Of all the parables Jesus told, the one we come to today - usually referred to as the "Unjust Steward" - has proved to be one of the hardest to interpret, because it seems to applaud a bit of obviously bad behaviour.
The usual interpretation offered is to point out that it is not the steward's dishonesty that is applauded, but his shrewdness, and the point Jesus is said to have made is that in Christian affairs we should emulate his shrewdness, though not his dishonesty.
That, of course, is a worthwhile point to make; for it is quite surprising to observe how often Christian folk who handle their personal and business affairs with a great deal of sound common sense, seem to abandon it altogether when they have to make decisions about their Christian lives and Church affairs. And I'm sure Jesus would heartily approve what Paul said in Romans 16:19 that we should be "wise as to what is good and guileless as to what is evil."
But though that's a sound point, I'm convinced it's not the one Jesus made in this parable.
I think it fair to warn you that the interpretation I offer you is not offered by anyone else I've heard or read yet, and you must therefore use your own judgement as to how correct it is. I invite you to emulate those Jews who heard Paul in the synagogue at Berea, "who," Luke tells us, "were more noble than those in Thessalonica, for they not only received the Word with all eagerness, but with discernment also for they examined the Scriptures daily to see if these things were so." I would likewise exhort you to bring my words to the judgement bar of Scripture.
First let me remind you of those principles of interpretation that have guided us so far in our understanding of the Parables. They were -
1. To appreciate the realism of the story
and its climax first.
2. To appreciate the real-life situation which led Jesus to tell
it.
3. To match the story's point to that situation.
I've become convinced that when you interpret this parable by those simple rules, what you have is a story which Jesus gave a deliberately absurd ending so as to catch the Pharisees in their reaction to it, the way Nathan did David.
The steward is what we would call today a manager. He manages a property for his wealthy land-owning boss - a property which is split up into a number of small holdings, each with its own share farmer.
Each of these farmers has to render a percentage which represents both the rent for the farm, and the owner's share of its profits. Our steward's job is to assess what each of those farmers owes, and collect it in, adding his own commission.
The sums involved are really very considerable. There's no need to bore you with details, but be assured our steward is handling big money, and he has yielded to the temptation to fiddle the books so as to enjoy a big rake-off. He's been doing it long enough too, to have become accustomed to the high life. He can't imagine himself surviving without it. "To beg I am ashamed, and I'm not strong enough to dig," he says. He's become the flabby play boy!
At any rate, rumours about his fraudulence are flying about, and his boss has called in the auditors. Discovery, and with it disgrace and poverty are staring him in the face now, because he knows he won't be able to put it over them. The game's up, and the situation calls for desperate measures.
So he does some furious thinking and the Greek of the original story suggests that he got a brilliant inspiration. The translation of v.4, "I've decided what to do," is really a bit lame. "I've got it!" would be better.
In the best traditions of story-telling Jesus does not at once tell you what that brilliant solution was that had occurred to the steward. He keeps you in suspense for that. You have to wait and see how the steward works the idea out before you discover what it was. All you know at first is that the steward is quite confident it will guarantee him a prosperous future.
What in fact he does is to seduce each of the share farmers into compounding his felony with him! For far too long, he has, like the tax-collectors of his day, exacted more than was due and grown fat on the rake-off. Now he does an about-face. Suddenly he's willing to give them all a fat cut. He sent for each of the share farmers - "one by one" you notice - so for each of them it was a secret negotiation with the steward - and drastically reduced their assessment.
"About time, too," each of them no doubt thought; "the scoundrel's been ripping me off long enough." They were all of them glad enough to take advantage of the offer. "It's only justice, after all," they no doubt said.
The reductions were all substantial - in the region of $5,000 to $10,000. But if any of them thought, "He's gone soft in the head," they were all so bemused by this astonishing chance to get back a bit of what they'd lost that none of them woke up to the cunning that lay behind it. For the point you mustn't miss is that the steward didn't falsify the accounts by his own forgery. He got each of the share farmers to do that in their own hand-writing. "Take your bill and sit down quickly, and write fifty!" the steward said. So at the end of the day, they'd all fiddled the books!
