Making a Profit

Across the centuries many have hailed

the Parable of the Talents, so called,

as a divine endorsement of commercial enterprise.

The worshippers at mammon’s various temples:

the merchant bankers,

the stock brokers,

the importers, the exporters,

the buyers and traders,

the investors and actuaries;

must all love this yarn.

Central to the tale is buying and selling

and making a profit,

all of which become the means

by which the nerve, ingenuity and commitment

of three servants are tested by their master.

Sits a bit awkwardly, though,

with the “eye of a needle” line delivered elsewhere;

among the teacher’s more usual misgivings

about riches and possessions.

Unique among the yarns

recounted by the master story-teller,

this one assesses fruitfulness

in terms of astuteness and monetary gain;

more commonly it is gauged by acts of love,

forgiveness and peace-making.

Not that there is anything intrinsically wrong

with making a modest profit.

© Ken Rookes 2014 

I posted another poem about this parable last week, getting ahead of myself. It is called 'Reckoning.'

Two masters

Surely Jesus was wrong
with his misconceived diatribes
against wealth and possessions.
He was making some heavy-handed points,
and we all understand
that in the heat of vigorous debate,
one is prone to exaggeration and hyperbole.
It’s not that possessions are wrong, per se;
it’s more that in the wrong hands,
(the self-centred and unenlightened),
the preoccupation with money and wealth
can be something of a distraction.
It doesn’t really apply to us;
we know how to deal with it.
I’m sure that if Jesus was here today
he would recognise the sheer necessity
of wise investments, a solid superannuation plan,
and a dwelling that adequately reflects
the needs of modern living. You and I
would never let such matters determine our priorities,
or intrude into our spiritual lives, would we?
No, I’m sure that Jesus wasn’t referring to us,
and that he was simply, at times,
guilty of a little overstatement.
A lot of times, actually.

© Ken Rookes

Needles and Camels

For a long time now

the rich have liked the church.

Across the centuries

they have accommodated themselves

to its structures, institution and power;

(it’s been mutual),

permitting the church its sphere of authority

while determinedly maintaining their own.

Striving after respectability and influence,

not to mention their reserved seats in heaven,

the wealthy have been generous

with their patronage, constructing

buttress, edifice and spire.

(To be fair, the poor

have paid for their share of gold-leaf,

stained-glass oaken beams and dressed stone, too;

more often than not, subsidising the rich.)

The affluent have joined the church’s boards,

sat in on its councils,

propounded their advice,

shared their expertise,

sought and given favours

and requested ecclesiastical blessings

upon their many enterprises.

Some suggest that the wealthy and powerful

are seen too much in the company

of presbyter and priest.

The rich, it must be said,

find Jesus bewildering.

They hear stories:

about the teacher quietly suggesting

to a virtuous man of means,

that his life would be greatly enhanced

if he sold all his stuff and gave it to the poor.

On another occasion the carpenter

outrageously asserted  that God and mammon

were incompatible masters;

and when he spoke of the unlikelihood

of camels squeezing themselves

through the eyes of needles,

the rich began to get the idea

that Jesus might not have been on their side.

Still, there’s always the church.

© Ken Rookes 2012