A Rogue Savior
Sermon
Topsy-Turvy: Living In The Biblical World
Gospel Sermons For Sundays After Pentecost (Middle Third) Cycle C
It's a perplexing story. Of all of Jesus' parables, this story of the Unjust Steward is the most baffling. What makes it such a "holy mess" is the conclusion in verse 8: "And his master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly." Someone gets praised for unethical behavior?
What could that possibly mean? Luke the Gospel-writer was so confused by what the story meant that he attached four different interpretations to it! Sometimes you almost wonder if these stories of Jesus aren't just big jokes.
"There was a rich man," Jesus begins, and automatically Joe Disciple, Galilean common man every one of them, thinks of all the negative stereotypes of a rich man: probably an absentee landlord, a despot, a slave-driver, an Israelite Simon Legree! The rich man, hearing charges that his steward has been squandering his property, fires him on the spot and demands that he turn over the books.
The steward is given no hearing, no opportunity to respond to his accusers. And that, plus all of our negative images of rich men -- that evokes our sympathy for the steward. We identify with the steward, the little man against the big man.
We the hearers are even drawn into the steward's mind: "What will I do?" he asks himself. What the steward decides to do is to pull off a "sting." The steward becomes a rogue, a Robert Redford rogue. Remember that movie, The Sting, and how delighted we were when Robert Redford and his band of petty criminals pulled off a "sting" on the big bad guy?
The steward is a rogue: yeah, a little unethical maybe, but more in a fun-loving, mischievous, common-man-getting-back-at-the-rich sort of a way. Kind of a Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Just as we applauded Robert Redford, we're rooting for the steward against his master.
So our roguish steward takes the master's books and works out a deal with each of his master's debtors: "You owe one hundred jugs of olive oil? Take your bill and write down fifty." "You owe one hundred containers of wheat? Scratch out the hundred and write down eighty."
And when the master finds out about the sting? Oh, will he be ticked! He'll throw that steward into prison, maybe even worse! But no, surprisingly, that's not what happens. "The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly."
That catches us offguard, doesn't it? It causes us to toss out all of our preconceived stereotypes. Maybe the rich guy isn't so bad after all? And our roguish friend, the steward, was, after all, dishonest and unethical, wasn't he? Who's the good guy in this story and who's the bad guy? And even more importantly: what does this story say about you and me, we who were cheering on the rogue, willing to look the other way while he was doctoring the books? Maybe you and I are rogues as well?
There is another story about rogues that I'd like to share with you. Actually it was made into a movie, starring Robin Williams, The Fisher King.
At the beginning of the movie we are introduced to Jack Lucas, the number one radio call-in talk-show host in New York City. Jack Lucas is a rogue; he is arrogant, filled only with his own importance; he ridicules his listeners, infuriates them, incites them.
In that opening scene he is speaking with one of his regular callers, someone who is infatuated with the beautiful people who hang out at one of the city's trendy night spots. Jack belittles his caller: "Those Yuppies don't care anything about you. They're scum," Jack says, "you should waste them all."
Jack Lucas is the rogue, the sin-filled Adam, yet he is not even aware of his sins. He is Everyperson. He is you and I, absorbed in ourselves.
Jack Lucas has been offered a part in a movie. We see him rehearsing one line over and over: "Well, forgive me!" That's the line. How many different ways can you say that arrogantly, contemptuously, with your nose in the air, never thinking for a moment that there is anything at all in you which possibly could need forgiveness. Jack can do it at least ten different ways.
Then the evening news comes on. That caller, whom Jack had invited to kill thoseYuppies, has done just that. He went to the night club with his shotgun and killed seven or eight people. Jack the Rogue is hit full in the face with his own sinfulness, his own guilt. Now he knows he desperately needs forgiveness, but he has no idea where to get it.
Jack loses his job, starts drinking heavily, and one night he meets up with the Christ-figure. Two vigilantes, fed up with the homeless in New York City, have come upon drunken Jack, have doused him with gasoline, and are about to light the match ... when Jack is saved -- saved by a crazed homeless person, a rogue himself, Robin Williams, the Christ-figure, who drives away the vigilantes.
