Sermon for Sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Year C, "The Life that Really is Life," 1 Timothy 6:6-19

*I'm quite(!) delayed in posting this sermon, but I'm finally getting to it.

Sermon 9/25/22

1 Timothy 6:6-19

The Life That Really Is Life

Our text for today ends with a phrase I find so compelling, so thought-provoking. We’ll come back to what leads into it, but for now, we’re beginning with the ending. The author, a mentor writing to encourage a younger, emerging ministry leader, finishes this section with these words, this aimed-for conclusion:  “so that they may take hold of the life that really is life.” “Take hold of the life that really is life.” This is the goal. Now we have to figure out how our mentor tells us we disciples should get there. The phrase “life that really is life” implies that there is life that isn’t really life, and that we can, without realizing it, settle for this other life, this non-real-life life. Timothy’s mentor suggests that he knows how to tell the difference between non-real-life, and life that is really life, and how, then, to claim the life that really is life. 

So, do you have hold of the life that really is life? A couple of things pop into my mind. First, I think of great movie from the 1990s, The Truman Show. How many of you have seen that? One of Jim Carrey’s better films, the premise is that this man, Truman, unbeknownst to him, has been the star of a TV show his whole life. Everything in his life is a fake, so people could enjoy watching his life unfold for entertainment. Eventually, Truman realizes that his life isn’t really real life. And although the TV studio creator tries to convince him that this “fake” world Truman lives in is better, safe, less hurtful than life in the “real world,” Truman would rather take his changes. He doesn’t want a glossy masquerade of life, even if it is easier. He wants real life. 

Another piece of media: One episode of the TV show Scrubs featured a beautiful song by Colin Hay called “Waiting for my Real Life to Begin.” In the song, the narrator imagines themselves in different scenes - just about to leave on a ship and sail away, just about to slay a dragon and prove the hero. He’s just waiting, waiting for the “just about” to happen, waiting for real life to begin. But in the meantime, the person to whom he’s singing keeps urging the singer to live in the now. The lyrics go: “And you say, be still my love / Open up your heart / Let the light shine in / But don't you understand / I already have a plan / I'm waiting for my real life to begin. And you say, just be here now / Forget about the past, your mask is wearing thin / Just let me throw one more dice / I know that I can win / I'm waiting for my real life to begin. In this case, the sense we get as listeners is that while the narrator is waiting for his “real life” to begin, his actual real life, including an actual real person who loves him, is just passing him by. In both these examples, there is, as there is in our scripture text, a sense that there’s real life to be had, but that there are also many ways we settle for lives made up of illusions. How can we take hold of the life that really is life? 

Timothy’s mentor has some ideas for him about taking hold of this life that really is life. A key, I think, is in the verse first of our reading. We experience great gain in life when we pursue godliness - which means a life marked by devotion, piety, attention to God; and we experience great gain when we cultivate contentment in our life. Godliness and contentment.  Godliness isn’t a very common word for us to use anymore to describe ourselves, or others, and I think the strangeness of the world can make it feel like something we can’t pursue or achieve. Something meant only for holy and pious people - not us, not regular, ordinary people. But I see godliness as immersing ourselves in our relationship with God, tending to our relationship with God, tending to our spiritual lives. Of course, being part of a faith community is a way we can tend to our spiritual lives. The author wraps up godliness with words like faith, love, endurance, and gentleness. I think it is a way we connect with God and with one another. How are we tending to our souls on a regular basis so that we are forming our characters, practicing love until it is a habit? Godliness is just that, I think: a habit. We’re always making habits of actions and behaviors. But what actions, what behaviors are we making into habits? Godliness is a habit of waiting on God, listening for God’s voice, seeking after God, through prayer, through worship, through being part of a community of faith, through loving like Jesus loves. And godliness, our author says, is part of the path to the life that really is life. 

The other part - and that part where our author really spends his time, is contentment. To experience great gain, to really live, we must be content. I think we hear the word content and we think “happy,” but contentment is something a little deeper than we usually mean - or achieve - by chasing happiness. Contentment is deep satisfaction. It is a feeling that you already have everything you need to be satisfied with your life. Contentment means you aren’t ruled by what you want, what you think you need. It means your focus isn’t on getting more, and more, and more. Instead, contentment is a deep feeling of enough. Not just barely enough. But enough that your life feels quite full, complete. Content.

