Entitlement

“So you also, when you have done all that you were commanded, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’” – Luke 17:10

During a physician training session at Stanford, the head of a surgical department shared about the challenges of clinical care in this area. “They basically see me as a technician,” he said. “They come in and say, ‘I’ve read about this. I want you to cut here, radiate here.’ I have to tell them, ‘well, I’m actually the expert here…’” Patients tell their doctors what tests they want ordered, what visual acuity they expect after surgery. This rises beyond optimization and control into a kind of entitled consumerism: a belief that we do not only know what is best for ourselves, but we deserve to have it. I see this in myself, when I lapse into self-pity about not having what I want, or complain about some first-world problem. I see this in my children, who expect food or laundered shirts or packed bags to be provided when they want it, and wonder if my good intentions to care for them have backfired. I see this in the consumerism of the holidays. We are like Sally in the Charlie Brown Christmas special, when she dictates her endless list of toys to Charlie. “All I want is what I have coming to me,” she tells him; “all I want is my fair share.”

These verses in Luke seem offensive to the modern reader: and if anything, the English translation has softened the original Greek, in which “unworthy servant” means literally “unprofitable slave.” We ought to understand, though, that slavery in Jesus’ day was different than slavery in the United States: slaves were not distinguished by race, could become highly educated and work in many sectors of the economy (as accountants, professors, physicians, chefs, craftsmen), and could be freed to become Roman citizens through several means of manumission. In fact, freedpersons would sell themselves into slavery knowing they could later regain freedom, and for this reason the word for slave (doulos) is sometimes translated “bondservant.” 

Slaves in that context were not worthless or of no value, but they were not owed anything. They were not indispensable; their service did not merit thanks or favor. And Jesus is saying that this is our spiritual reality. How easy it is for us to become spiritually entitled, to forget that God does not owe us anything. He does not “need” our aid, the grace to do his will comes from him alone, and we do not through our service deserve any favor. We have merited nothing.

Martin Luther was recorded to say once in response to the Church dispensing the merits of the saints: “Merit! What merit can there be in such a poor caitiff as man? The better a man is, the more clearly he sees how little he is good for, the greater mockery it seems to attribute to him the notion of having deserved reward.” I find the rest of his diatribe a bit humorous: “Till we are seven years old, we do nothing but eat and drink and sleep and play; from seven to twenty-one we study four hours a day, the rest of it we run about and amuse ourselves; then we work till fifty, and then we grow again to be children. We sleep half our lives; we give God a tenth of our time; and yet we think that with our good works we can merit heaven. What have I been doing to-day? I have talked for two hours; I have been at meals three hours; I have been idle four hours! Ah, enter not into judgment with thy servant, O Lord!”

Jesus came into this world in a manger. The king of all kings, laid in a feeding trough for animals: a far cry from the sterile fields and personalized birthing plans of our day, or even what was normal in his day. I can’t think of anything less entitled than that. The one to whom everything was due did not demand it. Neither should I.