The Christ-figure's name is Perry. He is the leader of a rag-tag group of homeless; he is a befriender of the friendless. Perry, the Christ-figure, has saved Jack, befriended him, accepted him.
Jack the Rogue later discovers that Perry the Rogue had been an English professor at Hunter College, until that fateful night when the gunman burst into the nightclub, spraying bullets everywhere, killing Perry's wife right in front of his eyes, a tragic event that caused him to lose his mind and become homeless. The one whom Jack had wronged is the same one who saves him, who accepts him, who forgives him, who loves him. Perry is the Christ-figure.
There is, of course, much more to the movie. There is death and there is resurrection. Eventually the love of this crazed-homeless-rogue-Christ-figure, eventually Perry's love transforms Jack. Jack the guilty one is forgiven and himself learns how to love.
Does that movie offend you, that it portrays the Christ-figure as a rogue? Here's the gospel, people, the gospel according to "The Fisher King" and also the gospel according to the Story of the Unjust Steward: we are all rogues who have been blessed with a rogue Savior.
You see, the steward-rogue in our Bible story is a Christ-figure, too. Jesus is the rogue!
? He's constantly running up against the scribes and the Pharisees, the ones who try to uphold virtue.
? He's always breaking or bending the laws: he talks to women; he eats with tax collectors and other roguish sinners; he allows prostitutes to wash his feet; he works on the Sabbath; he heals foreigners.
? He ends up dying as a criminal, hung on a cross. Jesus is the rogue!
Does that offend your standards of good taste? To call Jesus a rogue? Well, lucky for us that we get to deal with a rogue like Jesus, an unjust steward, as opposed to a just steward. Where would you and I be then, rogues all of us, if Jesus dealt with us only out of justice?
You and I are the rogues, "clever though dishonest," in solving our problems. When we mess up, we try to cover it over, wanting to protect ourselves by bending over backwards, putting the best spin on the junk and crud that we do, trying to make ourselves look good even though we are rogues, every one of us.
Like President Clinton, right? The rogue who happens to live in the White House? The President of the United States entered into a sexual relationship with a young intern. That's abuse and Clinton is a rogue. Then he purposely distorted the truth to the grand jury, to protect himself. That's lying and Clinton is a rogue.
And isn't it interesting how many other rogues have been "outed" by Clinton's roguish behavior? Like Representative Dan Burton of Indiana, who called Clinton a "scumbag," and who later admitted to an affair that produced a child in the early 1980s. Like Representative Henry Hyde of Illinois who conceded that he had an affair with a woman in the '60s at a time when both of them were married. Like Representative Helen Chenoweth of Idaho who had a long-term affair with a married man a decade ago.
Now, I don't mean to imply by any of this that Clinton's behavior is justifiable. Because it isn't. His roguish behavior is no more justifiable than mine, no more justifiable than yours. However, the truth is that Clinton has been forgiven. That's not my opinion; that's the gospel truth.
People, the Bible is "the rogue's gallery"! All the Old Testament patriarchs were rogues. Abraham, when he goes down to Egypt, passes his wife Sarah off as his sister -- in order to save himself! He's a rogue! Jacob is the con-man rogue who pulls off the greatest "sting" in the Bible, conning his brother out of the right of the firstborn. Jacob is a rogue! Joseph, as a young man, is the arrogant rogue, who waltzes among his older brothers parading the fine coat that his father had given him as "the most-loved child," egging them on by his telling his hoity-toity dreams predicting his future domination over them. Joseph is a rogue!
And rogues are whom Jesus came to save. Jesus became one of us, became a rogue for us, took on our roguishness, took it all the way to the cross where it was forgiven. Jesus is the rogue who cheated us out of our chance to justify ourselves before God. And thank goodness he did, because we cannot justify ourselves. We can only be forgiven. Lucky for us that we don't have to deal with a just Jesus. Lucky for us rogues that it's a forgiving Jesus who accepts us.
So -- is this story of the Unjust Steward a big joke of Jesus? If it is, it's the joke that saves. It's the joke on the devil. It's the joke on our self-righteousness. Lucky for us rogues that we don't have to deal with a just Jesus, but rather a forgiving Jesus.