Ironically, the more stuff we have, the more money we have, the richer in things we are, the more difficult it is to experience contentment. That’s what our mentor warns about repeatedly in our text. “We brought nothing into the world, and we take nothing out.” “Those who want to be rich are tempted and trapped by senseless and harmful desires that lead to destruction. “The love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.” “In their eagerness to be rich, many wander away from faith.” “The rich shouldn’t be haughty.” “Don’t depend on riches.” “Only what God gives us makes us rich.” “Be rich in good works. Be generous. Be ready to share. Store up eternal treasure.” I count nearly 8 different sentences in this passage warning us that collecting things and money are more likely to lead us away from contentment than toward it. New Testament scholar A.K.M. Adam says that “the insatiable appetite for wealth narrows [our] field of vision; when [we gaze] fixedly at wealth, [we] cannot look around at [our] neighbors who demonstrate that riches are not necessary for abundant life.” (1) Instead of increasing our options, the pursuit of wealth limits our abilities when it comes to our ability to draw closer to God and one another, our ability to serve God and neighbor with our whole hearts. Whatever energy we spend seeking after accumulating more stuff, more wealth, more status, is heart and soul that we can’t spend seeking after God and God’s ways. Whether we consider ourselves wealthy or not, most of us are sure we’d be happier if we could at least get a little more. But the relentless pursuit of a little more and a little more means that we’re never content. It’s never enough. And if we’re never content? Then have we ever taken hold of the life that is really life?

We can read the mentor’s words to Timothy as I think they are meant to be - words a loving, wise, older friend or relative or guide wants to impart to a young person, one getting started, perhaps, in the next phase of life, so anxious to help them understand what’s really important in life, so wishing to help them thrive, to find joy. (2) The mentor wants Timothy to experience the life that really is life. What wisdom would you share with a young person just starting out about what really matters in life? What would you tell them is the most important thing to spend your time, your heart, your life pursuing? What would you tell them has brought you the deepest, most lasting joy? What would you tell them has brought you closest to God? And then, friends, are we spending our days following our own advice? Let us, too, set our hope, set our hearts, on God, who richly provides us with all we need to be content, and with that strong foundation, let us take hold of the life that really is life. Amen. 

1. A.K.M. Adam, “Commentary on 1 Timothy 6:6-19,” The Working Preacher, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-26-3/commentary-on-1-timothy-66-19

2. H/T to Sunggu Yang for this line of thinking, “Commentary on 1 Timothy 6:6-19,” The Working Preacher, https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-26-3/commentary-on-1-timothy-66-19-5 

Sermon, "Consistency," Luke 12:13-21

Sermon 6/7/20

Luke 12:13-21

Consistency

As I wrestled with this week’s gospel text, I had a few things on my mind. First, and always lately: packing. I’m in the process of packing, preparing for my move in a few weeks. In the fall, I’ll be hopefully living on campus at Drew University, where I’m headed to work on my PhD. In the summer, I’ll need to do something I never thought I would: rent a storage unit. I’ve always found storage units kind of distasteful, I’ll admit. I know there are lots of good reasons folks rent storage units. A Syracuse theatre company I’m fond of keeps all their set pieces, including those for my beloved Jesus Christ Superstar, in a storage unit since they don’t actually have a building of their own. That’s certainly more cost effective than trying to maintain a building that needed extensive repairs ever was. But in some situations, a storage unit has always just been a signal to me, a sign that we have too much stuff, if we have to find a place to keep what we can’t fit in our current living spaces. So yes, I’ve been judgy about storage units. But now, I find myself in between places this summer, and then heading for what is likely a campus housing situation this fall, and my campus housing will come with some university issued furniture, and it certainly won’t have room for my queen sized bed, or full-sized couch. And so I’ve been asking myself: what possessions do I have that I cherish enough that if I had to pay to store them for even the first couple of years of my PhD program, I’d consider it worth it - all that money on a student’s income just to store stuff. Asking that question has helped me let go of a lot of things. But I have some things I really treasure, too. Some of you might remember the pretty china cabinet and buffet table I have in the parsonage dining room - they were my great-grandmother’s, and they were in our dining room when I grew up, and I’ve had them since I moved into my first parsonage. The china cabinet is full of plates from the other side of my family - I have my grandparents’ dishes. I hardly ever use them. They’re delicate and fragile, and mostly all they do is sit in the china cabinet. And I tried, I tried to talk myself into giving them away to my cousins and siblings. But I just couldn’t. I want to keep them, even if I have to store them for years. 

I’ve also been thinking about greed, and what it means to wrestle with greed when we’re sure we’re not greedy. In our family, one of our favorite stories is about my youngest brother Todd. Todd will tell you that when he was little, he always wanted to be Scrooge McDuck when he grew up. Scrooge McDuck is the Disney variation on Ebenezer Scrooge, and in the cartoons, he kept all his gold in a giant vault, all these gold coins, and he would swim in the money, literally. Todd really liked the sound of that! Well, Todd was maybe four years old, and it was Easter morning, and we were doing our regular Easter egg hunt, and Todd was determined to find more eggs than anyone else. He didn’t want to take time to set any of them down, since that would slow down how many he could find before the rest of us, so he was carrying the eggs he had under his arms while he searched. Only, some of them weren’t quite hard-boiled all the way through apparently. And suddenly, Todd was standing, runny eggs dripping all down his sides, crying and confessing: “I was selfish!” 

