Frittering

Jesus said to his disciples, “A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said, “What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.” The steward said to himself, “What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me?” (Luke 16.1-3)

If there is one story that Rabbi Jesus tells that provokes puzzlement among its listeners, it is surely this one, often titled “the parable of the unjust steward.” The reason for the confusion is easily seen–the bad guy gets praised at the end, leaving everyone scratching their heads, left to wonder what in the world was the Rabbi thinking.

Wherever there is confusion, there is always an effort to explain, too often appearing to be an exercise in grasping at straws. While I have no special insight into the teaching, I do think this is one instance where an application of Occam’s Razor is in order, that is,  “the simplest explanation is usually the best one.” Since I believe Rabbi Jesus characteristically preferred challenging his listeners, not confusing them, we should opt in favor of the challenge, not in favor of the confusion. 

And the parable of the unjust steward offers a clear challenge, perhaps crystallized in the rich man saying to his steward, “Prepare a full account of your stewardship.” Certainly, the steward heard it as a challenge, because he said to himself, “What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me?” He knows he’s backed against the wall, few good options left to him.

If we step back for a moment and look at the flow of the texts, we can see that the evangelist is on a roll. Rather than compartmentalize the teachings–always a hazard–we benefit from seeing this particular parable in the context of what precedes it and what follows it, something that is too often lost in our typical experience of divided texts being parceled out for an hour-long Sunday seat-down like a seven course meal served one course per week.

As we might recall, last week we heard the story of the wayward son who wakes up one morning feeling all grown up and wanting to see the world, demanding his share of his inheritance and losing it all in a short time on gambling and women. And next week we will hear the story of the rich man and a poor man, the one eating sumptuous meals every day while the other starves at his doorstep, never seen, never offered leftovers, much less offered a place at the table.

We find placed squarely in the middle of these two stories the story of the unjust steward. That fact that Luke wants us to see a common thread is easily detected. All three stories begin with a rich man. In the first story, the father has wealth that he gives to his son. The second story begins with “a rich man” who entrusts his property to a steward. And the third story begins with a “rich man who dressed in fine garments and dined on sumptuous meals.” 

Likewise, each story centers on a character who squanders or dissipates what has been entrusted to him. The  spoiled brat who receives his father’s inheritance wastes the money on wine, women, and song. The unjust steward misuses the landowner’s largesse in some unspecified way, but in a sufficiently profligate manner to provoke his master’s ire. And the rich man, as we will see soon, spends his money on nice clothes and fancy meals. Each one of the characters misuses what he has been given, using the good things for himself and for his satisfaction.

The evangelist provides us with a key to understanding what Rabbi Jesus intends us to take from the stories. That key is the use of the word “squander.” We heard the older son accuse his brother of “squandering” the money their dad gave him. Today, we hear the landowner accuse the steward of “squandering the property” entrusted to him. And next week we will hear how the rich man squandered his wealth on the fine things of life.

As we know, the word “squander” means to waste something in a reckless or foolish manner. Someone who squanders money or time fritters it away, nothing of importance to show for it at the end. Whatever is squandered disappears into thin air. It was said that when the highly-paid entertainer and musician Liberace died–he brought in five million dollars a year, big bucks in his day–that he left behind eight overloaded warehouses full of stuff that could not fit into any of his five fully furnished, lavish residences. If so, that’s the definition of squandering. 

Interestingly, we find in each of the three stories a moment of reckoning when the one who has squandered what was given to him finds himself with empty pockets, asking, “What do I do now?” The prodigal son lands in a pig pen and says, “What can I do now?” The unjust steward says to himself, “What shall I do?” The rich man suffering torment in Hades asks, “What do I do to get some relief?”

That reckoning cannot be overlooked because it is intricate to each of the three stories. Rabbi Jesus intends his listeners–more often than not the Pharisees, who are described as “lovers of money”–to realize that a time comes for everyone when the accounts are checked, or, as the landowner says to his steward, “Give me an accounting of your management, for you can no longer be my manager.” That surely signals the end of life as the steward knows it.

