  

As part of my year with the Episcopal Chaplaincy at Harvard and Christ Church in Cambridge, I’ll be working with several social justice programs. One of these is ACT (Advocates for a Common Toilet) - a campaign supported by many community businesses and faith groups to add public restrooms in the Cambridge Common.

On my first official day of work last Monday, Richard Parker, a leader of the ACT project and a professor at Harvard’s Kennedy School, invited me to participate in the Kennedy School’s day of service on Thursday. During this day of service, first year Kennedy students were assigned to different volunteer activities. ACT was one such activity, and the only one (as far as I’m aware) falling more closely with advocacy than with volunteer work. That, along with it’s name, made it a unique project.  

Although I didn’t quite know what to expect - I’m still brand new to the project and to Harvard after all - and wasn’t sure what my role would be, I told Richard I’d be happy to participate. I knew it would be a way for me to learn more about ACT, a project I anticipate spending a good deal of time with over the next months. It would be a way to learn through doing, not only through reading. It would be a way to dive, not wade, into the project.

And what a learning experience it was! Thursday started out with a talk from Professor Parker about ACT and it’s history, as well as the difference between social justice and charity. The students then split into pairs and had about 45 minutes to find a public bathroom around Harvard Square. There were some rules: no using Harvard buildings, or places where you need a Harvard ID to get in, and no buying anything (which knocks out most restaurants or businesses).

While they were doing that, I helped prepare materials for the signature collection drive we set out on after lunch. The students were in pairs for that, joined by folks who had been working with ACT for some time. Neither my partner nor I had much experience asking people on the street for signatures, but it went surprisingly better than I anticipated. It’s amazing how much the words “toilet” and “bathrooms” catch people’s ears! All in all, about 450 signatures, spread between petitions and postcards that will be sent to the City Council, were collected. An amazing effort for the two hours we were out!

Listening to Professor Parker, seeing the student’s enthusiasm for a project they were just introduced to that morning, and hitting the street myself have given me a much better handle on ACT -- and increased my excitement and energy for it as well. It was, while initially a bit intimidating, a great opportunity and I am so thankful for Professor Parker’s invitation to join in. I’m looking forward to my continuing work with ACT this year and am excited to see where it goes!