We often draw a careful line between our spiritual lives and the economic and political realities of everyday existence—as if God somehow stops paying attention when we open our laptops or balance our budgets. But Jesus, like the prophet Amos before him, finds the divine in spreadsheets and business dealings, in the messy intersection of faith and finance.

In this week’s readings, we find ourselves once again in the company of an accomplished raconteur, listening to tales that are both wonderfully ordinary and mysteriously profound.

Jesus’ parable of the dishonest steward is a perfect example of his storytelling genius. Here’s a tale that would make any modern HR department break out in a cold sweat—a story about a manager who, facing termination, essentially cooks the books to secure his future. Yet somehow, this ethically questionable character becomes the hero of Jesus’ parable.

Jesus doesn’t traffic in simple moral platitudes. His stories make us wrestle with complexity, discovering that the kingdom of God operates by different rules than our world. The dishonest steward’s cleverness becomes a metaphor for the kind of creative urgency we should bring to our spiritual lives.

Amos understood this centuries earlier, railing against merchants who trampled the poor and made “the ephah [the measure or weight] small and the shekel [the money or payment] great”— an ancient form of “shrinkflation” that sounds remarkably familiar. The prophet saw clearly that there’s no separating our relationship with God from our relationship with money, power, and each other. God, it seems, is indeed in the details of everyday life. The olive oil debts, the wheat measures, the awkward conversations between masters and servants—these aren’t just narrative props. They’re the very fabric of existence where the sacred and secular meet.

This brings us to the question of true wealth. The steward in Jesus’ parable understands something profound: relationships matter more than balance sheets. When he reduces the debts, he’s investing in human connections that will outlast his employment. The “friends” he makes through his generosity become his true treasure.

Paul’s letter to Timothy echoes this theme—the love of money is the root of evil. Notice he doesn’t say money itself is evil, just our relationship with it. True wealth isn’t measured in dollars but in faithfulness, gentleness, and godliness. It is found in choosing relationships over riches, recognising that we are all stewards of the “things” that have been gifted to us by fate or fortune.

Jesus’ storytelling continues to surprise us. Two thousand years later, we’re still debating the finer points of the dishonest steward’s actions, still discovering new layers of meaning in these ancient tales. That’s the mark of a master storyteller—creating stories that remain alive, that continue to provoke and inspire long after the original audience has gone home.

In our own lives, we are called to be both storytellers and characters in the ongoing narrative of faith, finding God in the ordinary details and choosing the kind of wealth that truly matters.

Ian J Elmer

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