Or I think about this silly game my mom and I play on facebook. You win coins for doing various tasks, and you can spend the coins getting boosts and extras that make it easier for you to in turn win more coins and get to the top of the scoreboard. I was tired of not having enough coins, so I played and played so I could build up a sort of cushion of coins. That way, I could use as many boosts as I wanted without worrying. Only a funny thing happened. Once I got more coins, I didn’t want to spend them. I liked having them. And I kept raising the amount in my mind that it would take for me to feel like I had enough and could relax. Now, my mom still plays the game, and she never has any coins, and I hardly play it at all, but I have millions and millions of coins. Silly, of course. Just a computer game. But it made me wonder how easy it would be to feel the same way about my stuff and my money. If I was able, how easy would it be to need more and more before I felt comfortable. 

Or here’s a really timely example for you: I was in Target last week, and I noticed that they had a display of hand sanitizer - the big bottles, the gel kind, the kind I used to get all the time before hand sanitizer became so precious. I have plenty of hand sanitizer. I have plenty to last me for weeks and weeks, no problem. But I really had to fight the urge to buy a bottle at Target. It’s been hard to get, and the urge to make sure I had plenty stored up was strong. I didn’t need it. But it was very hard to walk away from even so. 

I had all these things on my mind as I studied our gospel for today from Luke. You might remember that this text is the first text I ever preached on, 22 years ago now. And so it’s really stuck deep in my heart, and I wanted another chance to reflect on this powerful parable with you. Jesus has been teaching the crowds when someone asks him to settle a family dispute. “Teacher,” the man says, “tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” We don’t know what the dispute was. Is this a younger brother wanting a bigger share than the law allows? Has the man’s father just died, and they’re arguing over his things? We just don’t know. And we’re not sure why he wants Jesus to settle the matter. But Jesus was a teacher, and he was wise, and he radiated authority. Maybe the man thought: Who better to ask? Jesus will be able to settle this! In Jesus’ usual way though, he doesn’t respond how we expect, turning questions back to us, urging us to think critically about our life and faith. He says, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” And then he tells a parable: A rich man had land which produced an abundant crop. And the man thought to himself, “What should I do? I don’t have any place to store all this!” So he decides he will pull down his existing barns, and build larger ones. Then, he will have room to store everything. And he imagines saying to himself, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” But God interrupts his thoughts with a harsh reality; God says, “You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?” Jesus concludes, “So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich towards God.” 

So, is what the rich man does in this parable so bad? He has a good crop, and he stores up the abundant harvest. Yes, he could have shared. Absolutely. But I think about Joseph in the book of Genesis, and how his careful direction when he worked for the Pharaoh of Egypt to store up grain for years meant that when the famine came, the people had enough food to see them through and to help other people as well. I think about how we’re urged to think ahead and carefully plan for our eventual retirement, or to care for children whose college tuitions we might have to pay, or other long-term projects. Is it wrong to store up now so that we have something for later? Isn’t that just wise and careful planning? This week during our Bible study, Annetje shared that it was hard to decide what we do that’s about survival - making sure we have enough to get along, not being surprised and unprepared for what life throws at us - and what’s about being selfish - always wanting and gathering more than we need. How do we figure it out?  

I don’t think there’s an easy, clear-cut answer. There rarely is in our life of faith! We have to wrestle with these questions, and listen for God’s leading. But I think there are some questions we can ask ourselves. First, we have to acknowledge that even if we don’t long to swim in a pool of gold coins like my brother Todd, that doesn’t mean we’re off the hook. We have to ask ourselves: If it isn’t stuff, money, possessions, what is it that we are trying to store up just as fast as we can? What is it that we just can’t get enough of? We listed lots of things at our Bible study that we might get greedy for: Attention. Being liked by others. Feeling like you belong. Status, in a group, among your friends, among your co-workers. Privilege. Power. Control. Respect. For anything new. For technology. And yes, sometimes and way more often than we’d like to admit: money, stuff, wealth. What is it that we’re storing up? 

We’ve talked many times about how idolatry is the biggest “no” that God gives in the scriptures. Idolatry isn’t just about making golden calves and worshiping them instead of God. Idolatry is when we give anything else the place that God’s supposed to have in our lives - first place. I think that’s why storing up more and more of anything should put us on alert. Because when we store up more and more of anything that’s not God, it means that we’re giving more and more space in our lives and hearts over to something that’s not God. What’s claiming more and more of your time, your attention, your resources? We’re always sure we’re not letting other things claim more of our heart, but Jesus knows better. We’re giving room in our heart to whatever we’re storing up, and we need to be on guard, lest we find that God isn’t really first place for us after all. 

