When Wealth Fails: A Homily for the Stewards of Mercy

My dear friends in Christ,

Today, we are confronted with one of the most perplexing and provocative parables in all of Scripture. Jesus tells us of a steward—a man entrusted with the administration of his master’s goods—who is reported for squandering what was not his. He is summoned, confronted, and dismissed. And in the face of his impending unemployment, he devises a plan. He calls in his master’s debtors and reduces their debts. He rewrites the promissory notes. He remits what is owed. And then, in a twist that unsettles our moral instincts, the master commends him—not for his honesty, but for his prudence.

What are we to make of this? Why would Jesus, who elsewhere condemns deceit and extols righteousness, hold up this dishonest steward as a model of wisdom? Why would he tell his disciples to learn from a man who manipulates debts and secures his own future through cunning?

The answer, I believe, lies not in the steward’s dishonesty, but in his foresight. He knows that his stewardship is ending. He knows that the wealth he once administered will soon be out of his hands. And so he acts—not to preserve his status, but to secure welcome. He uses what is passing to invest in what endures. He relinquishes leverage to build relationships. He remits debts so that, when he is cast out, he will be received into homes of mercy.

This is the heart of the parable: the steward recognises that wealth fails. That stewardship ends. That the goods of this world are not permanent. And in that recognition, he acts with urgency. He plans wisely. He invests in welcome.

Jesus is not commending dishonesty. He is commending eschatological wisdom—the kind of foresight that sees beyond the veil of wealth and status and grasps the deeper truth: that all we possess is temporary, and that the only enduring currency is mercy.

And so he says to his disciples, “Make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings.” He is not telling us to be dishonest. He is telling us to be prudent. To use what is passing to secure what is eternal. To administer our earthly goods in such a way that we will be welcomed by our Father into the dwelling of heaven.

But let us not miss the sting in this teaching. Jesus calls wealth “dishonest.” Not because every coin is stolen, but because wealth has a dangerous power to corrupt. It seduces. It insulates. It blinds. It tempts us to believe that we are secure, that we are self-sufficient, that we are above accountability. And in that illusion, we squander what is entrusted to us.

This is a word of judgment—not only for the steward, but for all who hold wealth without wisdom. And it is a word that must be spoken with clarity and courage in our own time.

For we live in a world where the super-rich have amassed fortunes so vast, so obscene, that they defy comprehension. We live in a world where billionaires build private islands, launch vanity rockets into space, and hoard resources while millions starve. We live in a world where the top 1% possess more wealth than the bottom half of humanity combined. And we must ask: what kind of stewardship is this?

What kind of accounting will they give when their stewardship ends? What kind of welcome will they receive when their wealth fails? What eternal dwelling will open its doors to those who built empires on the backs of the poor?

This is not envy. This is not resentment. This is a prophetic truth. The Gospel demands that we speak it. The Gospel demands that we challenge the illusion of permanence. The Gospel demands that we call the rich to repentance—not to shame them, but to save them.

For Jesus does not condemn wealth itself. He condemns the failure to use it wisely. He condemns the failure to remit debts, to give alms, to welcome the poor. He condemns the failure to act with foresight. And he invites all—rich and poor alike—to become stewards of mercy.

This is the paradox of the Kingdom: the prudent steward is not the one who hoards, but the one who gives. The wise disciple is not the one who secures his own future, but the one who invests in the future of others. The faithful servant is not the one who builds monuments, but the one who builds communion.

And this is the call to each of us. Whether we hold much or little, we are stewards. We are entrusted with goods that will fail. We are given time, resources, relationships, and influence—not to preserve ourselves, but to serve others. And we must ask: how are we using what we have? How are we investing in eternity?

Are we remitting debts? Are we forgiving those who owe us? Are we giving alms? Are we welcoming the poor? Are we building homes of mercy?

For the poor are not a burden. They are the gatekeepers of the Kingdom. The hungry, the homeless, the indebted—they are the ones who will welcome us into eternal dwellings. They are the ones who will testify to our stewardship. They are the ones who will say, “He forgave me. She fed me. They welcomed me.”

And if we have failed—if we have squandered what was entrusted to us—then let us act now. Let us take initiative. Let us plan wisely. Let us become stewards of mercy.

This is the Jubilee vision that Jesus proclaimed in the synagogue: liberty to captives, release to debtors, welcome to the poor. This is the program of the Kingdom. And this is the path to eternal dwelling.

And for us, as a community of faith, as members of the Church, as stewards of ecclesial goods, this parable is a summons. It is a call to examine how we administer our resources—not only financial, but spiritual. It is a call to ensure that our policies, our structures, our ministries are instruments of mercy, not control. It is a call to build a Church that welcomes, that forgives, that releases.

For the One Church of Christ is not a fortress. It is a home. It is not a treasury. It is a table. It is not a monument to power. It is a dwelling of grace.

And in our own context—in the work of the Canons Regular of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, in the vision of radical inclusivity, in the drafting of constitutions and policies—we must be stewards of mercy. We must ensure that our governance reflects the Jubilee. We must ensure that our outreach enacts the Gospel. We must ensure that our stewardship leads to welcome.

Let us not be afraid to remit debts. Let us not be afraid to give away what we cannot keep. Let us not be afraid to invest in what endures.

For the day will come when our stewardship ends. The day will come when our wealth fails. The day will come when we stand before the Master and give an account.

And on that day, may we be found faithful. May we be found prudent. May we be found merciful.

May the poor welcome us. May the hungry remember us. May the indebted bless us.

And may our Father say, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master.”

Amen.