It's a nice touch of human observation, this, in the way Jesus told the story: those who complain loudly that they've been ripped off are usually willing enough to do a bit of ripping off themselves if they think they can get away with it!
But in doing so, the share farmers have all fallen into the trap the steward laid for them. For now, when he gets the sack, as he surely will, he has an extensive blackmail system all set up. He has only to threaten any of the farmers with exposure of their own falsification of the accounts, and he can (within limits) name his price. They'll look after him all right: they'll have to!
It was a brilliant idea, wasn't it? The whole tale is one of unrelieved skullduggery, worthy of the annals of Chicago in the 1920's. Our steward has all the makings of an Al Capone, complete with blackmail and protection.
The only man who stands to lose in all this is the property owner, the 'lord' in the story as Jesus told it - and his loss must have run into thousands.
Now how would you expect him to react when he learns the full extent of his loss? Him? I know how I would react!
But here's where the real shock comes. For as Jesus told the story, the property owner let out a great guffaw, slapped his thigh and cried, "The clever devil! He's robbed me blind, corrupted all my farmers and left me with a hornet's nest for years to come ... But you've got to hand it to him, he's the end!" ... "And," says Luke, "the Pharisees, who were lovers of money, heard all this and scoffed at Jesus!"
I'll say they did! They hadn't heard anything so rich in years! The rabbi Jesus didn't expect them to swallow that, did He? What sort of fools did He take them for? And Jesus' answer in effect, was to say ... 'the fools - the criminal fools - you are!"
"You Pharisees are the ones represented by the steward in my story. It is you who defraud God of what you owe Him, encourage others to do the same, and expect to be commended for it! No doubt you are commended for it by the common folk, but God knows your hearts. For what is rated highly among men is detestable in God's eyes, just as the steward's behaviour in my story is detestable in your eyes."
You see, if we have understood the story rightly, Jesus gave it that absurd ending quite deliberately in order to trap the Pharisees in their reaction to it; in the same way that Nathan, the prophet once trapped King David in his reaction to an unpleasant tale about a stolen lamb. It enabled Nathan to say to David, "You are the man," and so open his eyes to see his sin in its true light. So Jesus would open the Pharisees' eyes to see their sin in its true light.
The story's climax is absurd! And commentators generally have agreed with the Pharisees in expressing incredulity at it. Jesus couldn't have told the story like that.
But why not? It fits the situation in which He told it exactly.
And this brings us to a consideration of the second rule of interpretation we have noted: to appreciate the real-life situation in which a parable is told.
We have seen that in the listening crowd to which Jesus told the three stories of lost things, there were both sinners and Pharisees. The situation is still the same; the scene has not changed. And whilst it is true that Luke says Jesus told this story of the unjust steward to the disciples (16:1 - and we shall come to its meaning for them in a moment) Jesus knows that the Pharisees are listening (v.14) and He tells it as much for their benefit as for the disciples'. Indeed, by addressing the disciples, He lowers the Pharisees' guard, and so the effect upon them of their reaction to it is all the more complete and devastating.
Now in what respect were the Pharisees defrauding God?
Well, the sayings of Jesus which Luke has quoted between the story and the Pharisees' reaction to it give us the clue. They're about money and divorce.
• There was for example the Pharisees teaching about "Corban".
This was a handy little by-law they had passed, so to speak, which enabled a man to wriggle out of the obligation to support his parents. "If," they said, "you declare the money you would have set aside for the support of your aged parents to be 'Corban' - devoted, that is, to the Temple Treasury - then you are released from your obligation to your parents."
"Honour your father and your mother" - that was God's requirement. "Ah yes," said the Pharisees, "now what is your debt to God in this matter of your parents? Five denarii? But of course, if you do that, you will have nothing over to put in the Temple Treasury, will you? Call three denarii 'Corban' (devoted to God) and give your parents two."
"Take your bill and write fifty," you see? O, the common people thought them fine fellows for that.
• Again, the Law of Moses said, "Make your vow to the Lord, and perform it."
"Ah" said the Pharisee, "but when you made
your vow, did you swear by the altar, or by your gift which you laid
upon it? If by the altar, you are not bound. If by the gift, you
are."
