Missionary Work

Luke 10:1-20

After this the Lord appointed seventy others and sent them on ahead of him in pairs to every town and place where he himself intended to go. He said to them, “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few; therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest. Go on your way. See, I am sending you out like lambs into the midst of wolves. Carry no purse, no bag, no sandals; and greet no one on the road. Whatever house you enter, first say, ‘Peace to this house!’ And if anyone is there who shares in peace, your peace will rest on that person; but if not, it will return to you. Remain in the same house, eating and drinking whatever they provide, for the laborer deserves to be paid. Do not move about from house to house. Whenever you enter a town and its people welcome you, eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you.’ But whenever you enter a town and they do not welcome you, go out into its streets and say, ‘Even the dust of your town that clings to our feet, we wipe off in protest against you. Yet know this: the kingdom of God has come near.’ I tell you, on that day it will be more tolerable for Sodom than for that town. “Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! For if the deeds of power done in you had been done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But at the judgment it will be more tolerable for Tyre and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum, will you be exalted to heaven? No, you will be brought down to Hades. “Whoever listens to you listens to me, and whoever rejects you rejects me, and whoever rejects me rejects the one who sent me.” 

The seventy returned with joy, saying, “Lord, in your name even the demons submit to us!” He said to them, “I watched Satan fall from heaven like a flash of lightning. See, I have given you authority to tread on snakes and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy; and nothing will hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”

I have a confession to make. A few months ago, I looked out the window and spotted two people – a man and a woman – walking up my quiet little street. They were neatly dressed, in an old-fashioned sort of way, and were each carrying something – a book, pamphlets. I felt great apprehension as they headed up my driveway, because I was almost positive that this couple was going door-to-door trying to convert people to their religious beliefs. And I was pretty certain they weren’t Episcopalians. Although they may have been perfectly wonderful people, I did not want to talk to missionaries, so I ducked out of sight and ignored the doorbell.

Even at the time, it seemed cowardly to pretend that no-one was home. Surely I could simply explain that I was already a person of faith and not interested in discussing my beliefs. But like many people, I don’t like people coming to my home trying to convert me to their faith. It seems intrusive and disrespectful to my beliefs. 

Episcopalians are known to be particularly uncomfortable with evangelism or, as it’s sometimes called, the E word. And yet how many seats in churches everywhere could be filled if we were more active in sharing our faith? We are so quick to share recipes, diet plans, and other good things, but so private about sharing our faith? Why do we start thinking of reasons to leave when someone mentions evangelism?

A number of years ago I saw a cartoon showing two women leaving church, talking to the priest at the door. One of them is saying, “We don't know why you're making such a fuss about evangelism. Everyone in this town who ought be an Episcopalian already is one.” Fortunately, the Episcopal Church is not as elitist as that cartoon implies, but we are indeed reluctant to evangelize. We’re the opposite of those faiths that are well known for door-to-door missionary work. Most of us are reluctant to talk about our faith except in certain circumstances – in a safe space with people who want to listen.

I once registered for a course in evangelism. It took some courage for me to even sign up for a class with the E word in it. One of our first assignments was to tell three strangers about our faith. By strangers, the instructor really meant strangers: not only people we didn’t know personally, but people who weren’t even in a church or connected in any way to a church. He suggested we talk to people we might meet at a bus stop, or in line at the grocery store. I quickly dropped the course, because I couldn’t even imagine myself doing it.  I’d rather rappel down the side of the Empire State Building than go up to a complete stranger and start talking to them about my faith. I’m afraid of heights, but not nearly as afraid of heights as I am of the look I’d see on the face of that stranger! And I might be even more reluctant if the person was not a stranger, but someone I knew who hadn’t begun the conversation.

