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Arkansas' public television AETN and our own KUAF public radio held a telethon this week to help provide support for the survivors of Hurricane Katrina. In an article announcing the telethon, AETN Executive Director Allen Weatherly quoted John Wesley's great charge:

Do all the good you can, in all the ways you can, in all the places you can, at all the times you can, to all the people you can, as long as ever you can.

"A perfect statement for these extraordinary times," said Weatherly.

I had forgotten that famous quote from Wesley. But it rang with a hopeful intensity within me. That's the kind of world I want. That's the kind of nation and culture I want. It's the kind of community and congregation I want. One that will have in its heart a passion to do all the good we can, in all the ways we can, in all the places we can, at all the times we can, to all the people we can, as long as ever we can. I find that inspiring.

As I witnessed the incredible generosity and outpouring of hospitality coming from every corner of this community, from every part of this nation, indeed from every region of the world, it was so encouraging. People have been trying so hard to respond to this tragedy by doing good for the survivors. The only arguments that have erupted are challenges about whether we have been doing all the good we can, in all the ways we can, in all the places we can, at all the times we can, to all the people we can, as long as ever we can. If we're going to argue, isn't it nice that we are arguing about what are the best ways to do good. I wonder how healthier our culture might be if finding ways to do good were our primary motivation and focus at all times and in all places. But human nature being what it is, that's a hard thing to sustain.

It's in that light that I read this odd parable about the king who forgives his subject's debt, and what follows. First of all, Jesus' listeners would have been stunned by the unimaginable sum of the forgiven debt -- ten thousand talents. According to the historian Josephus, the combined annual tribute of all three kingdoms that constitute what we now call the Holy Land was only nine-hundred talents, and Josephus had a reputation for exaggeration. Ten thousand talents is an astronomical sum. But that's a clue.

Part of the popular expectation of the Messianic King was that he would cancel and forgive all debts and restore Israel to its traditional ideals of a free and egalitarian society. To the popular mind, who else but a Messiah-King could forgive such debt. Debt forgiveness was one of the expected signs of the inbreaking of God's reign. Imagine the people sitting there, listening to Jesus' story. They hear the words, "Out of pity for him the lord of that slave released him and forgave him the debt." Their eyes would have lit up with hopeful expectation. They would have looked at each other and nodded. "It will be this way it is when Messiah comes."

But the parable takes a turn. This man whose debt of ten thousand talents was forgiven is called a slave. And in relationship to the king, he was indeed a slave. Completely dependent upon the king's patronage. But in relationship to the peasants listening to Jesus, he was an extraordinarily powerful government bureaucrat. If he were in charge of ten thousand talents, he would probably be the king's chief retainer and official.

This powerful official now turns to a mid-level bureaucrat below him, and demands payment of a debt of one hundred denarii. Again, this is a lot of money, more than a peasant would see in a lifetime. Equal to one-half of a Roman legionnaire's annual salary. The scene is set for the high official to follow his king's generous example. That's what the listeners are hoping for, and maybe expecting from Jesus' story. That's what the Messiah-King will inaugurate. But no. Such selflessness is not in this official's heart. He throws his debtor into prison. The king hears of it and is enraged.

Now pause a moment.

A hopeful idealist like me, or maybe the peasant sitting next to me, one who yearns for the ideals of the Messianic Kingdom, might imagine the next scene in his mind before Jesus finishes the story. The king will take the oppressive official into his quarters. It is a teachable moment. The king reminds him of the generosity he has been shown. He encourages him to follow the king's generous precedent. The official's heart is broken. He repents, restores the lower level retainer's freedom, and even gives him an additional one hundred denarii as a symbol of his repentant apology. "It will be this way it is when Messiah comes."

But that's not Jesus' story. The king reverts to business as usual. It is a cut-throat, competitive, dog-eat-dog world, and you'd better not show any weakness or there is somebody climbing the ladder right behind you ready to take your place. The old system returns with a vengeance. And instead of merely being sold, together with his wife and children, the wicked slave is handed over to be tortured.

At the very least it is a commentary about how fallen and corrupt our systems of power are. How difficult they are to change. How ultimately undependable they are. It is as if Jesus is saying, "Don't look in that direction for the Messiah. Don't look for the Kingdom of God to come from the top down." There is too much selfishness and greed for power built into the DNA of the wealthy and powerful.

If this were the only parable and story we had from Jesus, it would be pretty discouraging. But we know more. We know that Jesus invited his listeners to a change of heart and a change of community. He welcomed them into an open table fellowship. He reached out with compassion to the marginalized and oppressed. He brought a touch of healing to the broken. He taught a new commandment of love. And he invited anyone who had ears to hear, to enter into his new community founded upon those ideals.