#35: Tuesday, 9 April, 2019.

Tuesday, 9 April Luke 17:1-19

Written by Dr Graham Leo. ©2019.

There’s a single word that characterises today’s reading: entitlement. The idea that I deserve something; that it’s only fair that I should receive this thing; that it’s my turn; that if everyone else can have something, then surely I deserve this little thing. This idea turns up again and again. A sense of entitlement is not a sin, but indulging myself in self-pity or becoming petulant and demanding over it may be. It’s what five year-olds do.

At the heart of a sense of entitlement are at least two of the ancient seven deadly sins: pride and envy. ‘I’ looms large in Entitlement’s cave of enchanted mirrors, but as with the wicked witch in the fairy tale, too often the magic mirror shows me other faces who have something that I don't have. I envy them. I'm Somebody, after all. I deserve that!

Why should I forgive my brother’s (or sister’s) sin? Because the only reason I want to hold on to it and luxuriate in its black perfidy is because I think that by not forgiving it I will hold some power over him/her. That power panders to my lust for control.

Short Detour on Language: Some people can't get beyond the Bible’s use of masculine language, e.g. forgiving ‘my brother’s’ sin. For some, it is evidence of the Bible’s irrelevance. But a moment of sensible thought and some historical knowledge will relieve us of all that.

Just go back and read female writers, even feminist writers of a hundred years ago – and you will read them using ‘man’ and ‘he’ and ‘him’ when they mean people in general. There was nothing patriarchal about it. It was just our agreed way of using language. We all comprehended a third gender – the neutral gender – which exists in many languages but no longer in English. It’s all to do with language, not hierarchy or chauvinism.

Of course biblical society was patriarchal, and many of the examples and expressions in the Bible reflect the culture in which it was written. But that doesn't invalidate its capacity for truthfulness any more than Shakespeare’s belief in ghosts destroys his capacity to write penetratingly-true accounts of human character. People who complain about the Bible’s patriarchy and non-inclusive language are just ignorant of history and literature.

The disciples ask Jesus a question which sounds reasonable enough. Jesus’ answer is often, I suggest, completely misinterpreted to mean that if only we had enough faith, we could command miracles. That is, our lack of miracles is a mark of our lack of faith.

I suspect that if only we could have been there on the day and heard Jesus’ tone of voice, we might never have interpreted it this way. What if Jesus, having heard that question, which sounded so pious and religious, rounded on them, scolding them, and retorted in a sharp and terse voice: ‘If you lot had the merest jot, the tiniest little smidgeon of belief and trust in everything you've heard me do and say for the last twelve months, you could take that thumping great tree over there and transplant it into the ocean!’

We can’t know, of course, how Jesus said it. But his point is that miracles happen because of the power of God, not because of the size of our faith! Even a tiny bit of faith in a big God is enough to transplant an entire mountain if that’s what God wants to do.

I know the early morning TV preachers are big on this business of increasing your faith. Show your faith by sending me some money! In proportion to how much you give, God will grow your faith! We all have to face up to God one day, and be responsible for what we teach. Greed masquerading as religion is a very old trick. Any linking of a promise of God’s blessing on you or your church with requests for money is dangerous territory.

Jesus follows up this sharp response to his disciples to trust in God, not their own razzed-up faith-confidence, with a fascinating little story. When I first read this thoughtfully many years ago, it changed my mind completely about how I should live my Christian life and how I should pray (vv7-10). But a warning is in order. This is a hard teaching.

It’s a matter of getting our priorities right. God is God and I am not. He is the Master; I am the servant. He is the Boss; I am the lackey. He is gracious and kind – but he is still God.

Now thankfully, our God is more gracious than the rough Master in Jesus’ story. He does not demand our obedient service in the way that Jesus puts it in that master’s mouth (v7-9). But the point of the story is still that we don't have a right to demand his indulgence.

At the end of the day, we have no entitlement to a pleasant and happy life. We are soldiers in arms and under orders. We are pilgrims on a long, hard journey. We are secret agents serving the true King, whose advance army has landed, but has not yet overtaken the final citadel. We are children of God, yes, but all children have to learn obedience; to come when Father calls, and to do some chores when He tells us to.

Luke finishes this section with a story of the ten lepers. Nine apparently had a sense of entitlement. Well, why shouldn't he heal us? He heals everyone else. Just because no-one wants us around the place doesn't mean we don't have rights! We’ve got rights, same as everyone else. Yeah! Let’s stand up for our rights! So they asked for pity, and having received grace, they presumed that they had only been given what they deserved. They were Jews after all, and Jesus, the Jew, was healing Jews.

Only the Samaritan came back to offer thanks. Jesus told him his faith had made him well. Not the size of his faith, but the fact of it. ‘You believe,’ said Jesus, ‘so your trust in me has not only healed your leprosy, but also your heart. And that was where you had most need of healing. The others have been cured of leprosy, but their hearts are still cold.’

So we soldier on. We serve on. We walk on. That’s our job. He’s not a harsh taskmaster. He sees and he knows. And he will provide help when help is most needed. Though it mightn't look like what we thought we needed or wanted most. Stop worrying. Take my yoke on you. My burden is light. It’s the burdens of the world that are heavy.

It’s worth examining our prayer life. What proportion of time in our prayers is spent in thankfulness and praise, and what proportion in requests?

A quick analysis of the form we typically use for the Lord’s Prayer shows that there are 35 words of praise and affirmation of faith, and 30 words of request for personal benefit. Perhaps that’s not a bad balance to aim for. What am I entitled to? I bear the title of a servant and a son. He bears the title of the King and my Father.

Prayer: Thank you my Father, for your grace in making me your child. I praise you for your power and majesty. Please help me to trust in your love and faithfulness to give me what I am most in need of. You are my King, and I will serve you. Amen.