Luke 17:5-10 consists of sayings and a parable related to faith.
Luke 17:5-6 is a saying concerning faith. The source is the material common to Matthew and Luke. Matthew uses the image of mountain instead of tree. The gospels record the story six separate times. As a proverb, the tradition generalized it enough to suit any number of situations. Whereas both Matthew and Luke relate a saying by Jesus about “faith the size of a mustard seed” referring to a concern about degrees or levels of faith (Matthew 17:19-21; Luke 17:5-6), there are some significant differences in detail. For Matthew, the saying is a response to Jesus’ characterization of the disciples’ “little faith” that had resulted in an inability to perform an exorcism, and the “mustard-seed-size” faith is said to be capable of relocating a mountain. For Luke, it is the “apostles” who ask the “Lord” (note the shift in identifications from “Jesus” and “his disciples” in the preceding verses [17:1-4] which would suggest the beginning of a new sense-unit) to “increase our faith.” Here Jesus speaks of such small faith being capable of uprooting and planting a mulberry tree in the sea, but more importantly continues by offering a parable based on the relations between masters and slaves — a parable unique to Luke’s gospel.
Two things stand out about the Lukan passage from this comparison with Matthew. First, the “apostles’” concern for increased faith is not here linked with a failure to be able to perform either some miracle or act of deliverance. Second, the parable is also presented by this evangelist as an intrinsic part of “the Lord’s” response to their desire for increased faith. We will need to account for how both the saying regarding mustard-seed-sized faith and the parable respond together to the apostles’ concerns about the level of their faith.
The request for increased faith comes abruptly. The amount of faith is not important, but the kind of faith, that is, genuine. It implies the faith of the disciples is not even as big as a mustard seed. However, Luke also suggests that the fundamental attitude of the disciple should be, "grant us more faith."
In 17:5, the “apostles” (the twelve disciples as distinct from the larger crowd that travels with Jesus) ask Jesus to “increase” their “faith.” To this point in Luke’s narrative, Luke has mentioned faith frequently. However, in the few cases where it is discussed, it is quite important. In each of the five previous instances in which faith occurs (5:20; 7:9, 50; 8:25, 48), faith entails trusting that Jesus can act in a powerful way to address some problem or crisis. Some examples are healing a crippled friend (5:20) or a critically ill subordinate (7:9) or calming a threatening storm (8:25; note that Jesus laments the disciples’ lack of faith). Read considering these episodes, what the disciples are asking for here in 17:5 is that Jesus himself would help them his closest associates, to find the level of trust and confidence in him that outsiders (a Roman military commander [7:9], a sinful woman [7:50], a woman hemorrhaging blood [8:48]) had already been able to demonstrate.
The travel narrative (Jesus' journey to Jerusalem) is interrupted abruptly by two distinct thoughts, the first of which is a demand placed upon him by the "apostles" (v. 5) by whom Luke clearly means the Twelve: "Increase our faith!" The request is the version in Luke of Matthew’s account in 17:20 where it is attached to an incident in which the disciples, having been asked to cure a man's son of his epileptic seizures, are unable to do so. In that account, Jesus, clearly exasperated, says, "How much longer must I put up with you?" (17:17). He then declares that if they had faith the size of a mustard seed, they would be able to move "this mountain" from "here to there" (17:20). Matthew has a corresponding note in 21:21 where Jesus includes the fig tree as well as the mountain in his commentary on the nature of faith. Here, it is a mulberry tree, or more probably a sycamore tree (the Greek is sykaminos), but, in any case, a sizable tree. Some sources indicate that such a tree was not to be planted within 25 cubits of a cistern, about 37 feet. Jesus' response to their imperative reveals that -- far from impressed with the faith they assume they already have -- he is loath to congratulate them for their zeal to have more. He begins with the pointed observation that, "If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, 'Be uprooted and planted in the sea,' and it would obey you" (v. 6). Even though only a little faith is needed to uproot a large tree, the grammatical form of Jesus’ statement in 17:6 reveals that he does not consider the disciples to have even this amount of faith. The conditional statement (“if...then”) in 17:6 is structured in Greek in such a way that we can tell that a contrary-to-fact situation is being described. Thus, we could paraphrase: “If you only had faith the size of a mustard seed (and you don’t), then you could say to this tree ...” As is the case many times in the gospels, the disciples of Jesus do not fully “get it” until after the death and resurrection of their teacher. The apostles' demand indicates that they clearly believe they are the possessors of some degree of faith; it only needs to be augmented by a word from the Master himself. Jesus argues that they are not even close to having what might resemble a "seedy" faith. Their faith is not yet the figurative size of what was the smallest unit known to the natural scientists of his day: a mustard seed, smaller even than a grain of sand or salt. Anything smaller than a mustard seed would be invisible to the naked eye. If, then, they had even a scarcely visible faith, they could uproot the "mulberry tree" they were passing by, and toss it into the sea (v. 6). The point is that it is not faith as quantity that matters. The disciple does not need faith the size of an acorn or a potato. If genuine faith is present, i.e., visible, it will have the power to achieve its intended purpose.