Jesus wants us to be rich. Jesus wants us to be rich towards God. How can we be rich toward God? What does that mean? We’ve talked often about seeking to make God’s ways our ways. I think we need to make what God values what we value as well. What is it that God values? And who does God value? And how does God value? I encourage you to spend some time reflecting on those questions. I’d love for you to share your responses with me. What and how and how does God value? And how can we, through our actions, reflect those same values? I keep asking myself: is there anything that Jesus was storing up? I can only come up with two answers to what Jesus made more and more room for in his life: God, and us. How can we be rich toward God? We need to give God and God’s people more and more room in our hearts. In the end, they’re the only things we can store up that have eternal importance. They’re the only things we can store up that will help us mold our lives to be more and more like Jesus. I do want more room: more room for God, and more room for each precious person God created. What do our lives consist of? May our answer bring joy to the heart of God. Amen. 

Lent: Not Buying It

Several years ago I read Not Buying It by Judith Levine. I’d heard about the book in something else I was reading, although now I’ve forgotten what. Levine spent a year well, not buying things. I also don’t remember now the parameters of her experiment, but I know that the gist of the book stuck with me. I remember thinking: “I could never do that.” But eventually, after reading the blog (now defunct) of a woman who fasted from buying for the month of January every year, I decided I would try the experiment for Lent. I was serving a larger church at the time, and had by far the largest salary I’d ever had, and I was alarmed at how easily I spent, spent, spent. So I decided that I would abstain from spending during Lent other than paying my bills, of course, and “gas, gifts, and groceries.” I’d still by food at the store - but no “fast food.” I’d need gas to get places. And if your birthday or party happened to fall during Lent, I could still buy you a present. 

It was an eye-opening experiment. I realized, quickly, that I thought about spending money a lot. Everywhere I went, I saw something I wanted. I also realized how anxious others were about my not-buying. My mom, of course, wanted to get me treats during my Lenten fast - but that was expected. She always wants me to have everything I want! But others - parishioners and friends - wanted to take me to restaurants or buy me gifts to help me “survive” my fast. It was both sweet/thoughtful and fascinating that my not-buying was seen as something I had to endure that they could make easier. 

After I left that appointment, I went into a sabbatical year and was broke broke broke for a year, so I told myself I didn’t have to do my not-buying fast anymore. And since then, I’ve thought of it every year, but always found some reason not to do it. Until this year. For months, I’ve been planning to not-buy again this Lent. And then, as Lent drew near, I almost backed out. I forgot that I had plans with some friends mid-Lent for an overnight and lunch, which would mean spending outside my rules, and so I almost said, “Oh, I’ll just skip it.” I forgot about my twice-monthly lunch meetings at a restaurant in town, and almost ditched my whole plan. And then I realized these were most definitely sure signs of how much I needed to engage in this fast: I was looking for excuses. I can most definitely just not eat lunch while I’m at the restaurant in town. Problem solved. And I can make an exception for my overnight with the friends I rarely get to see in person without scrapping my entire set of Lenten plans. A Lenten discipline isn’t about the letter of the law, but the heart, the intention, how I might repent, change my heart, be re-formed, right? No more excuses! 

So, here I am, not-buying again this Lent. I’ve hesitated making a whole post about it, because Jesus has some stuff to say about making a show of our penitence, and because sometimes folks feel compelled to buy me stuff. Don’t worry, I’m ok, I swear! But I decided to share because 1) I need accountability, and I can better stick to my plan if you all know I’m doing it! And 2) because I think capitalism and consumerism have such holds on us that maybe you all might find my reflections this season helpful too. I’ve decided to try to keep a log this Lent of all the times I think about buying something that’s not on my list. (I give myself a pass if I’m thinking about ok things like groceries!) We’re two - two! - days into Lent, and I already have ten - ten! - instances on my list where I thought, “I want that.” Only one was close to a need - I thought about new socks as I discarded yet another one with a giant tear in it. More than half were times when I saw something on Facebook or Instagram that I wanted. Oof. I’m trying to curb my mindless scrolling, because I don’t like typing entries on my “I wanted to buy it” list. I’m hoping, praying that by the end of Lent, my entries will be less frequent. 

The first sermon I ever preached was on the Parable of the Rich Fool in Luke 12. Jesus says, “‘Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” (Luke 12:15, NRSV) His words have stayed with me ever since, calling me to a different way. Will I listen?