But according to the Bible, we have a Great Commission, to go and make disciples of all nations. In this passage from the Gospel of Luke, Jesus sends out seventy of his followers in pairs. Does that mean that the churches who send missionaries door-to-door have it right? As I read about the seventy, I thought of that couple headed up my driveway, and my reluctance to open the door to them. Apparently even in the time of Jesus, it wasn’t easy to get people to listen to missionaries, because Jesus provides these seventy apostles with instructions on what to do when they meet with rejections. He doesn’t assume that everyone will welcome them. But are these pairs of apostles that Jesus is commissioning quite the same as the door-to-door missionaries of today? Were they trying to convert people to a new religion?

Jesus is sending the apostles to places he plans to visit. He doesn’t say that he’s sending them out to make converts. He never mentions baptism, for example, or teaching the people they encounter. In fact, even if we read carefully, it’s not clear what the mission of the seventy is. Much more attention is given to how they’re to behave than what they’re actually supposed to accomplish. Why is Jesus sending them to the places that he’ll soon be visiting himself?

It appears that the pairs of apostles are some kind of “advance party,” the kind that in that time would have traveled ahead of a king or other important person to tell people that the king was coming through their town, so that everything would be ready. But there’s more to it than that, because Jesus begins by saying that

The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few. Therefore ask the Lord of the harvest to send out laborers into his harvest.

I think Jesus is the Lord of the harvest – the harvest master – and these apostles are being sent out to do the His work, as his agents. His only instructions are that, after they have settled into house in a village, they should cure the sick who are there, and say to them, “The kingdom of God has come near to you.” These instructions aren’t about converting people to a particular set of beliefs. Rather, these apostles are instructed to bring Good News to people: that the Kingdom of God is near.

In the time of Jesus, the people in Judea are living under the rule of  a brutal empire. For many, life is a struggle, as they scrape out a living as conquered people, heavily taxed by the Roman Empire. They’re kept from rebelling by Roman soldiers, who put down any signs of insurrection with great violence, including mass crucifixions. Their hope lay chiefly in believing that one day they would successfully overthrow the Empire through a violent rebellion, but given the strength of the Roman army, they knew that only with the help of God could they win such a war. Many waited patiently for the Lord to send the Messiah, the king who would triumphantly lead their armies in battle against the Romans and drive the hated conquerors out of Israel forever. Then there would be a new king – a Messiah – who would rule with the law given by God, the Torah, and Israel would be strong and independent again. This is the Kingdom of God they were waiting for.

Many would laugh with scorn when these simply dressed visitors, with no sign of any army, announced that the Kingdom of God was near. It would simply be unbelievable, because they’re expecting a very different kind of kingdom, and a very different kind of king. But if they’re paying attention, they can see the healing power of these visitors. And some will start to believe these visitors, not because of what they say, which would sound unbelievable, but because of what they were able to do. In the healing their apostles accomplish, the people in these villages get a glimpse of what the Kingdom of God is really like: It brings healing and peace, not destruction and war.

Far from possessing the ostentatious wealth of the Roman Empire, their visitors are obviously not wealthy. They dress simply and travel light. But they have all the wealth and power they need: the power that the Lord of the Harvest has given them to carry out the task they have been given. They are not to use force, or insist that others believe them or agree with them. They are simply to go where they receive a welcome and bring God’s healing power wherever it’s needed. And they tell the people who will listen that they will not have to wait for the Kingdom of God to arrive in the future with a king who will lead a great army. The kingdom of God is already very near.

So – if we are also being sent out to share the Good News, what kind of missionaries are we called to be? Not, I think, the kind who try to change people’s religion, but the kind of missionaries who bring good news that the kingdom of God is very near, who bring God’s healing power in their very presence. That means being people who try to imitate Jesus. We can bring the light of Christ in places of darkness, hopelessness, and pain, not by trying to get others to believe as we believe, but by bringing Christ’s peace and healing power to others. We may not be physicians, but we can be healers.

We may be reluctant to share our faith by what we say, but we say far more about our faith by what we do than what we say. Preach the gospel always – if necessary, use words.