While attending Asbury Seminary in the late 1970s, I became re-acquainted with David Thompson. He had grown up in the same church from Austin, Minnesota in which I had accepted Christ and found my first grounding as a Christian. He was a professor of the Old Testament. One evening, I went to his home quite discouraged. Now, I do not remember details, but I expressed discouragement with my discipleship. Some people had some wonderful, powerful experiences to which they could refer. I could not. Finally, as I was wrestling to get out what I was sensing, he said something like this. “George, you have made such awesome strides over the years. I remember when I first saw you in Austin, Minnesota at the church. You were such a shy and backward person. When I see you now, I am amazed at what God has done.” Then, he told me the shocker: “George, when I preach around the country about spiritual growth, you are one of my examples. I have one example of people who make a dramatic and emotional turn-around in their lives. I have another example of people who make steady, regular, steps of faith as their discipleship path. You are that example.”
I am thinking of this long-ago conversation because it still summarizes my approach to discipleship. Of course, I celebrate the major steps of faith that people can take. Nevertheless, right now, I want to celebrate the small steps people may take every day.
The disciples were thinking that they needed a large-sized faith. However, even the small faith, the size of a seed, can have major implications over the course of a life. If I could use the text as an analogy for a moment, you might hardly notice it from day to day. However, over the course of a life, you may well have told a mulberry tree to move from its place on land and go to the sea, and it obeyed. I will admit that I am not sure why you want to do that!
In fact, I came across a little article that reminds us that each of has such power in the steps we take. Every time you take a step, you generate six to eight watts of energy. But then — poof! — it dissipates into the air. If only you could capture it. An architectural firm in London is now looking at ways to capture that energy on a large scale and turn it into electricity. For example, 34,000 people walk or dash through Victoria Station in one hour, rushing toward their trains. The firm’s director says, “If you harness that energy, you can actually generate a very useful power source.” According to Fast Company,[1] this architectural firm is working to develop vibration-harvesting sensors. They would implant these sensors in the structure of train stations, bridges, factories or any other building frequently traveled by commuters, vehicles or machinery. The devices could capture the rumblings of all this activity, turn them into electricity, and then store it in a battery.
The word “faith” can have many meanings. Some skeptics will say that faith is believing what you know is not so. However, the focus of such a statement is on a system of belief, and if that is what you mean, of course many people are going to say they do not need it. However, if faith is that on which you rely, that which has enduring value to you no matter the circumstances, the faith becomes a quite different matter. In fact, we might have some surprise at how that change takes place in most of us. We might need the gift of someone else seeing the changes and telling us what he or she sees.
Jesus does not buy into their complaint that they need more faith in order to live a faithful life of discipleship. Moreover, he is not selling the notion that he is the one who can wave a wand and simply give them more faith, or the faith they think they need.
Have you ever seen a mustard seed? Probably not. It is hard to see — each one is about one-twentieth of an inch. That is very, very small. At the very least, what Jesus is doing here is to underscore the notion that faith does not have to be huge to have an impact. It does not have to make the news to make a difference. The amount of faith is not important, but the kind of faith, that is, genuine. It implies the faith of the disciples is not even as big as a mustard seed. However, Luke also suggests that the fundamental attitude of the disciple should be, "grant us more faith."
What we need to do — what the church needs to do — is to seed-size our faith. We do not need to super-size our faith. We need to seed-size it. The reason is simple. Seed-sized faith is powerful. The point is that it is not faith as quantity that matters. The disciple does not need faith the size of an acorn or a potato. If genuine faith is present or visible, it will have the power to achieve its intended purpose.