____________
I am indebted both to Bernard Brendon Scott and to Robert Farrar Capon for their interpretations of this parable.
What could that possibly mean? Luke the Gospel-writer was so confused by what the story meant that he attached four different interpretations to it! Sometimes you almost wonder if these stories of Jesus aren't just big jokes.
"There was a rich man," Jesus begins, and automatically Joe Disciple, Galilean common man every one of them, thinks of all the negative stereotypes of a rich man: probably an absentee landlord, a despot, a slave-driver, an Israelite Simon Legree! The rich man, hearing charges that his steward has been squandering his property, fires him on the spot and demands that he turn over the books.
The steward is given no hearing, no opportunity to respond to his accusers. And that, plus all of our negative images of rich men -- that evokes our sympathy for the steward. We identify with the steward, the little man against the big man.
We the hearers are even drawn into the steward's mind: "What will I do?" he asks himself. What the steward decides to do is to pull off a "sting." The steward becomes a rogue, a Robert Redford rogue. Remember that movie, The Sting, and how delighted we were when Robert Redford and his band of petty criminals pulled off a "sting" on the big bad guy?
The steward is a rogue: yeah, a little unethical maybe, but more in a fun-loving, mischievous, common-man-getting-back-at-the-rich sort of a way. Kind of a Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. Just as we applauded Robert Redford, we're rooting for the steward against his master.
So our roguish steward takes the master's books and works out a deal with each of his master's debtors: "You owe one hundred jugs of olive oil? Take your bill and write down fifty." "You owe one hundred containers of wheat? Scratch out the hundred and write down eighty."
And when the master finds out about the sting? Oh, will he be ticked! He'll throw that steward into prison, maybe even worse! But no, surprisingly, that's not what happens. "The master commended the dishonest manager because he had acted shrewdly."
That catches us offguard, doesn't it? It causes us to toss out all of our preconceived stereotypes. Maybe the rich guy isn't so bad after all? And our roguish friend, the steward, was, after all, dishonest and unethical, wasn't he? Who's the good guy in this story and who's the bad guy? And even more importantly: what does this story say about you and me, we who were cheering on the rogue, willing to look the other way while he was doctoring the books? Maybe you and I are rogues as well?
There is another story about rogues that I'd like to share with you. Actually it was made into a movie, starring Robin Williams, The Fisher King.
At the beginning of the movie we are introduced to Jack Lucas, the number one radio call-in talk-show host in New York City. Jack Lucas is a rogue; he is arrogant, filled only with his own importance; he ridicules his listeners, infuriates them, incites them.
In that opening scene he is speaking with one of his regular callers, someone who is infatuated with the beautiful people who hang out at one of the city's trendy night spots. Jack belittles his caller: "Those Yuppies don't care anything about you. They're scum," Jack says, "you should waste them all."
Jack Lucas is the rogue, the sin-filled Adam, yet he is not even aware of his sins. He is Everyperson. He is you and I, absorbed in ourselves.
Jack Lucas has been offered a part in a movie. We see him rehearsing one line over and over: "Well, forgive me!" That's the line. How many different ways can you say that arrogantly, contemptuously, with your nose in the air, never thinking for a moment that there is anything at all in you which possibly could need forgiveness. Jack can do it at least ten different ways.
Then the evening news comes on. That caller, whom Jack had invited to kill thoseYuppies, has done just that. He went to the night club with his shotgun and killed seven or eight people. Jack the Rogue is hit full in the face with his own sinfulness, his own guilt. Now he knows he desperately needs forgiveness, but he has no idea where to get it.
Jack loses his job, starts drinking heavily, and one night he meets up with the Christ-figure. Two vigilantes, fed up with the homeless in New York City, have come upon drunken Jack, have doused him with gasoline, and are about to light the match ... when Jack is saved -- saved by a crazed homeless person, a rogue himself, Robin Williams, the Christ-figure, who drives away the vigilantes.
The Christ-figure's name is Perry. He is the leader of a rag-tag group of homeless; he is a befriender of the friendless. Perry, the Christ-figure, has saved Jack, befriended him, accepted him.