Think how a man could play that kind of double-talk in the markets
and bazaars: "I swear by the holy altar in the Temple ..."
"Take your bill and write eighty," you see? Business integrity is all very well, but a man has to cut a few corners to survive.
• Or again, take the matter of divorce.
The Law of Moses permitted divorce where there was found 'uncleanness' in the wife. Now how shall we define 'uncleanness'? Clearly, in a society where marriages were arranged, so that like Jacob of old, you might only discover who your wife was on your wedding night, this was a provision for those cases where some physical deformity made married life impossible.
"But," said some of the Pharisees, "it says 'uncleanness'. So you could divorce your wife if she didn't wash, or if she had B.O. or if her cooking was dirty.
And how the common folk loved them for that! Splendid fellows, these Scribes and Pharisees. "Take your bill," they said, in the way of the steward in our Lord's story, "and write fifty."
But God had said through His servant Malachi, "I hate divorce!" The character of God had been revealed in all His people's history as loyalty, unfailing loyalty in the face of every provocation. God is the only measure of what real goodness is. "Woe to the man who forsakes the wife of his youth! Everyone who divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery." The bit of paper doesn't change the morality of the thing.
Folks, these false stewards are still with us.
They masquerade today - some of them - under the banner of "Situational Ethics." Love, they say, is the only law for Christians, and the demands of love have to be decided by the situation: there are situations where dishonesty, or even adultery, may constitute a true act of love, and therefore be fully Christian! So they tell us!
What wicked nonsense it is! Love must be determined, not by the situation, but by the character of God! He is the only measure of what true love is. And Jesus has shown us that, for love's sake, He would rather die than sin. Real love has a death to sin at the heart of it.
"Take your bill and write fifty" indeed! Not Jesus! There is no cut-price Christianity in His book!
Now do you see the teaching of the parable? It is, very simply, that God lays claim to the whole of your life.
As with the elder brother, what God wants of you is you! If the Parable of the Waiting Father tells us that God is total succour, this parable tells us that He is also total demand. And the two go together.
His forgiving grace is free - it really is. But it is not cheap. It puts a constraint on you. Real love always does. Indeed, there are no demands in the world so total, or so uncompromising, as love's demands.
God's love - a love so rich in mercy that it can cover all our transgressions and bury them for ever in the sea of its forgetfulness, is nevertheless a love that can be satisfied with nothing less than the yielding up of our entire being. That's what real love always calls for, and when you are possessed by it, there is no freedom on earth like the freedom we know when we yield to its compulsion.
And this is why, as Luke tells us, Jesus addressed this story to the disciples. He had the Pharisees in mind, to be sure. But it was addressed to the disciples ... nd not just the twelve, but those other disciples who had just become disciples as they heard and believed the Gospel as Jesus proclaimed it in the parables of lost things that He had just told them.
To them Jesus is saying, "God, like the Father in my story, has truly welcomed you home. Your sins are indeed forgiven; your trespasses will not be counted against you. The robe, the ring and the shoes - the honour, the authority and the status of a true son of God - are all freely given you.
"But they are not given to you so that you may make off with them again into the far country. The steward in my story was wasting his master's goods, just as the prodigal son wasted his father's wealth. But if the son, having come home, behaves like that steward, then I say to you, 'Woe to him!'"
You cannot, indeed, serve God and Mammon.
Don't imagine you can see yourself as the prodigal son, secure at home, forgiven and restored, if your heart is really in the far country still. When you come home to the Father, it must be with a whole heart. The greatest sin we ever committed against our heavenly father was that we withheld ourselves from Him. And if we know He has forgiven us that sin, what gratitude can we show but the offering up of our very selves?
No wonder Paul rounds off his presentation of the Gospel in Romans by appealing to us, on the ground of all God's mercies to us, to present ourselves to Him body and soul as a living sacrifice; it is the only reasonable worship you can offer to such a God. And indeed he says only what had been said before by Moses - "What does the Lord require of you but to fear Him, to walk in all His ways, to serve Him with all your heart and all your soul."
"He is your praise. He is your God Who has done great and wondrous things before your eyes. Therefore, cleave to Him with all your heart and all your strength."
There's no such thing as cut-price Christianity. It's all or nothing.
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