When it comes to faith, start small. Faith recognizes that human life is puzzling. God has made a world in which we must acknowledge that the reality of God is not so obvious. Faith does not mean we stop questioning and wondering about the ambiguity of this world.[2] There is a sense in which faith continues to believe in certain truths when common sense tells us not to do so.[3] Small steps and little victories along the path of discipleship will take on greater meaning.[4] We may want our lives to make a difference, but we also need to realize that we may do so in a public and obvious way, or in the less obvious manner in which we touch the lives of those around us every day.[5]
Maybe we need to start small in our faith by showing empathy to those closest to us. Have you ever been truly in love with someone? If you have, you will know about what I am talking. If you have not, I am not a good enough poet to tell you about it. Have you ever been so in love that you find yourself doing all sorts of things? Do you find yourself doing many things that you would never have done on your own, things that really bring you very little enjoyment in themselves, all because they reflect the wishes of the one whom you love? Someone once changed your diapers out of nothing more than love.
Suzanne likes horses. When we were in Vincennes, Suzanne finally got me on a horse for a trail ride with a pastor friend. I did not look forward to it. Yet, once I did it, I must say it was quite relaxing. Many of you know some of the types of books I enjoy reading. Although Suzanne has not picked up that habit, she is quite gracious in respecting my interest and in listening when I find something exciting to share. Why do couples do things for their spouse that they would never do on their own? They are in love. Being a disciple is much like being in love.
We often think of faith as a matter of leaving it all to God. We easily misunderstand the phrase. Yet, until we find a better way to say that the Christian places all trust in Christ, the phrase will have to stay. We trust that somehow the obedience with which Christ lived his life he shares with us. We trust that Christ will make our life more like him. We trust that Christ will heal our deficiencies. Christ offers something for nothing. Christ offers everything for nothing. The Christian life consists in accepting that remarkable offer. Our difficulty is reaching the point of recognizing that all we have done and can do is nothing. True, we might be more comfortable if God counted our good points and ignored our bad ones. Think of it this way. We will not overcome temptation until we stop trying. Yet, we might not stop trying in the right way and for the right reason until we have tried our very hardest. Handing everything over to Christ does not mean we stop trying. To trust Christ is trying to do all that Christ says. We trust his advice for our lives. If we have truly handed our lives over to Christ, it must follow that we are trying to obey Christ as well. Yet, we are trying in a new way. We try in a less worried way. We do not do these things to earn salvation, but because Christ has begun to save us already. We do not obey to gain the reward of Heaven, but we act in certain ways because the first faint gleam of Heaven is already within us.[6]
Luke 17:7-10 is a parable involving the unprofitable servant. The source is the material unique to Luke. The story has some similarity with Israelite wisdom and Greco-Roman symposium traditions.
Verses 7-9 focus on the master while the application of verse 10 focuses on the attitude of the servant. Verse 10 reflects the Christian ideal of being one who serves, where the job of the slave is to serve. Making the seating and service at a meal an occasion for instruction about seeking to serve rather than to be served is a favorite theme in Luke.
The parable in Luke's context makes it apply to the disciples.
Jesus opens the parable by casting his apostles in the role of masters: “Who among you would say to your slave ….” Granted, the master envisioned by the parable does not own a vast estate, but is of much more modest means since he apparently owns but a single slave who therefore must perform both agricultural and household duties. (Might this scale also reflect the apostles’ desire to “increase” their standing and power?) The focal point in this part of the parable, as in the preceding saying about mustard-seed-sized faith, is the power to enact what one says. Even though the slave has both plowed and tended the sheep, the master’s command is enough to send the slave into preparations for the master’s own meal. Nor is the slave to be any more commended for fulfilling this command than the mulberry tree, for both simply respond to the power of the master’s command. The point is, first, that the disciple, having done all he or she can, depends upon grace, and second, that there is no room for boasting. The performance of duty does not entitle one to a reward. The servant of God must not have the attitude of laying a claim on a reward from God. But 12:35-37 makes it clear that disciples will be rewarded.