An Expensive Trip

Luke 9:51-62

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

One of the organizations I follow on Facebook is an animal sanctuary located on 367 acres in Virginia. They provide a safe, permanent home for over 1200 animals. In addition to over 600 cats, their residents include dogs, sheep, goats, horses, pigs, turkey, geese, ducks, and assorted other animals. They rely heavily on volunteers but also have some paid staff. Not long ago, the director posted on Facebook about a paying position at the sanctuary. She lamented that she’d been having considerable trouble filling this position. The applicants were either unsuitable and therefore not hired, or they seemed suitable and were hired, but quit after a day or two. She didn’t understand the problem: It was really a wonderful place to work.

Curious, I read the job description for the position. The job mostly involved feeding and cleaning up after 1200 animals: barnyard and kennel work. She listed in detail how each day would be spent. I was exhausted after the third duty of the day, but the list of duties continued, and finally ended with the comment that after the person had finished these duties, they’d be expected to help build new enclosures for the animals. As I recall, this position paid the princely sum of $8 per hour, for what sounded like a lot of backbreaking and unpleasant work.

It was fairly obvious to me why she was having trouble filling this position, even in a tough economy. I commented that I was surprised that anyone had applied for this position. Privately, I thought that a person would REALLY have to love animals to take on that work. Or be really desperate. But perhaps someone would be willing to do this work out of a love for animals. We do things from deep commitment that we would not be willing to do simply for money. Many of those in the helping professions – medicine, teaching, and ministry, for example – are motivated by a desire to do good. When we’re deeply committed to our work, when we get up each morning knowing we’ll  make something good happen for someone who needs help, it’s not so much a job as a vocation: a calling.

When I read this passage from Luke, I thought of the job at the animal sanctuary. Who would want to follow where Jesus is going? Jesus and his disciples are traveling to Jerusalem. Although his disciples don’t know it, we know – and I think Jesus knew -- that this would be his last trip to Jerusalem. Shortly after he arrives there, he will be arrested, quickly tried on trumped up charges, and crucified. His disciples – at least the men who were traveling with him – will be terrified for their lives and, at least for a while, go into hiding.

But still Jesus continues traveling to Jerusalem, taking his followers with him, instead of sending them back to their homes and urging them to save themselves while there’s still time. “Follow me,” Jesus says. What, he’s going to Jerusalem where he will be crucified, and he’s urging people to follow him? If they follow him, his disciples will be in for a rough life. Who would take on such demanding work? Who would be willing to follow Jesus?

Someone says to Jesus, “I will follow you wherever you go.” Perhaps this person doesn’t understand what that will mean. Jesus responds by warning him that following him will not be easy: “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.”

Then Jesus urges someone else to follow him. “Follow me.” But the man replies conditionally. He’ll go, but not now. Soon. “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” Jesus tells him that what he’s asking him to do is urgent.

It can’t wait. I think Jesus understands that the man is hesitating. “Let the dead bury their own dead,” he says, “but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

And if we still don’t understand that nothing can get in the way of immediately following Jesus, another person promises to follow Jesus … soon. “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” And again, Jesus will not accept anything less than a full commitment: “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Strong words. Can it be so wrong to care about family, to make them a priority? We have to bear in mind the use of hyperbole in that culture. When Jesus told people to cut off their hand, or to hate their parents, he didn’t mean it literally. He was emphasizing a point through exaggeration, much as someone today might say “I almost died when she said that.” We don’t mean it literally. It’s just the way we talk – we’re emphasizing something. So when we spot hyperbole, we should pay particular attention. When Jesus refuses to allow potential followers to bury a parent or say good-bye to their families, Jesus is emphasizing urgency. He seems to understand how little time he has left before his death: “Follow me! No delays, no excuses, no conditions! And by the way,” Jesus says, “I know I’m asking a lot. You’ll have to make great sacrifices, and I know it won’t be easy. But follow me anyway.”

