As we said yesterday, there’s no such thing as a “self-made man.”  My generation grew up hearing that each of us is special, a unique and beautiful snowflake.  So it’s no wonder that so many young people find their worldviews shattering on the rocks of today’s job market.

This attitude became the basis for a film called Fight Club, which took a harsh, R-rated look at the anger brewing within many young men who could not cash in on the American dream. In a pivotal scene, Brad Pitt’s character addresses a crowd of angry young men:

“[I see] an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables; slaves with white collars. Advertising has us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy [stuff] we don’t need. We’re the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War’s a spiritual war… our Great Depression is our lives. We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. And we’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very [ticked] off.”

The movie—while gritty—spoke powerfully to many in today’s rising generation.  Why has the American dream failed us?  And of course the simple answer is that life simply looks nothing like the movies or the beer commercials.

Stop and consider: have you ever felt angry, upset, or “cheated” because of an inability to get ahead in life?  Explain.

Jesus finishes the parable of the shrewd manager by offering a lesson on stewardship:

10 “One who is faithful in a very little is also faithful in much, and one who is dishonest in a very little is also dishonest in much. 11 If then you have not been faithful in the unrighteous wealth, who will entrust to you the true riches?12 And if you have not been faithful in that which is another’s, who will give you that which is your own? 13 No servant can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.” (Luke 16:10-13)

Do you see what Jesus is saying?  The issue isn’t really financial—it’s doxological.  That is, it’s not about what you have but what you worship.  Serve money and you can never have enough.  You’ll always be angry at your inability to construct a better identity through fashion and finance.  But serve something greater—that is, serve God’s kingdom—well, then you have a recipe for lasting joy.

So recently I saw someone post an image to Facebook that described how to understand basic things from medicine and chemistry in the event that you’ve gone back in time somehow.  It’s a joke, obviously, but it raises a simple point: if you were to be stripped of all modern convenience, could you single-handedly reinvent things like the light bulb?  Penicillin?  The internet?  There’s no such thing as a “self-made man.”  Frankly I can’t explain how half the stuff works in my apartment—let alone be able to reinvent them.  No; our greatest creative achievements are only built on the achievements of others.  And if we take it back far enough, we see that all—all—of man’s inventions are utterly dependent on the world that God alone created.

It’s only a profound delusion that we “keep the books,” making sure that the ledger shows just what we’ve been able to accomplish on our own.  But sometimes this is not enough, as the manager in Jesus’ parable reveals:

He also said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was wasting his possessions.2 And he called him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Turn in the account of your management, for you can no longer be manager.’ 3 And the manager said to himself, ‘What shall I do, since my master is taking the management away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. 4 I have decided what to do, so that when I am removed from management, people may receive me into their houses.’ 5 So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he said to the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ 6 He said, ‘A hundred measures of oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, and sit down quickly and write fifty.’ 7 Then he said to another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ He said, ‘A hundred measures of wheat.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, and write eighty.’ 8 The master commended the dishonest manager for his shrewdness. For the sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light. 9 And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings. (Luke 16:1-8)

There’s a reason why this parable is considered the hardest one Jesus ever taught.  What’s happening here?  Well, first of all, a manager was someone hired by a wealthy man to manage his estate—an accountant with the “power of attorney,” able to make decisions on behalf of his boss.  But the manager seems to be acting contrary to his boss’s best interests.  How can he lower the bill like that?  There are three ways that this might happen:

• He might be cooking the books. He might be totally shady, and undercutting his boss is the only way he can preserve his reputation among the debtors, on whom he might later rely.
• As a manager, he would be entitled to a commission. He might be knocking off his own commission to ensure his boss got the money he deserved.
• As a manager, he would also be legally permitted to alter the bills as he saw necessary. Perhaps by lowering the costs, he could expedite the payment rather than wait for the debtors to accumulate a higher sum.

It’s unlikely that Jesus would praise him for being shady, so we might toss out the first option.  The manager might be doing a combination of the other options.  The bottom line is, he’s managing the estate in such a way that preserves the master’s reputation.

Our stewardship is like this, because like the manager we don’t worry about taking our “commission,” but instead we see our finances as a gift from God for the betterment of our relationships and our community.

This is actually a universal principle—it’s what we might see as a fragment of God’s image still alive within us.  In 2006, Michael Norton of Harvard Business School gave a talk where he discussed how a similar principle worked on a college campus in Canada.  They asked random students how happy they were, then gave them an envelope containing between five and twenty dollars.  One group was instructed to spend the money on themselves.  A second group was instructed to spend the money on other people.  They re-interviewed these same students later and—surprise, surprise—the students who spent money on others were significantly happier than those who spent it on themselves.