Sermon, "Everyday Jesus Spirituality: The Discipline of Hands-On Labor," Genesis 2:15, Ecclesiastes 2:18-26

Sermon 1/19/2020

Genesis 2:15, Ecclesiastes 2:18-26

Everyday Jesus Spirituality: The Discipline of Hands-On Labor

A few years ago, I came across an article on CNN, “Meet Khe Hy, the Oprah for Millennials.” I’m not a huge Oprah fan or anything, and I’m not a millennial - I’m on the tail end of Gen Xer generation. But nonetheless, I was curious. Khe Hy was a successful Wall Street businessperson, but at 35, he quit his job, without a clear plan of what he wanted to do next. The article said that he “looked around his fancy New York office and realized something: More money wasn't making him happier. So many people he knew on Wall Street and in Silicon Valley believed if they could "just make" another $1 million or $10 million or $100 million, they would be set and life would be great.” He started writing an email newsletter called “Rad Reads,” and sent it to his friends. Over time, the newsletter has grown, and he has thousands of subscribers. A lot of the content is about productivity and optimization - organizing your life in the best possible way. But another major recurring focus in his newsletter is a movement called “F.I.R.E - Financial Independence - Retire Early.” I’d never heard of it before, but it seems to be growing in popularity. 

According to Dave Ramsey, the F.I.R.E movement, “the goal is to save and invest very aggressively—somewhere between 50–75% of your income—so you can retire sometime in your 30s or 40s … How do people do it? In order to be able to sock away that much money toward investing, folks who are on F.I.R.E. are always looking to do two things: keep their expenses extremely low and raise their income. The general idea is that the higher your income is and the lower your expenses are, the faster you can reach financial independence.” (2) Of course, for most of us, this seems way out of reach. I don’t have 50% of my income that isn’t used on my monthly expenses! I have bills to pay, student loans and a car payment and so on. But for folks who are earning a high income, this is a movement. And why? Why the push to retire early, and to get out of the working world? Because, according to a Gallup poll, only 15% of workers worldwide feel “engaged” at work. In the US, 30% of workers feel “engaged” at work, but that’s still not a very good number, is it? (3) Many of us spend a lot of time working. A huge chunk of life is going to work. And apparently, for many, many people, that’s a chunk of life that people aren’t enjoying.  

Of course, not finding work engaging isn’t a modern problem. We just have to turn to our reading from Ecclesiastes, where the author would be glad to tell us that there’s nothing new under the sun, not even grumbling about work. Ecclesiastes is part of what is called wisdom literature in the Bible, and the author - sometimes called the Preacher or the Teacher - is something of a philosopher. In our text for today, the Teacher is talking about work. He calls it toil, which means excessive and incessant work. Even the word he chooses for work tells us something about how he feels about it! Our text begins, “I hated all my toil in which I had toiled under the sun,” and it continues in the same vein for most of the passage. The Teacher regrets knowing that all the fruits of his hard work? Well, eventually he’ll die and the benefits will all go to someone else, who might be wise, or might be foolish. Knowing that all your hard work might be for nothing, might be given to someone foolish as a beneficiary someday is, for the author, “a great evil.” “What do mortals get from all the toil and strain with which they toil under the sun?” he asks. “For all their days are full of pain, and their work is a vexation; even at night their minds do not rest. This also is vanity.” Wow - this sounds achingly contemporary, doesn’t it? 

What do we do, then? Work and toil and suffer and have no rest for our minds even at night, and just endure? That can’t be what God wants for us, can it? I hope we know that what God wants for us is life, joy, and abundance. God wants us to love life, because God loves us and life, our existence, is a gift to us. But God still intends for us to work. It’s right there in the second chapter of the whole Bible. When Adam is still in Eden, before he ate the fruit, before the serpent, before there’s even an Eve yet, God puts Adam to work. We read, “The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it.” Adam works as a gardener in Paradise. If there’s work in what’s meant to show us Creation as it was meant to be, perfect harmony between God and God’s creation, then work, as it’s meant to be, is meant to be a blessing, not a curse. After all, God works too. God’s work is creation, and the product of God’s work God deemed very good. God rests from work. Work isn’t all there is. But God’s work is done out of love, with joy, serving creation even as creation serves God. We know one of the best ways we can be disciples of Jesus is by imitating him, and Jesus worked too. Work is not meant to drag us down. It is meant to be a blessing, a rewarding part of life. Think of something hard to do that you’ve completed, accomplished, and the feeling you get when you’ve done a good job and finished a task. It could be for your “day job,” or part of volunteer work, or something you’ve done on your own time. I think that sense of reward and satisfaction we get in those moments is what God hopes for us to experience regularly, in much the same way that God looked on God’s own work in creation with a deep sense of rightness. 