Luke is not telling us about these encounters so we’ll know what happened as Jesus traveled to his death in Jerusalem. This is directed to us. When we hear Jesus invite people to follow him, he’s inviting us also. But what does following Jesus mean? And what is the cost?

For his disciples, following Jesus meant spreading the good news, but the cost would be their lives. But what does following Jesus mean for us today? And is it dangerous anymore? Or all that demanding? Is Jesus simply asking us to get up early on Sunday mornings  and spend an hour or two at church? And to try to be nice to people? Because – important as that is – I don’t think that’s all that Jesus had in mind when he urged people to follow him.

I think one indication of whether or not we’re following Jesus is how easy it seems. If it seems really easy, if it demands little from us, this may not be what Jesus has in mind for us. At a minimum, following Jesus means paying attention to what Jesus taught and following the example of his life. But it means more than that. It means following Jesus to the cross: Being willing to risk hardship and opposition because of our faith.

A few weeks ago, I heard a pastor express a frustration common among clergy: A fear that he could not always say to his congregation what he believed, because speaking the truth might cost him his position.

It’s not just clergy that have to censor themselves. We live among people with a wide range of opinions and beliefs. For the sake of peace, we all do some editing, to avoid continually upsetting and alienating people. Not everything we think or believe needs to be shared. I personally would prefer that my relatives who have beliefs very different from my own would not assume that I believe as they do or try to change my beliefs. I try to do the same, to respect that they have different beliefs, but without discussion. Some subjects are best avoided. But avoiding conflict is not always the best response.

We all struggle with the conflict between our desire to be popular and our desire to be able to say what we really believe. We have all – on occasion – been silenced by fear of the consequences if we speak out. But where do we draw the line? At what point have we betrayed the Gospel? Many of us go through life avoiding confrontation or disagreements whenever possible, often by remaining silent even in situations in which we could do good simply by saying something – speaking up.

We are not asked to take the risks that Jesus and his disciples took: the risk of losing one’s life. We are only asked to risk unpopularity, criticism, opposition, or hostility, by – at the right moment – standing up for what we believe is good and just, according to our faith. Sometimes proclaiming the Gospel isn’t telling people about Jesus. Sometimes proclaiming the Gospel – following Jesus -- simply means saying, “This is what I believe about this situation,” when saying that requires some courage and carries some risk. It’s easy enough to get on the bandwagon for justice when enough of the people around us are supportive and in agreement, but it’s much harder when we are – or seem to be -- a lone voice speaking up on behalf of those who need us to speak up.

Mark Twain wrote that "It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare." Looking back in time, we remember as heroes those who have taken unpopular positions and changed the world. When enough years have passed and society has changed, and that lone voice is no longer alone but has become part of a crowd, we may forget how much courage it took simply to say or do something unpopular and risk the consequences.

Martin Luther King, Jr., is now revered. His birthday is a national holiday. But in his own lifetime, many people really hated him, including the powers that be at the FBI. He died young, assassinated. But he spoke out from his faith, even when most people thought he was very wrong. Even his own followers sometimes thought he was very wrong. But he believed he was going where God was sending him, even if it led to the cross.

Mahatma Gandhi was first ignored, then laughed at, then hated – but he spoke up for what he believed in even when that was quite dangerous. Now he is recognized as a great man who made a difference.

Sometimes following Jesus will get you into trouble. Many years ago, before the Civil Rights movement transformed what is considered acceptable, a Baptist preacher invited a man to attend his church. That doesn’t seem very courageous, but the man he invited was an African who was studying in this country, and the preacher’s church was entirely White. What followed was a confrontation between the preacher and his congregation. The preacher lost his position, which was a real hardship for the man and his family. Was it worth it? I think so, but how many of us would be willing to do it? Sometimes we may feel that, because of our beliefs, we must in good conscience go down a path that will be risky to our well-being.