“…if you give [college students] five dollars, it looks like coffee to them and they run over to Starbucks and spend it as fast as they can. But some people bought a coffee for themselves, the way they usually would, but other people said that they bought a coffee for somebody else. So the very same purchase, just targeted toward yourself or targeted toward somebody else. What did we find when we called them back at the end of the day? People who spent money on other people got happier. People who spent money on themselves, nothing happened. It didn’t make them less happy, it just didn’t do much for them. And the other thing we saw is the amount of money doesn’t matter that much. So people thought that 20 dollars would be way better than five dollars. In fact, it doesn’t matter how much money you spent. What really matters is that you spent it on somebody else rather than on yourself. We see this again and again when we give people money to spend on other people instead of on themselves.” (Michael Norton, TED Talk: “How to Buy Happiness,” April, 2006)

The gospel tells us that we find joy in using God’s resources for God’s Kingdom rather than build our own private empire.  And because our time, our money, our relationships are all gifts from God, we may use them for others without fear of losing what we never truly earned to begin with.

So I get that summer’s winding down (back to school supplies have been on the shelf at Wal-Mart since, like, February).  But there’s still time enough to put together your lemonade stand for the front-yard entrepreneur in your family.

Come on: nothing symbolizes idyllic, suburban America like the screen door, wind chimes, and a plywood lemonade stand.  But while kids can learn a thing or three about business skills, it’s usually the parents that pay the greatest toll, right?

Think about the overheads.  First, the stand itself.  Lumber? Paint?  Maybe just the folding table from the garage?  Then there’s the lemonade.  Mix, sugar, cups—these things add up over time.  And what about your time?  You’ve gotta help out, supervise, tell the kids to get back to work, etc.

And you’re charging, what, like  50 cents a cup at most?  Breaking even would be a pipe dream.  This ain’t the Jamba Juice at the local mall.  This is costly.  But when you’re ten, you can look in that cash box and see the $5.00 in quarters and think “Wow!  Look what I did all by myself!” 

That’s laughable.  And you know it’s laughable.  But we take God for granted the same way, preferring instead to count our blessings (job, car, spouse, kids, etc.) and think “Wow!  Look what I did!” 

The reality is there’s no such thing as the self-made man.  God gives the blessings, we are merely his hired hands in managing those gifts here on earth.  That’s what this Sunday’s parable is fundamentally about:

He also said to the disciples, “There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was wasting his possessions.2 And he called him and said to him, ‘What is this that I hear about you? Turn in the account of your management, for you can no longer be manager.’ 3 And the manager said to himself, ‘What shall I do, since my master is taking the management away from me? I am not strong enough to dig, and I am ashamed to beg. 4 I have decided what to do, so that when I am removed from management, people may receive me into their houses.’ 5 So, summoning his master’s debtors one by one, he said to the first, ‘How much do you owe my master?’ 6 He said, ‘A hundred measures of oil.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, and sit down quickly and write fifty.’ 7 Then he said to another, ‘And how much do you owe?’ He said, ‘A hundred measures of wheat.’ He said to him, ‘Take your bill, and write eighty.’ 8 The master commended the dishonest manager for his shrewdness. For the sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light. 9 And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings. (Luke 16:1-8)

Wait—is Jesus praising the guy for undercutting his boss?  It’s unlikely that Jesus would applaud such shady behavior.  No; we can best understand this story culturally. The wealthy would often hire managers to handle their finances.  In many cases, managers had what we might call “power of attorney,” or at least free range over their employers’ checkbook.  And, in just as many cases, managers could take a private commission for their labors.  So when the manager adjusts the prices, he’s not being shady; he’s adjusting the prices so that everyone can benefit.  The result is better stewardship than simply robotically insisting the debtors pay sticker price.

The gospel teaches us that we’re not the boss.  We are managers of the gifts God chooses to bestow.  Therefore our allegiance should be not to the gift itself, but the Giver of all gifts.  Come this Sunday to explore how financial stewardship reflects a heart of worship.
 

If the gospel teaches us that God’s neither a vending machine nor an IRS agent, then what is He, exactly?  That is, can we trust that whatever we pray for, we’ll get?  There’s a good chance that you have a long list of prayer requests that have gone unfulfilled.

When God doesn’t say “yes” to your prayer requests, does that prompt you to keep praying, to stop praying, or does it make you distant from God altogether?  Why?