As we learned back in Chapter 9, Rabbi Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, already seeing it in the distance, feeling in his gut that his life is coming to an end. A man staring death in the face realizes that “an accounting” is imminent, both by oneself, looking backwards over the course of one’s life, and, looking forward, by the One who entrusted us with the gifts of life.

Rabbi Jesus, unlike most of us, faces that accounting without tribulation because he knows he has done his Father’s will. He has not squandered anything that was given to him, but used everything in the service of his Father’s mission. He knows nothing has been wasted, nothing has frittered away. He dies without a dime to his name and with no shirt on his back because he has kept nothing for himself.

But few of us can say of the same for ourselves, which also explains why most people, when the end comes, look back at their lives with regret, realizing, as they look death in the eye, that they wasted a whole lot of time and squandered a good part of what they had been given by God. As one elderly woman once said as death came knocking, “I wish I had done more good with my life.” While she had done much, she also saw with the clarity that the end brings that she could have done more. Too much had been squandered.

In effect, Rabbi Jesus offers us a wake-up call, three stories in a row telling us the same thing, urging us not to squander what we have been given, warning us that an accounting of our deeds will come, and telling us to use our time and our resources in the best ways possible so that when our books are checked, we will not come up short.

Given the fact that we are in Luke’s gospel, we know that a life well spent is one in which we share our goods with the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner. The plight of the poor is always front and center in this gospel, Rabbi Jesus showing a special care and concern for those who have little to nothing, whose livelihood is dependent on the largesse of others, those who too often are ignored and left to starve on the doorstep of the rich.

The antidote to squandering, at least in this gospel, is sharing. It was the way of Rabbi Jesus and it is the way of the true follower of the Galilean Rabbi. In the second part of Luke’s gospel–known to us as the Acts of the Apostles–he presents to us the ideal community of believers, describing them in this way, “All the believers were one in heart and mind. No one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they shared everything they had” (4.32).

They shared everything they had. It is what the prodigal son did not do. It is what the unjust steward failed to do. And it is what the rich man in silk robes could not bring himself to do as he stepped over the beggar in rags at his back gate. And if we do not want to be in their camp–clearly Rabbi Jesus wants his disciples outside that camp–then it means we have to cultivate a practice of sharing what we have.

Of course, that kind of sharing comes easily only when we see that what we have is not ours, whatever our beliefs about earning it ourselves. It was given to us temporarily by the Most High God who shared his gifts generously with us, blessing us with immeasurable riches, in the hope that we will share them with others in the same way that he has shared them with us. The originator of the concept of “pay it forward” was not Universal Studios in Hollywood. It was the Creator of the Universe. 

Some years ago, an American student had a semester abroad in South Africa. His birthday fell during one of the weeks and he decided he’d treat himself to a nice lunch at a nearby cafe. As he sat at an outdoor table enjoying the sun and the peacefulness of the place, he saw a young boy approaching other customers who were seated. It didn’t take long to figure out that the boy was a beggar and was known to some in the cafe, including the waiters.

Soon, the boy approached the student and, as he did so, a waiter tried to chase him away. But the student, much to the chagrin of the waiter, invited him to sit down. As the boy sat down, the student said to him, “I won’t give you money, but I’ll buy you a sandwich if you are hungry.” The boy nodded his head and a waiter was called over to take the order, none too happy to be serving the boy.

When the sandwich was served, the boy hungrily began to eat it. The student mentioned to him that it was his birthday. But he also noticed that the boy only ate half of the sandwich. Wondering if something was wrong with the sandwich, or if the boy really wasn’t all that hungry, the student asked him, “Why aren’t you finishing your sandwich? Is something wrong?”

The boy, somewhat embarrassed and shy, answered, “No, it is delicious. But I would like to take this half to my younger brother. He is hungry too.” The waiter was called over and the sandwich was wrapped. After a warm thank you, the boy stood up, but before he left, he turned to the student and said, “I would like to give you a gift also.” Without pause, he sang, “Happy birthday” in a strong voice, the onlookers clapping when he was done. Then the boy walked away.

If we’re left to wonder what the Biblical notion of sharing looks like, then we need look no further than that hungry boy who saved half his sandwich for his little brother. It’s as simple as that.

–Jeremy Myers