Another Baptist preacher, Will Campbell, died recently. Although a White man from the South, Will Campbell was very active in the Civil Rights movement, He counted among his friends Martin Luther King, Jr., John Lewis, and other leaders of the movement. When Black children went to enroll in White schools in Little Rock, Arkansas, Will Campbell went with them. There could be no doubt of his commitment or his willingness to take risks. But Will Campbell went from being a hero to many to being condemned by many, because one day, it occurred to Will Campbell that Jesus loved everyone, without exception. Jesus dined with sinners and saints. So Campbell began to spend time with the “other side”: with people determined to stop integration, including Klansmen. He sat on their porches drinking sweet tea, and he ate barbeque at their picnics. For doing that, which seemed to many to be a betrayal, he received piles of hate mail. People who had admired and loved him before now turned on him. But Campbell believed that he was doing what Jesus would have done, what Jesus wanted him to do. “Mr. Jesus,” he said, “died for the bigots, too.” Jesus was calling him to the work of reconciliation: to work not only for justice, but also for genuine peace. Real peace is served by changing hearts through relationships, even with people on the “other side.” It’s easier and safer if we stay among people who believe as we believe, but following Jesus and proclaiming the Gospel often means moving out of the places where we’re comfortable and safe, and into places that aren’t so comfortable, and aren’t so safe, but where we are most needed. Recognizing how much God loves us, we see others as beloved children of God. No exceptions.

Each person is called to a unique role in working for the Kingdom of God. Living into that role is what it means to follow Jesus. It may demand a great deal and lead to places that surprise us, doing what we never anticipated doing. Nevertheless, we do this work willingly, because we have decided to accept the invitation to follow Jesus.

                                     

                                              

Where's the Easy Button?

Luke 14:25-33

Now large crowds were traveling with him; and he turned and said to them, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’ Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.

One of my favorite TV networks is HGTV, and one of my favorite television shows is Love It or List It.  Each episode of this show focuses on a couple who own a home that no longer suits them. It may be too small: Perhaps there aren’t enough bedrooms or bathrooms for their growing family. Or the floor plan may be a problem. The kitchen and bathrooms may need a complete renovation. The couple is divided about what to do. One person loves the home and wants to stay. That person thinks that if they just make some changes to the home, they can stay. The spouse thinks the solution is to leave – sell the house and buy another.  

Two professionals compete to get them to either love the home or list it. The interior designer – Hillary -- promises to fix their problems so they’ll love their home again, but they must give her tens of thousands of dollars for the renovations. The real estate agent – David -- wants them to sell their house – list it -- and buy another. He shows them homes that he thinks better meet their needs.

The show follows a predictable pattern. Almost always, once construction begins, Hillary  encounters unexpected major problems in the home.  I cringe whenever Hillary begins work on a basement. “Don’t do it!” I want to say. “Don’t go down there!” Because I know the workers will discover pipes that leak so badly that the house is actually floating on an underground lake. The wiring will date back to the time of Benjamin Franklin; it’s so primitive that it’s a miracle the house hasn’t burned down yet. And the workers will discover that the overhead joists are so weak that virtually nothing is supporting the first floor. It’s amazing the kitchen hasn’t collapsed into the basement yet. The contractor tells Hillary that the repairs – which must be made – will be very expensive. She then has to explain to the homeowners that she’ll have to cut way back on the planned renovations because there won’t be enough money for everything they’ve planned. The house will be rewired, the pipes replaced, and the joists will now support the kitchen floor, but they won’t get the renovated kitchen or new bathroom they wanted.

Usually, the homeowners’ response is anger: “Hillary, you should have known about these problems before you began the work!”