If we return briefly to Luke 11, we see that Jesus follows the story of the friend at midnight with a familiar analogy

And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. 10 For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. 11 What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; 12 or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? 13 If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (Luke 11:9-13)

God’s desire is to satisfy our needs and even our desires.  He’s good; we can trust Him.  But Jesus also qualifies this by saying—later, to His disciples—that “whatever you ask in my [Jesus’] name” will be done (John 14:13).

If you’re skeptical, you might point out that there have been multiple studies on the effectiveness of prayer on the health of hospital patients.  None of the results have been conclusive.  So what does that mean?

It means we might be asking the wrong question.  Maybe the purpose of prayer isn’t to get an answer as much as seek the Answerer.  That is, perhaps the greater purpose of prayer isn’t to focus on the gift but the Giver. 

If that’s true, then we can be confident that God’s perfect plan is greater than my desires.  Stop and think for a second: have there not been things you’ve prayed for—yet not received—that would have had a negative impact on your life had you gotten what you wanted?  Maybe it’s a job that you desperately wanted, but the company ended up going under within a year.  Maybe it’s the hope for a particular person for a spouse—but God’s “no” spared you from a lifetime of regret.

God’s answers are according to his will and purpose, yet he invites us to engage with him in asking for things we need and desire.  It’s a bit of a mystery, then—that God would be in sovereign control of human history, yet allows human interaction to weave its way into his eternal plan.  That news should therefore not frustrate us, but encourage us, bolster us, and draw us further into his presence.

Confession: this past year I got in trouble with the IRS.  Apparently, I never paid my taxes.  Let me explain.  See, since my second job lists me as “self-employed,” every year I have to pay taxes.  So, I used one of those income tax programs, and filed electronically.  Though not the same day, I even got a notification that said something like “your federal tax return has been accepted.”  The body of the message informed me that I was finished for the year and asked me to review the program.  It wasn’t until maybe a month-ish later that I got a letter from the IRS saying that I owed them a large sum of money, and I’d better comply before late fees started piling up.  Gulp.

I’d done everything right—or so I thought.  The electronic forms all seemed perfectly clear.  So it was a bit frustrating that I’d get zapped by Uncle Sam.

Have you ever felt that praying is like that?  Have you been concerned that God will ignore you unless you can be righteous enough?

It’s true that “the prayers of a righteous man are powerful and effective” (James 5:16).  But we can’t confuse effect for cause.  James isn’t saying: “Prayer is effective if you’re a righteous man.”  No; James was speaking in the context of confession and forgiveness.  Righteousness isn’t about perfection, but maturity and humility.

Still, we tend to think of God as something of a cosmic IRS agent.  We do all the right things, but we still fear that God might do an “audit,” and we come up short.  To his early followers, Jesus tells this story:

And he told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. 2 He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected man. 3 And there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Give me justice against my adversary.’ 4 For a while he refused, but afterward he said to himself,  ‘Though I neither fear God nor respect man, 5 yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.’” 6 And the Lord said, “Hear what the unrighteous judge says. 7 And will not God give justice to his elect, who cry to him day and night?  Will he delay long over them? 8 I tell you, he will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (Luke 18:1-8)

In the ancient world, widows were particularly vulnerable.  Yet in Jesus’ story, even the disrespectful judge had mercy on this woman.  Jesus’ point was simple: we all know that the squeaky wheel gets the grease.  The judge caved to avoid the annoyance of the widow.  But if an uncaring judge will show mercy, then won’t a loving and gracious Father show mercy all the more?

The gospel teaches us that our wickedness can never be hidden from God.  If God did an audit, we’d all come up short.  But we can trust that God is merciful.  Our feelings of brokenness and unworthiness should push us into God’s presence, not away from it.  And so we kneel, confident in undeserved mercy, and a grace that flows wild and free.

There once was an ancient myth about a guy named “Tantalus.”  When he died, his eternal punishment was to be placed in a vat of water with a fruit tree hanging overhead.   Despite his hunger and thirst, whenever he would reach out the water level and tree branch would move just beyond his reach.  It’s where we get the word “tantalize.”

In the modern era, we have our own version of this: it’s called the break room snack machine.  We’ve all probably been there at one time or another.  We go to work.  We forget out lunch.  We’re stuck in the break room, selecting the most substantive snack items from the vending machine.  We open our wallets, un-crease a gently-used dollar bill, slide it into the machine…and there’s always that fraction of a second when time stands still, because we momentarily think the machine took the bill—only to slide it back.  So we smooth it out some more, flip it over, un-crease the corners…lather, rinse repeat, right?

