Homily for Nov. 7, 2026—Saturday of the 31st even-numbered week
Luke 16:9–15
H O M I L Y
In chapters 14 through 16, Saint Luke recounts what might be called Jesus’ “table talks.” Although this literary genre is unique to Luke among the evangelists, it was commonly used in his time. Jesus is invited to a meal, and, like the other guests, when his turn comes, he offers reflections and teaching. Yesterday we covered the first part of this teaching. Several of the teachings recorded in this section of Luke’s Gospel, including the one we have today, are found only in Luke.
It is entirely reasonable to think that Jesus, in this teaching, is alluding to an event that had just taken place and that everyone was aware of. He uses it as a starting point to teach about the proper attitude toward money, which is powerfully summarized in the last sentence: “You cannot serve both God and Money.” And it is no coincidence that Luke, who is an excellent writer and always chooses his words carefully, uses the word “serve” here.
This teaching is of a completely different nature than, for example, the parable of the master who entrusts talents to his servants before going on a journey and asks them to give an account of how they managed them upon his return. The master in question, in that parable, personified Christ himself. Here, however, Jesus’ teaching contrasts two worlds with entirely different value systems.
The first world is that of those who have made themselves slaves to wealth and who engage in all sorts of schemes, some more skillful than others. For all those in this world, profit is all that matters. First, there is a “rich man” (and it would be unthinkable that, in Luke’s mind—for whom Jesus’ teaching on poverty is so important—this “rich man” could represent God the Father). This rich man has no servants; he has a “steward” to manage his assets, and when he is told that this steward is not managing them well, he calls him to account and simply dismisses him—as is done in the business world. This steward is shrewd and knows how to secure his future through his final transactions, much like corporate executives who receive millions of euros or dollars in severance pay when they are fired for mismanagement or fraud.
We can appreciate the skill behind this “cunning,” just as the master of this dishonest steward does. But of course, Jesus is not inviting us to do the same. He is in fact inviting us to do the exact opposite, lamenting that the children of “this world” of darkness are more shrewd in their own world than the children of light are in theirs. The money at our disposal—which always remains “deceptive” money that risks misleading us about our own importance—must serve not to buy friends, as one might understand this text superficially—which would be nothing more than a slightly more noble form of corruption—but to make friends in the eternal dwellings. That is to say, to live in such a way that our hearts are already in the eternal dwellings, so that those who live there are already our friends and will welcome us there when we cross over to the other shore.
The fundamental question is not whether we have little money, a lot of money, or none at all, but rather “where is our heart?” and “who is our master?” We can be slaves to material things even if we possess very little. Furthermore, if we are truly the “servants” of God and of his Son Jesus Christ, we will, following in his footsteps and by his example, become servants to all our brothers and sisters, whether our possessions are few or many. One cannot “serve” both God and money.
Furthermore, the French translation of this last sentence does not fully convey the power of Luke’s text, which personifies money by giving it a proper name: “Mammon.” “You cannot,” says Jesus, “serve both God and Mammon.”
We must choose whom we want to be “servants” of and, therefore, whom we want to have as our “master.”
Armand VEILLEUX