Jack the Rogue later discovers that Perry the Rogue had been an English professor at Hunter College, until that fateful night when the gunman burst into the nightclub, spraying bullets everywhere, killing Perry's wife right in front of his eyes, a tragic event that caused him to lose his mind and become homeless. The one whom Jack had wronged is the same one who saves him, who accepts him, who forgives him, who loves him. Perry is the Christ-figure.
There is, of course, much more to the movie. There is death and there is resurrection. Eventually the love of this crazed-homeless-rogue-Christ-figure, eventually Perry's love transforms Jack. Jack the guilty one is forgiven and himself learns how to love.
Does that movie offend you, that it portrays the Christ-figure as a rogue? Here's the gospel, people, the gospel according to "The Fisher King" and also the gospel according to the Story of the Unjust Steward: we are all rogues who have been blessed with a rogue Savior.
You see, the steward-rogue in our Bible story is a Christ-figure, too. Jesus is the rogue!
? He's constantly running up against the scribes and the Pharisees, the ones who try to uphold virtue.
? He's always breaking or bending the laws: he talks to women; he eats with tax collectors and other roguish sinners; he allows prostitutes to wash his feet; he works on the Sabbath; he heals foreigners.
? He ends up dying as a criminal, hung on a cross. Jesus is the rogue!
Does that offend your standards of good taste? To call Jesus a rogue? Well, lucky for us that we get to deal with a rogue like Jesus, an unjust steward, as opposed to a just steward. Where would you and I be then, rogues all of us, if Jesus dealt with us only out of justice?
You and I are the rogues, "clever though dishonest," in solving our problems. When we mess up, we try to cover it over, wanting to protect ourselves by bending over backwards, putting the best spin on the junk and crud that we do, trying to make ourselves look good even though we are rogues, every one of us.
Like President Clinton, right? The rogue who happens to live in the White House? The President of the United States entered into a sexual relationship with a young intern. That's abuse and Clinton is a rogue. Then he purposely distorted the truth to the grand jury, to protect himself. That's lying and Clinton is a rogue.
And isn't it interesting how many other rogues have been "outed" by Clinton's roguish behavior? Like Representative Dan Burton of Indiana, who called Clinton a "scumbag," and who later admitted to an affair that produced a child in the early 1980s. Like Representative Henry Hyde of Illinois who conceded that he had an affair with a woman in the '60s at a time when both of them were married. Like Representative Helen Chenoweth of Idaho who had a long-term affair with a married man a decade ago.
Now, I don't mean to imply by any of this that Clinton's behavior is justifiable. Because it isn't. His roguish behavior is no more justifiable than mine, no more justifiable than yours. However, the truth is that Clinton has been forgiven. That's not my opinion; that's the gospel truth.
People, the Bible is "the rogue's gallery"! All the Old Testament patriarchs were rogues. Abraham, when he goes down to Egypt, passes his wife Sarah off as his sister -- in order to save himself! He's a rogue! Jacob is the con-man rogue who pulls off the greatest "sting" in the Bible, conning his brother out of the right of the firstborn. Jacob is a rogue! Joseph, as a young man, is the arrogant rogue, who waltzes among his older brothers parading the fine coat that his father had given him as "the most-loved child," egging them on by his telling his hoity-toity dreams predicting his future domination over them. Joseph is a rogue!
And rogues are whom Jesus came to save. Jesus became one of us, became a rogue for us, took on our roguishness, took it all the way to the cross where it was forgiven. Jesus is the rogue who cheated us out of our chance to justify ourselves before God. And thank goodness he did, because we cannot justify ourselves. We can only be forgiven. Lucky for us that we don't have to deal with a just Jesus. Lucky for us rogues that it's a forgiving Jesus who accepts us.
So -- is this story of the Unjust Steward a big joke of Jesus? If it is, it's the joke that saves. It's the joke on the devil. It's the joke on our self-righteousness. Lucky for us rogues that we don't have to deal with a just Jesus, but rather a forgiving Jesus.
____________
I am indebted both to Bernard Brendon Scott and to Robert Farrar Capon for their interpretations of this parable.