Stop and think—have you ever felt like this in your prayer life?  Have there been things you’ve earnestly prayed for but gotten no answer?  Have you felt as if you have to either change your “approach” or give up?

Jesus tells his disciples a story that highlights this tension:

And he said to them, “Which of you who has a friend will go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves, 6 for a friend of mine has arrived on a journey, and I have nothing to set before him’; 7 and he will answer from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed. I cannot get up and give you anything’? 8 I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his impudence he will rise and give him whatever he needs. (Luke 11:5-8)

The story speaks of persistence—but persistence is only half of the equation.  The real focus is the character of the friend.  If God’s blessings are rooted in grace, then I needn’t fear that our relationship is like a vending machine.  I persist not because I fear a flaw in my character; I persist because I can lean solidly against his.  This is why long-term (even lifelong) prayers provoke joy rather than frustration: because even in the silences I can trust inn God’s character.

In his book The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard speaks to those who “give up” when the “vending machine” fails to take our dollar.  He speaks of those who shift their focus to “nice” things—the sorts of things that tend to occupy our “prayer requests:”

“Prayer simply dies from efforts to pray about ‘good things’ that honestly do not matter to us.  The way to get to meaningful prayer for those good things is to start by praying for what we are truly interested in.  The circle of our interests will inevitably grow in the largeness of God’s love.”

What do you pray for?  Chances are your desire to pray for “good things” might actually reveal that you see God more as a vending machine than a faithful friend.  Don’t miss out.  Keep asking.  Keep praying.

Does prayer “work?”  Surprisingly, prayer remains a vital part of American spirituality.  Several recent studies have shown that—based on survey results—something like one-half to two-thirds of all Americans claim to praying every day.  And that’s independent of their religious affiliation.

I’ve noticed, though—in my own life as much as anywhere—that the urgency of prayer tends to reflect our own circumstances.  When all is well, my tendency is to rest on self-sufficiency.  Why pray?  I got this.  Yet when things go poorly, I am unhappily confronted with my own needy dependence.

I find myself wondering if this is why so many of us have such difficulty asking others to pray for us.  Sure, asking people to pray for a friend or relative—that’s a perfectly “churchy” thing to do.  But pray for ourselves?  There’s a vulnerability there that’s just not comfortable.

When Jesus’ first followers spent time with him on earth, they couldn’t help but be impressed with his devotional life.  Jesus surely enjoyed an intimacy with his Father that attracted the attention of his disciples:

Now Jesus was praying in a certain place, and when he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” (Luke 11:1)

Now, we should probably note that all Israelites knew what to pray.  They’d been reciting lines from Deuteronomy 6 their whole life (something called the Shema prayer): “Hear, oh Israel: the Lord your God is one.”  But even if God was one, the Jewish community had become fractured by Jesus’ day.  We might imagine that John the Baptist borrowed some spiritual elements from the Essenes—a group of desert hippies he probably drew some inspiration from.

Jesus offers them—and us—something of a model:

2 And he said to them, “When you pray, say:

 

“Father, hallowed be your name.

Your kingdom come.

3  Give us each day our daily bread,

4  and forgive us our sins,

for we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us.

And lead us not into temptation.” (Luke 11:2-4)

Now, some of us may have grown up repeating this until we were able to mouth the words without thinking.  Repetition may be the straightest route to memory, but doesn’t necessarily provoke intimacy.  Jesus’ point was that our prayer lives should be marked and shaped by profound intimacy with God.  Yes; personal requests (such as for provision and forgiveness) are a part of our prayer lives, but it is intimacy with God that allows us to be made complete.  In his recent book on prayer, Tim Keller writes:

“Prayer is the only entryway into genuine self-knowledge. It is also the main way we experience deep change—the reordering of our loves. Prayer is how God gives us so many of the unimaginable things he has for us. Indeed, prayer makes it safe for God to give us many of the things we most desire. It is the way we know God, the way we finally treat God as God. Prayer is simply the key to everything we need to do and be in life.” (Tim Keller, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, p. 18)

Few things are as valuable as this intimacy.  Prayer is a means to this end.  When I am preoccupied with my own ends, my own fulfillment, my prayer life becomes stunted through selfish, slavish devotion to my own happiness.  But when prayer becomes a means toward relationship, joy flourishes independently of my circumstances.   The clouds roll back.  Wonder reappears.

Jesus’ parables on prayer, therefore, are powerful ways of confronting his hearers with their own attitudes toward prayer.  Join us this Sunday as we explore what Jesus has to teach us on this important subject.