How do we get to that, though? How do we let work make us feel deeply satisfied instead of deeply discontented and exhausted? First, I think we reclaim a sense of vocation. Vocation is from the Latin word meaning “to call.” We’re meant to do the work, to have the vocation to which God calls us. Theologian Frederick Buechner said in his work Wishful Thinking, “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet.” That’s vocation. I think, though, we’ve done a disservice to our people - pastors and other church leaders - when we’ve let people get the impression that being called into church work, into ministry, or even into some sort of social services field are the only “real” vocations. I think sometimes we leave folks feeling like if they are doing some “regular” job - whatever that is - that it doesn’t count, isn’t enough, and isn’t a way to serve God. My Grandpa worked at Rome Cable for many years, and then he was a gas station attendant in retirement. I don’t think he felt called to those jobs. I don’t think those jobs were his vocation. But I think he did feel deeply called to make sure people knew that Jesus loved them, and so did he. People who interacted with my Grandpa in turn felt that deeply - that love. That was his vocation. And he could fulfill that work at Rome Cable or at the gas station or when he went grocery shopping or wherever he was. Vocation isn’t a job. It’s whatever path allows us to serve God and neighbor and to do so with joy in our hearts. There are countless paths that bring us opportunities to do that, whether we’re preaching, or working in social services, or doing one of the countless jobs we undervalue in society, or whether we’re retired, or raising children, or volunteering. 

Even our cynical Teacher in Ecclesiastes? That’s what he concludes too. “There is nothing better for mortals than to eat and drink, and find enjoyment in their toil.” He means that - we’re meant to live life and find joy in what we do. This, he says, is from “the hand of God,” because joy comes from God. Our aim, the Teacher says, should be pleasing God. When we aim to please God in all we do, what could be toiling can become wisdom, knowledge, and joy. 

Sometimes, embracing the gift of work will mean we have to rethink how we’re spending our time, and look for a way to work that better helps us respond to God’s call. Sometimes, it will mean that we advocate for better, more just conditions for those who work in jobs that are thankless, or oppressive and abusive. Sometimes, it will mean adjusting our own attitudes, so that we don’t look down on others who do work we don’t want to do. Sometimes, embracing the gift of work means discovering how to respond to God’s call when we’re retired, or staying at home, or dealing with a condition that keeps us from traditional employment. Sometimes, it means working a paid job that gives us the resources we need to do the unpaid work that is our true vocation. Sometimes, embracing God’s gift of work means realizing how many opportunities to serve God and serve others we have right where we are. Sometimes, it means remembering that God does hard work, and considers work part of our world at its very best. Sometimes, it means remembering to rest from work too, so we can stay passionate about what God calls us to do. If you need help figuring it out - how to find meaning in your work, whatever that is, please know I’d love to talk to you about that, and help you find and answer God’s call, the place where you deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet. 

Some days, I know whatever tasks are before us, it will feel like we’re toiling in vain under the sun. But when we make pleasing God and shaping our lives after God’s own pattern our aim, we can trust that God will help us find joy and purpose in the work we do. Amen. 

1. Long, Heather, “Meet Khe Hy, the Oprah for Millennials,” cnn.com, https://money.cnn.com/2016/12/30/news/economy/khemaridh-hy-rad-reads-oprah-for-millennials/, December 31, 2016. Accessed on 1/18/2020. 
2. Ramsey, Dave, “What is the FIRE movement?”,  DaveRamsey.com, 

https://www.daveramsey.com/blog/what-is-the-fire-movement. Accessed on 1/18/2020. 

3. Clifton, Jim, “The World's Broken Workplace,” Gallup,

https://news.gallup.com/opinion/chairman/212045/world-broken-workplace.aspx?g_source=position1&g_medium=related&g_campaign=tiles, 6/13/2017. Accessed on 1/18/2020. 

Sermon for the First Sunday of Advent, "Bah, Humbug!," Galatians 6:24, Luke 16:19-31

Sermon 12/1/19

Galatians 6:24, Luke 16:19-31

Bah, Humbug!

Dickens’ short work, A Christmas Carol, begins by announcing, “Marley was dead: to begin with.” Jacob Marley was the business partner of one Ebenezer Scrooge, and he’s been dead for some time. Jacob Marley seems to be as close as Scrooge had to a “friend,” but even still Dickens makes sure to tell us that Scrooge wasn’t particularly broken-hearted over Marley’s death. In fact, Dickens doesn’t mince words in describing Scrooge. He says of Scrooge, “Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner!” Dickens continues, “Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, “My dear Scrooge, how are you? When will you come to see me?” No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o’clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge.” “But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance.” Scrooge is alone, and he seems to like it that way. His nephew tries to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but Scrooge rebuffs his efforts. When Scrooge expresses his typical “Bah, humbug” about Christmas, and his nephew tries to coax him out of his bad attitude, Scrooge responds: “What else can I be  [but cross],” returned the uncle, “when I live in such a world of fools as this? Merry Christmas! Out upon merry Christmas! What’s Christmas time to you but a time for paying bills without money; a time for finding yourself a year older, but not an hour richer … “Nephew!” says Scrooge. “Keep Christmas in your own way, and let me keep it in mine.” When Scrooge is asked to support some charity work by folks, he has equally harsh words for them: “I wish to be left alone,” said Scrooge. “I don’t make merry myself at Christmas and I can’t afford to make idle people merry. I help to support the establishments I have mentioned [like the prisons] —they cost enough; and those who are badly off must go there.” The fundraisers respond, “Many can’t go there; and many would rather die.” To which Scrooge answers, “If they would rather die,” said Scrooge, “they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population.”