Verses 7-10, while distinct, builds on the previous interchange by showing the apostles what is the nature of faith: A faithful witness is one who obediently carries out the will of the master without the expectation of praise. The scene depicts a small farmer who has but one servant. This servant, a jack-of-all-trades, not only does the plowing and the planting and tending of sheep, but, when the day is done, sets a table for his master and prepares the meal. How astonishing it would be if the master, setting aside both tradition and necessity, called to his servant and invited him to dine with him. Beyond the obvious problem of who would prepare the meal, such an invitation would neither be expected nor appropriate to the calling of the servant himself. Nor should the servant be praised for working not only in the fields but also in the kitchen. Indeed, it is his vocation. Jesus presses his point home: "So you also." The disciple who serves his Lord ought not to assume that he has done a great service. The proper response is simply to say, "We have done only what we ought to have done!" (v. 10). Such a disciple who ministers in such a manner still recognizes his worthlessness (v. 10). That is, no servant of God can truly serve in a way that satisfies the full demands of a righteous God and, in any event, can never boast of one's worth. A servant of God is one to whom no favor is owed. A person who can take his place in the kingdom as such a servant is one whose faith has become visible and "seedy." The mulberry tree can be planted in the sea; it is the least the servant of God can do.
If the parable ended there, then it would commend the apostles’ desire for “increased faith” so that they could move up to (at least) a mustard-seed-sized/owner-of-a-single-slave-level of faith and exercise their authority to accomplish their own (or, hopefully, God’s) will. However, Jesus suddenly and unexpectedly shifts the point of view in the parable. The apostles are not masters who need to increase their faith/authority; rather, they are “worthless slaves” who “have done only what [they] ought to have done” (17:10). The apostles need not so much faith that they can do miraculous feats like transplanting trees in the sea (which would be of dubious importance), but instead even small, almost “worthless” amounts of faith that will lead them to faithfully remain in relationship with God as servants of the divine will.
This is a harsh statement. What would be the harm if the master rewarded the slave for doing nothing other than faithfully carrying out his obligations? The answer lies in a consideration of the larger narrative framework in which Luke has placed this little parable. In the travel narrative, Jesus has repeatedly clashed with the Pharisees and other religious officials (e.g. 10:25-37; 11:14-23, 37-54; 14:1-6; 15:1-32; 16:14-15). It is thus likely that the emphasis on fulfilling the stipulations of the law in the teaching of the Pharisees and the “lawyers” ( = experts in religious law) and the corresponding status that such observance apparently brought looms in the background of Jesus’ teaching here about slaves and masters. Rather than bringing any special reward, doing one’s duty (i.e., obeying God’s law) is merely what is expected of people.
By relating the saying about mustard-seed-sized faith to the parable of the dutiful slave, Luke emphasizes that the apostles’ need is not for more faith, but a redirected faith oriented toward faithful service to God rather than grand exploits. This understanding of Jesus’ ministry and their own share in it will be crucial as they continue “on the way to Jerusalem” (17:11) and all that awaits them there.
According to the preceding narrative, Jesus expected his disciples to rebuke offenders and then forgive them whenever they repented (vv. 1-4). Unconvinced that they had the resources to carry out such a command, “the apostles said to the Lord, ‘Increase our faith!’” (v. 5). In their estimation, if they were to honor Jesus’ directive, they believed that they required an extra measure of faith. In response to their request, Jesus said, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you” (v. 6). With this gripping hyperbole, Jesus assured his apostles that they already had sufficient faith, and that, to forgive others, they were unnecessarily looking outside of themselves. To illustrate his point, Jesus drew on the master-slave relationship and proposed a hypothetical scenario that the apostles would immediately recognize as utterly preposterous, for no master would ever invite his slave to join him at the table. Instead, the master would order his slave to serve him. In addition, the master would not thank his slave for doing what a slave was expected to do (vv. 7-9). In other words, just as the master had the authority to order his slave to serve, the apostles had the authority — and ability — to forgive. Finally, Jesus confirmed that his apostles had the necessary resources to forgive when he told them that they were to declare after forgiving others that they — like slaves — “have done only what we ought to have done!” (v. 10).
These brief sayings of Jesus in Luke 17:5-10 thus play a role in some of the more important themes in the gospel. The statement about faith in 17:5-6 is related to several scenes in which faith or the lack of it is shown, while the parable about the obligations of a master and a slave taps into the increasing tension between Jesus and the religious authorities.
