And All of God’s People Say: “What the F@#%?”

A sermon on Luke 16:1-8

Published in 2019, Crazy Talk: Stories Jesus Told is Crackers & Grape Juice’s attempt to preach on the parables of Jesus. We offer these sermons to preachers and teachers to aid them in preaching and teaching this week’s gospel reading in the Revised Common Lectionary.

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I was sitting on a barstool in her kitchen when Diane exploded at me, “He’ll get what he has coming to him!”

Diane was standing in her kitchen gesturing emphatically with one of those decorative plates you can order from television, the ones with Elvis, Princess Diana, or Frank Sinatra on them.

I was sitting on a barstool in her kitchen, because that was the only place to sit. Diane’s new house was unfinished, a messy maze of boxes, sheetrock, and plastic drop cloths.

Her yard outside wasn’t even “unfinished.” It was “unbegun.”

No driveway. No grass.

Just a swampy stretch of mud from the road to the front porch (which was, also, unfinished). A row of rain-drenched, useless bags of cement sat orphaned in the sideyard.

Their mailbox leaned loosely in the mud like a pick-up stick.

The mailbox had a blue and green mountain retirement dreamscape painted on it. She’d calligraphed their names on the mailbox, “Tim and Diane.”

Tim and Diane were members of a church I pastored.

Diane was one of the ones who, after my first Sunday there, told me how much better she preferred the previous pastor’s preaching.

Already, I had mastered the subtle Southern art of passive- aggressive politeness, so I replied, “Bless your heart.”

Which, of course, meant, “Watch it, lady, I just may throw you through the stained-glass Good Shepherd.”

Nonetheless, Tim and Diane were good people and good church members. And, in the way of small towns and small

churches, they were related to nearly one-third of the names in the church directory—a fact she later wielded like a weapon.

Many months before that afternoon in her kitchen, against all the laws of common sense and wisdom, Tim and Diane had contracted Bill to build their retirement home on a mountaintop overlook outside of town.

Bill, who every Sunday sat with his family in the Amen corner pulpit left of that same church.

Bill, who was friends with Tim and Diane.

Bill, whose family comprised yet another third of my tiny congregation.

Bill, whose wife, Jane, had also been one of the ones to tell me how much more she preferred my predecessor’s preaching.

“Bless your heart,” I said, grinning like the Joker in the pale moonlight.

“Oh, well. Bless your heart, too,” she replied, pinching my cheek.

Diane had missed church for several Sundays, so one afternoon, I decided to drive out to their new, unfinished home.

In my pastoral naivete and religious idealism, I’d driven out there for some Law-laying, to talk high-handedly about forgiveness and reconciliation.

Because, her unfinished front yard was a sea of mud, I had to take off my shoes.

Sitting in Diane’s kitchen, I quickly discovered how hard it is to strike an authoritative posture when you’re wearing your Superman socks and when said Superman socks have holes in the pinkie toe.

As she unpacked her decorative plates, Diane told me what I’d read in the local paper. Bill had taken their money for their retirement home and used it to pay off debts 0n business endeavors.

Now, Tim and Diane’s savings were drained, their retirement postponed, their nerves frayed, and their home unfinished.

I said something foolish about needing to hear Bill’s side of the story. Diane swung around from the box she was unpacking and screamed at me,“Look here, preacher. I’ve been conned, cheated, and swindled. There is no “other side” to this story.”