After all this, the ghost of Jacob Marley appears to Scrooge. He says he’s been wandering restlessly, all this time since he’s died, even keeping an eye on Scrooge. And all this time, seven years, he’s been filled with compassion for all the people he didn’t care about during his lifetime. But his punishment for his apathy during life is this: now that Marley feels compassion, he’s unable to do anything about it. What he can do, though, is this. He has a one-time opportunity to warn Scrooge. ““I am here to-night to warn you,”” Marley says, “”that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer.”” That’s where we’ll leave Scrooge for now - on the brink of his chance at escaping Marley’s fate. 

Of course, accompanying Scrooge as he eventually meets the ghosts of Christmas past, present, and future is only valuable to us if we can see ourselves in him a bit. If Scrooge is just so cantankerous that he’s a caricature only, we’ve got nothing to learn from him. But I wonder if we, too, don’t sometimes find that we’ve put some distance between ourselves and people who are in need around us. Sometimes we walk past people who are suffering, whether we do it by changing the channel on the TV, or clicking away from a news story, or neglecting to give a little more when we’re confronted with someone else who needs help, or averting our eyes when we see someone in distress, putting our heads down, keep on walking. Sometimes we’re actively dismissive of those who are struggling - like Scrooge we imagine that ‘they” have gotten themselves into trouble and so “they” can get themselves right out of it. And other times, I think we’re just exhausted. That has a name, even - being overwhelmed by the needs of others. “Compassion fatigue.” We try to be compassionate, but how much can we do? Can’t we just be left alone for a bit? The chasm, the gulf between Scrooge and everyone around him is huge. Maybe the distance between us and others isn’t so large as that, but it is there. 

That distance, that chasm is star of our gospel lesson today. In Luke’s gospel, Jesus has been teaching, and some Pharisees are ridiculing him, especially when Jesus says, “You cannot serve God and wealth.” Many of the Pharisees were affluent, and many folks believed - believe - that financial wealth is a sign of God’s blessing. Jesus, though, seems to teach in repeated parables that financial wealth makes following him, makes putting God first, extremely challenging. In response to their ridicule, Jesus tells another parable, our lesson for today. 

There is a rich man, dressed in purple and fine linen, who feasts sumptuously every day. Biblical scholar Amy-Jill Levine says he is “the epitome of one who is self-serving.” He displays his wealth ostentatiously. The word used here for feasting signifies the kind of feasting you’d do at a major festival, and he does this every day. He’s wearing the most expensive kind of clothing. (1) And separated by this rich man by the gates of the man’s property, by what might as well have been a chasm for all the rich man ever crossed it, there is Lazarus, a poor man. Lazarus is the only character in a parable given a name, and his name means, “God helps.” Lazarus is so poor, he wishes he could just get some crumbs from the rich man’s table. He’s so poor that he has unhealed sores on his body, and the only treatment he gets for them is from dogs, who are kinder to him than the rich man is. Is Lazarus good? We don’t know. We know nothing about his moral character at all. We only know he’s poor, and we know that throughout scripture, God gives a preferential place to the poor. God asks people to give special care and attention to those who are poor all through the law and the prophets. But the rich man certainly does not share God’s preference. 

Eventually both Lazarus and the rich man die. The rich man is tormented in Hades, what we’d imagine hell to be like. In Jesus’ vivid parable, he can see up into heaven, a “far away” place, where he can see Abraham, the father of the whole people of Israel, and Lazarus at his side. The rich man doesn’t express any word of repentance, of regret for his previous actions. And he still doesn’t speak to Lazarus, just about him. He obviously knows who Lazarus is - he calls him by name, even though he never went outside his gate to help him in life. Now, the rich man wants Lazarus to serve him, even now. “Father Abraham - send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.” Abraham reminds the rich man that in life, the rich man had good things, and Lazarus only evil things, but now their roles are reversed. And Lazarus can’t cross: a great chasm separates them, and no one can go back and forth between this distance. So the rich man begs that Lazarus can go at least warn the rich man’s five brothers. Still, he doesn’t speak to Lazarus directly. He wants to save his brothers, not the poor. Abraham responds that they have the law and the prophets - they contain many warnings about caring for the poor, after all. But no, the rich man argues, his brothers won’t listen to them - but if they got a visit from the dead, then they would repent and change their ways. Abraham is unimpressed. “If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” And so ends the parable. 