My question is this. Coming in the context of what Jesus says about faith, does the quantity of faith matter? If faith as small as that of a mustard seed can do something as meaningless as uprooting a mulberry tree and put it in the sea, then maybe what matters is the object of our faith. Our faith is not in our abilities. Genuine faith orients itself toward faithful service of Christ rather than grand exploits. Such faith will achieve its intended purpose. That purpose may well fulfill itself in the service we render to Christ. Regardless of what we accomplish in this life, we are simple servants, doing the bidding of the one we serve. What can be difficult for us is to think that once we have faithfully served, God owes us a reward. We can think that we have a claim upon God to do what we want. How subtle this line of thinking can become! If we do what God wants, then surely God should do what we want! Yet, genuine faith and living faithfully recognizes that once we have done all we can, our lives still depend upon grace. Even a small amount of faith can lead to faithful and simple service.
We will learn about this faith, not by focusing ever more closely upon ourselves, unworthy servants as we are, but rather by being attentive to the Master. The tough work of being a Christian is the constant, daily, increasing challenge to take Jesus a little more seriously and myself a little less so. Christian discipleship is not a matter of having Jesus do nice things for us. You may walk out of here this morning refreshed, renewed, invigorated, and fed by the food on this table. Good. But only good if it is the means of being a more dutiful servant.
Keep in mind the passage does not rule out the principle of reward or recognition. In fact, Jesus himself often used the principle of reward in many of his other parables. ("Well done, good and faithful servant."). The desire to have our contributions noticed and appreciated is certainly not new, unusual or necessarily wrong. Nor should we refrain from expressing genuine and well-timed affirmation to others. Nevertheless, there comes a time, and it comes with frequency, that we must not let a lack of recognition from others cripple our own willingness to serve. For in the final analysis, nothing escapes the notice of the One to whom we answer.
Do you want fulfillment? Do you want to find happiness? We do not easily think of doing our duty as part of the path toward meaning, significance, fulfillment, and happiness. We deserve no eulogy if we simply have done our duty and nothing more (Augustine). It seems obvious that love is a better teacher than duty is (Albert Einstein). Yet, duty has its place. Non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as is cooperation with good (Mahatma Gandhi). Yet, we need to exercise some care. We can have a strange sense of duty, such as the notion of reviving the last art of lying (Oscar Wilde). I am not sure human beings have ever lost that art! At the same time, our sense of duty, regardless of how defective it may be, is better than following the duty of another, regardless of how well we may perform it. Remaining true to our sense of duty is the path toward the good life.[7]
What do you make of a parable that characterizes our response to Jesus in terms of duty? [8] In many ways, duty feels like a dirty little word. It has a gray color. It communicates a sense of determination and persistence, but it has a sound of uninspiring words like dull, drudgery, and discipline. Do your duty. It is about as bad sounding as the Greek word doulos, which we often translate with “servant” rather than the harsher “slave.”
Duty, once honored by Victorian moralists and poets, has fallen on hard times, rendered a backseat status in ethical discourse. Duty, contemporary ethicists agree, is an inferior moral motivation. What should I do in the matter of an unwanted pregnancy, racial injustice, marriage, and divorce?
Do your duty? When is the last time you urged that? Today, the main moral energies are sensitivity, feelings, spontaneity, doing what comes naturally, or at least, after college, acting with independent courage, or careful, rational, weighing of the facts. But duty? Who does anything out of duty anymore? Duty connotes blind obedience, mindless reaction, ethics that are nothing more than habit rather than heroic choice, decision, independence, and reason - and how we moderns admire choice, decision, independence, and reason.
You should hear Augustine on this parable. Could this have come from the same Jesus who unabashedly rewarded the faithful steward (Lk 12:42-46) and promised a healthy return for those servants who invested their talents wisely? (Lk 19:12-27). There is no way, says he, that the Lord who said, "I do not call you servants. . .I have called you friends" (Jn 15:15) told this story.
Philosophers define duty as that which one is morally obliged to do as opposed to what one may be pleased or inclined to do. Aristotle fudges on this since, for him, duty is ultimately pleasurable because it has as its end the achievement of our highest good. The Stoics elevated duty as a supreme virtue. Stoic duty meant being true to oneself. Kant made duty the very hallmark of morality. Duty is the logical response to the categorical imperative, that compelling action which is universally fitting.
