When we hear the story of the wicked servant, what is it that “gets under our skin?” When we consider how he received the master’s mercy in one moment, and then promptly and gravely mistreats his fellow servant, what is it that offends our moral sensibilities?
For me, it is the way that the wicked servant so quickly seems to forget the mercy he just received, the forgiveness of a debt that was so great that it was impossible to ever repay. Even were he and his whole family sold into slavery, it would not have been enough to cover his debt. One might wonder exactly how he had incurred such trouble for himself in the first place, but that isn’t so much the point. Not only are he and his family spared being sold into slavery, but the whole debt is forgiven. The point here is not his debt, but rather that the master’s mercy was so great as to be nearly incomprehensible.
Let’s bring attention to the master for a moment. What would motivate someone in a position of power and authority to forgive such a debt? Certainly, if the debt was really impossible to cover, then it makes little sense to keep it on the ledger. But in fact, in modern economics and geopolitics, this is a real question. Should wealthy countries forgive the irreconcilable debts of poorer countries?
The Catholic Church, inspired by the Jubilee tradition of Scriptures, suggests that the forgiveness of irreconcilable debts is not only a practical way of resolving the issue, but also of demonstrating solidarity for the suffering of the poor, and exercising mercy. In the interest of promoting the common good, a carefully designed policy of debt forgiveness avoids the concentration of wealth with the rich, and the historical extension of crushing economic pressures on those who are disadvantaged. A thoughtful managed debt forgiveness system could empower the poorest countries to make meaningful investments for the material progress of their people, rather than languishing in asymmetric and disadvantageous relationships with richer countries.
As a former dean of a business school, I recall conversations with students and even faculty about this question of debt forgiveness. A typical argument went like this: “how can you forgive debts without rewarding bad behavior?” i.e. people deserve to be punished for their poor choices and for circumstances beyond their control. Someone has to pay.
This is easy for those in positions of power and privilege to say, but it ignores all the Scriptures that call for mercy in such situations, mercy that is necessary for safeguarding human dignity and promoting the conditions for the progress of all peoples, not only the elite and advantaged.
We live in times where in just a few years, the conversation about debt relief has seemingly disappeared, along with the sensibilities of care for the disadvantaged, mercy and forgiveness, or any attention to what we in the Catholic Church call “the common good.” It seems as though to suggest anything like these values would be received as naive or trite in a world embracing unbridled competition, vindictiveness, and retribution.
If the issue with the wicked servant is a kind of self serving forgetfulness about the act of mercy done for him, this act of mercy that he could never afford or repay, what might help us in keeping our memory alive? What must we remember in order not to lapse into this illusion of separateness that allows us to mistreat others, exploiting their vulnerability for our own advantage? What kind of memory helps us reweave the social fabric of our societies and brings us back to some notion of our belonging to one another?
The kind of memory we’re talking about here, the memory that Jesus alludes to in this parable, is not about financial debts alone. It is a memory that recalls that all of us have come from somewhere, that there is a great chain of being and relations that precede us, and that not only are we indebted to all of our ancestors and to many helping hands on the way to the relatively privileged place that you and I find ourselves at this moment. We are also the recipients of more gifts and benefits than we can ever claim to have earned. We might for instance begin by acknowledging the gifts of our existence itself, the fact that we have life, bodies, and sentience. That we were born into circumstances, no matter how challenging, that have enabled us to be where we are at this moment, reading this reflection, and considering its relevance to our lives and our leadership.
If we begin in this kind of reflection, not only do we foster memory, which connects us meaningfully to all those who have come before us, and all the enabling supports that have brought us to this moment. We also foster gratitude for all that we have received without meriting any of it. Life, relative good health, wellbeing, education, a sense of social belonging, a perception of purpose and calling. And what about experiences which we could never earn, but only try to be worthy of… the love of our parents, forgiveness for mistakes, ignorance, or omission. The gift of God’s love for us as we are, perfectly imperfect, partial and often self-serving. How can we fail to feel grateful for being loved this way?
How can our memory, our meditations and gratefulness not inspire in us a sense of humility and a desire to be generous in turn, an impulse to “pay forward” the relative abundance in our lives? How can we not see that the desire to punish others for their misfortunes comes from a kind of lack of solidarity and kinship, a self-serving illusion that we are not only better than others but also somehow exempt from sudden reversals and hardships?
As we take stock of these times we’re living in, the deterioration of the social fabric and the sense of our belonging to one another, what difference might it make if we cultivate this kind of memory, and foster this sensibility of gratitude, humility, and generosity to others? If it doesn’t begin with us, where else will it ever begin?
With you on the road,