So - there’s a big chasm, a separation, a big seemingly insurmountable distance between Scrooge and everyone around him, and between this rich man and Lazarus, both in life and in death. And in both cases, the wealth, the affluence of one over the other seems to be a major cause of the distance. Are we off the hook, then, if we’re just not too wealthy? If we’re somewhere in the middle, can we relax? Let me ask this: How often have we walked by - literally or figuratively - someone who needs help? If our answer to that question is the only determinant of our eternal fate, what hope is there? I know that like Scrooge, like the rich man, sometimes we don’t see each other. Sometimes I don’t want to see the need around me. Sometimes I forget to practice the compassion of Jesus. Forget is too generous though - sometimes I actively choose not to practice compassion. Remember, Jesus is so often described at looking at those around him with eyes of compassion, the twist-up-your-guts-with-concern kind of compassion that was his standard way of seeing those around him. But though we have our moments of compassion, I think often we feel cut off from each other instead. We have “compassion fatigue.” We feel like we’ve given all we can give, and we can’t worry about anyone but ourselves anymore, not right now. We’re spent. And when we start to feel that fatigue more and more, when we feel less and less moved by the plight of people around us, when it gets easier and easier to walk by the suffering of others - we’re in trouble. A chasm is widening, and it isn’t just between us and others. It’s a chasm between us and God. We know we don’t want to be on the other side of the chasm from God. But what can we do? When it gets so big, that chasm - between us and God, us and our neighbors - we’re helpless to close it. It’s too much. How can we feel compassion instead of apathy, and traverse the chasm? 

If we look at the parable, things seem kind of hopeless. The rich man doesn’t learn, and he can’t warn his brothers the way he wants, and even his death and torture in Hades doesn’t seem to move his heart to compassion. If we screw up too much, are we doomed to his fate? If we ignore one person too many who we could help if we tried, is that it for us? I think of Jesus telling the disciples that it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven, and the disciples, who were hardly rich themselves, still lamenting at Jesus’ words: How can anyone be saved? The chasm is too great. We’re bound to screw up. Our hearts are too often hard. But remember, too, Jesus’ response: For mortals it is impossible. But for God - for God all things are possible. 

How does God make it possible? How does God help us close the chasm we’ve created with our apathy and inaction? I think even the parable hints at it in the last line. Abraham says that the rich man and his brothers won’t be convinced to repent by someone rising from the dead. But what about a resurrection not of just a “someone,” but of God’s very child, of God-in-the-flesh? I think Jesus wouldn’t bother telling this parable if there was no hope for the Pharisee or for us. The parable serves as a wake-up call. But while we can’t close the chasms we’ve created, God can. And God does. One of my favorite preachers, David Lose, writes: “The unrepentant but chastened rich man is not truly the subject of this parable at all. We are. We are those who, along with the community for whom Luke originally wrote, know the resurrected Lord. We are the ones who … have seen God’s compassion embodied in the life and ministry of Jesus. We are the ones who gather each week to celebrate his victory over the grave, forgiveness of sin, and the possibility of living in light of God’s grace, mercy, and abundance. We are those who follow the crucified and Risen Lord … Does our faith in and experience of the Risen Lord help us see those we would prefer not to see and regard those around us as worthy of compassion, respect, and honor…or not? Does the testimony of the One who has conquered death and called us to follow him make a difference?” (2) 

In his book The Redemption of Scrooge, Matt Rawle says that there is “no soul too gruff, too cold, or too cantankerous for God’s redeeming power.” (3) In the coming weeks, we’ll see how God’s redeeming power melts Scrooge’s seemingly frozen heart, and closes the gap between him and all the people around him. It’s not because of Scrooge’s ability to figure it out on his own that he’s redeemed. It’s because of God’s grace and love, and Scrooge finally accepting that grace and love that he’s able to repent and start again. As we journey with Scrooge during this Advent season, hopefully we’ll see God at work in us too, as we answer to God’s relentless grace. In Advent, we anticipate the work of God in Jesus: in Jesus, God closes the chasms we’ve created by simply becoming one of us. If God is one of us, if God is with us in Jesus, then God-in-the-flesh has made sure there is no distance too great for God to cover.

We are not beyond God’s redeeming. With God, everything is possible - the redemption of that grumpy sinner Scrooge, and the redemption of you and me. God wants to show us all that is waiting, show us all of God’s children who are waiting on the other side of the doors we’ve closed, and the gates we’ve locked, and the chasms we’ve created. The gap that’s between us and God, between us and our neighbor - God closes by putting God’s very self, Jesus-with-us, in the gap to bridge the distance. A gift we anticipate every Advent, a gift we give thanks for every Christmas. And when we receive the gift of grace that Jesus offers? He invites us to stand by his side, another link in the chain of compassion, another redeemed life closing the chasm, drawing others closer to one another, nearer to God. Amen.     

1. Levine, Amy-Jill. Short Stories by Jesus, 272-273. 
2. Lose, David, “Pentecost 19 C: Eternal Life Now,” In the Meantime, http://www.davidlose.net/2019/09/pentecost-19-c-eternal-life-now/. 
3. Rawle, Matt, The Redemption of Scrooge, 25.