As attractive as these accounts of duty may be, let us be clear that they have little to do with the duty of Jesus' parable. Here duty is a response, not to who we are (Stoics), or who most people ought to be (Kant), but to who the master is. Here, duty arises, not from self-interest (in fact, self-interest is negated) or even from concern for the self-interests of others, but rather out of a relationship between servant and master.
In saying, "We are unworthy servants who have only done our duty," the slaves are not feigning humility. They are stating what is true. They are indeed in service to the master. Humility comes to those who find themselves, their lives, their projects caught up in something, someone far greater than themselves. They are not trying to act disinterestedly. They are having their self-interest subsumed by the object of their affection.
This story suggests that the best way is to give your life to something worth doing for someone who is worthy. True servants must wean themselves away from recognition as their primary motivation and rediscover the lost art of quiet obedience.
In his 1982 book, New Rules, Daniel Yankelovich noted a seismic shift in American values in the past three decades. In the 1950s, Americans lived in accordance with what Yankelovich calls a "getting/giving" compact built upon the assumption of self-sacrifice. The old rules were hard work, the suppression of impulses toward personal fulfillment in order to meet the needs of others. In return, you got a good job, a nice home, respect from friends, a sense of achievement.
In the 1960s and '70s a major cultural revolution replaced the old self-denial ethic with an ethic of self-fulfillment. New affluence made old rules obsolete. Self-restraint gave way to self-expression. Obligation to others was replaced with duty to oneself. Do your own thing. I have got to look out for me. Unfortunately, our new rules appear to be self-defeating. In being true to "me," in journeying deeper into ourselves, we have not grown, we have shrunk. Somehow, I am not fulfilling my needs by concerning myself only with my needs. Indeed, most of my "needs," upon closer examination, are really my "desires." Desires are infinite. People who believe that are failures if they do not fulfill all their self-identified “needs,” which are really desires. Such people have set themselves for a lifetime of disappointment. Such people will learn such self-indulgence will subvert self-fulfillment.
So now we have unabashed hedonism presenting itself as noble self-affirmation. We worry about the evils of "burnout." So Fran Liebowitz said that the significant people of the 1980s are not those who speak or think well, but those who rest well. Recreate! Meditate! Look out for you!
Although we are accustomed to calling ourselves "servants" of God, we can tell if it is true by how we react when people actually treat us that way. Does it bother you to have to clear a dirty dinner table? That is what servants do. Does it bother you to be called from your television show to listen to a discouraged friend? That is what servants do. Does it bother you to tithe, or to work toward that goal, when someone else is not at that place spiritually? That is what servants do. Does it bother you to give generously of your time to the church, while others have not gotten to that point in their walk with God? That is what servants do. Does it bother you to be the last one to leave the soccer field because no one else will pick up the cones and the goals? That is what servants do. Surprise, servants serve!
I wish I could look the reader in eye and say something like this. I want to thank you, servants of God! God bless you. Thank you for your sacrificial giving to your local church. Thank you for your willingness to share your gifts and talents! Thank you for serving, even when you do not receive recognition or praise. Thank you for just doing your job, being a servant of God. God bless you!
[1] (September 2006)
[2] Faith does not wonder why. God has not done anything that needs to be explained. —Pamela Rosewell. I am disagreeing with this statement about faith.
[3] Faith is believing in things when common sense tells you not to. —George Seaton.
[4] The key to realizing a dream is to focus not on success but significance — and then even the small steps and little victories along your path will take on greater meaning. —Oprah Winfrey.
[5] It’s important that I make a difference in some way. If it’s performing and touching someone that way, that’s great; if it’s being a teacher and helping a kid understand something, that’s even better. It’s not necessarily how I make a difference, but I want to make sure that I do. —Clay Aiken (American Idol star).
[6] C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, New York: Touchstone, 1996, pp. 130–131.
[7] It is better to do one's own duty, however defective it may be, than to follow the duty of another, however well one may perform it. He who does his duty as his own nature reveals it, never sins. – Mahabharata III.
[8] Pulpit Resource, Oct-Dec 1998, is the source for the following reflections on duty.
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