Thou shalt commit adultery.

That’s what the Bible says. You can look it up. Of course, you’d have to look it up in the King James Version of 1631, the version in which the word “not” was accidentally omitted. This typo so infuriated King Charles that he commanded that all copies be destroyed, and he fined every printer who had anything to do with the scandalous edition.

Because of the loss of a word, this version became known as “The Wicked Bible.”

Unfortunately, it appears that more and more people today are leaving the “nots” out of their Ten Commandments. Either that, or they are simply ignoring them. Commandment number nine seems to be suffering the worst in our contemporary culture: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor” (Exodus 20:16, KJV). This commandment demands that the truth be told, especially in a court of law, and it forbids anyone from telling a lie in order to gain an advantage over a neighbor. In the world of the Bible, justice can be done only if reality is not distorted by the telling of lies.

This seems like an increasingly old-fashioned notion, especially in our society today – one that often behaves like a Liar’s Club. In his book The Cheating Culture, author David Callahan argues that cheating is no longer limited to the secretive, shady society of criminals, hucksters, and other low-life characters. Now, he says, everyone is doing it – and because everyone sees everyone else doing it, they keep on doing it.

Am I exaggerating a bit here? Perhaps. But consider the case assembled by Callahan. He says that the trouble begins in our brutally competitive economic climate, which rewards bottom-line results and often allows winners to get away with ethical and criminal transgressions. Honesty might be a nice ideal, but it isn’t always true that honest folks come out on top. Callahan argues that cheaters cheat because cheating can help a person to get ahead, especially as the chances of being caught continue to shrink, along with the severity of the punishments that are meted out on offenders who get caught. For many people, the benefits of a successful cheat far outweigh any potential punishment.

Here’s an example: On I-66 and I-395, there are a number of HOV lanes reserved for carpoolers, and these lanes can cut a great deal of time off your daily commute. As you know, solo drivers are prohibited from these lanes, and they face a stiff fine if they are caught. But many people cheat the system every day, figuring that an occasional fine is simply the cost of doing business. They have no problem being in the Liar’s Club, as long as they reach their destination ahead of the competition.

The bottom line for Callahan is that upright folks are being drawn into cheating – drawn by the fear that they won’t be able to make it in modern society otherwise. “Thou shalt not drive solo in the carpool lane” is being twisted by our brutally competitive climate into a wicked new commandment: “Thou shalt drive solo … or else.”

In light of all this cheating, what is Jesus telling us in the parable of the dishonest manager? At first glance, it seems to be an invitation to join the Liar’s Club and “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth” (Luke 16:9). But a deeper examination reveals that this story is more about heavenly riches than it is about earthly wealth. Its focus is on preparing for the next world, not getting ahead in this one.

From the start of the story, we know that the dishonest manager is a card-carrying member of the cheating culture – he is charged with squandering the property of his rich boss, and is immediately given his two-weeks’ notice. “You’re fired!” bellows the rich man, sounding like a first-century Donald Trump.

“What will I do,” says the manager to himself, “now that my master is taking the position away from me?” (v. 3). He knows that he is not strong enough for manual labor, and he is ashamed to sit in the street with a beggar’s cup. So he comes up with a plan. In order to guarantee that he will have a safe place to land in the homes of his former clients, he summons the master’s debtors and gives them some wonderfully deep discounts. To the one who owes a hundred jugs of olive oil, the manager says that the debt is now just fifty. To the one who is in debt for a hundred containers of wheat, the manager announces, “You’re in luck – your bill is now eighty!”

This sounds pretty slippery, doesn’t it? On the surface, it appears to be unethical, and maybe even criminal. But maybe the manager is not so much a crook as he is a shrewd businessman, one who is willing to sacrifice short-term earnings for long-term security. Back in the time of Jesus, managers often made money for themselves by the commissions they would make from transactions between their masters and their customers. These commissions would be above and beyond what customers owed the masters, and so, in this case, the manager simply cuts his own commission out of the amount that the debtors owe. The hundred jugs of olive oil can be broken down into fifty for the master, and fifty for the manager, and in the same way, the hundred containers of wheat can be itemized as eighty for the master and twenty for the manager. When the manager calls the debtors to settle their accounts, he simply eliminates his own commission, knowing that he will benefit long-term from having a place to stay once he is out of work.

In this case, he’s not a liar. He is simply taking the long view.

This interpretation of the situation helps us to make sense of the master’s reaction. Here the rich man commends the manager for acting shrewdly, because he knows that there are times in which it is beneficial to resist the lure of a quick buck and make a long-term investment. On top of this, the rich man knows that he hasn’t lost anything himself – he’ll still get the olive oil and the wheat that the debtors owe him. What does he care if his former employee takes his commissions with him or not?

The point of the parable is this, according to Jesus: “No slave can serve two masters.” You cannot have both earthly wealth and heavenly riches, and you cannot maintain a dual focus on short-term profits and long-term security. You have to pick one or the other, and give it your undivided attention. As is true in the story of the dishonest manager, there are times in which we have to sacrifice the commissions of this world so that we’ll have the eternal comforts of God’s world. Laying out our choice in a crystal-clear contrast, Jesus concludes today’s passage by saying, “You cannot serve God and wealth” (v. 13).

That’s no lie.

Problem is, our cheating culture encourages us to focus on earthly wealth, short-term profits, and worldly commissions. It tempts us to cut corners in pursuit of financial success, and pushes us to twist the truth in order to beat the competition. Today’s Scripture challenges us to resist this temptation, to focus on a higher calling, and to be willing to sacrifice some of our earthly commissions in order to gain heavenly wealth. The passage is a call for us to practice Christian stewardship, and make sacrificial gifts in support of God’s work in the world. When we do this, we are following the example of the steward in the parable, a person who shrewdly trades short-term profits for long-term security. Keep this in mind when you make your pledge to the church in this fall’s stewardship campaign.

The parable is also an invitation to community. As surprising as this might sound, take note of what the manager discovers soon after he loses his job: He needs friends. He realizes that his money can’t save him, and so he uses his financial prowess to create a community of support. This is an odd way to build friendships, but it earns the approval of Jesus: “I tell you,” he says, “make friends for yourselves by means of dishonest wealth so that when it is gone, they may welcome you into the eternal homes” (v. 9).

Is this an invitation to join the Liar’s Club? Not at all. Jesus isn’t saying that we should be dishonest; instead, he’s advising us to use whatever wealth we have – what he calls “dishonest wealth” – to build a community that can endure. None of us is meant to live a life of isolation, and none of us is designed to practice our faith apart from the Christian community. Like the dishonest steward, we need friends to help us through the tough times in life, and we need a community that we can serve through our own gifts of time and talent and treasure.

As Rick Warren explains in his book The Purpose-Driven Church, God has created the church to meet our five deepest needs: A purpose to live for, people to live with, principles to live by, a profession to live out, and power to live on. None of these can be found by an isolated individual. They all require community, a community like the one we are building here at Fairfax Presbyterian Church. Don’t miss your chance to join the life of this community by attending a church school class today, or taking part in a small group in the week to come. Your bulletin contains all kinds of information about groups you can join in this church and community – including a new young adults group that will be gathering on Saturday night.

The commandments of this parable can be easily summarized: “Thou shalt practice sacrificial giving,” and “Thou shalt participate in community.”

There’s nothing dishonest about it. Amen.

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