Haven’t they watched the show before? Because I don’t know if Hillary should have known before she began the work, but the homeowners should have known. I want to say to them, “Don’t you watch the show? Don’t you know that the minute construction begins, the contractor will find big problems in the house that have to be addressed?  That fixing these unexpected but serious problems will take most of the money in the budget? That she’ll have to cut back on the projects on the list?” Anyone who watches the show regularly will know that they’ll be lucky to get half of what they expected. Whatever amount they budgeted, there won’t be enough to pay for everything. They should have mentally doubled it before they began.

“For which of you,” Jesus says, “intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, ‘This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.’ “

Jesus then goes on to talk about a king going to war, who must decide if he can win against his enemies with half the soldiers.  If he decides he can’t win this war, he sends representatives to ask his enemy for peace terms. 

Jesus has already told his followers that they must hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself if they want to be his disciple.  Jesus is speaking not just to the disciples: He’s speaking to us. Whatever we value most – our possessions, our families, or even our lives -- we must be ready to give them all up to follow Jesus.

Hate is a strong word: the opposite of love. What’s wrong about caring about our families? Shouldn’t we love our parents?  We have to bear in mind that in the culture in which Jesus lived, people often used hyperbole. They exaggerated. That was the way they talked. So when Jesus told people to cut off their hand, his disciples understood that he didn’t mean it literally. He was exaggerating to make a point, much as we might say “I almost died of embarrassment” or “my boss is going to kill me.” We don’t mean it literally. Then as now, people used hyperbole for emphasis, to make a point. And here, Jesus is making an important point. I think Jesus is both warning and asking – warning that following him won’t be easy – it may demand everything from us -- and he’s asking for total commitment.

If we want to be Christians – to follow Jesus –  we have to be willing to sacrifice things that we value. We don’t have to hate our parents, but we may – because of our faith -- have to make choices that people we love disapprove of. We don’t have to literally give away everything we own and take to begging on the streets and sleeping on park benches, but we do have to prioritize God over money. We do have to make our commitment to serving Jesus more important than acquiring possessions.

Christians in third world countries who may experience real persecution and risk losing everything, including their lives, for their faith understand what it means to give up everything for Christ. Compared to them, we have it so easy. We risk being ridiculed, our unpopular with some people, but we don’t risk losing our possessions or even our lives. For us, following Jesus can seem easy. But if it seems easy, are we really following Jesus?

Recently an office supply store has had an ad campaign centered around the idea of a big red Easy Button. No matter what the office crisis is, the problem is solved immediately by pressing the Easy Button. Jesus isn’t an easy button, and truly following Jesus is not easy. Jesus is not going to immediately make all our problems go away, as if we’d pressed the Easy Button. Jesus warns us that following him will be the exact opposite of easy. It will demand that we be willing to risk everything. And if we commit to following Jesus, we need to know in advance that this is likely to be costly. We may have to sacrifice. To go on the journey with Jesus, we will certainly have to open up our whole selves to transformation, but we will be the journey of a lifetime. Who knows where it will take us? But if we listen and follow, if we’re willing to risk at all, we will enter the Kingdom of God. And that will be better than anything we sacrifice.

Another of my favorite HGTV shows is House Hunters International. Each episode of this show follows an American or Canadian person or family who’s moving to a foreign country – Japan, or Italy, or Morocco, for example – as they find a home to rent or buy. A real estate agent shows them three homes that should meet their needs, and they must choose one.

Now I’ve noticed that at the beginning of the show, the international house hunters

always talk about how much they’re looking forward to the experience of living abroad.

They want an authentic, enriching experience of living in a foreign country, and they want to embrace the culture. They want to live like the people of that country live. When they get to the house or apartment, however, it’s a whole ‘nuther story. There they talk like they’re still in California or Texas or wherever they came from. “No elevator?” they ask in surprise, as they climb a long flight of stairs. “The kitchen is so small,” they complain. “And no stainless steel appliances? No dishwasher? And that’s the refrigerator?” When they reach the bedroom, it’s “Our California king bed won’t fit!” On and on, they express surprise that so many features of their American home are missing.

Now remember, they told the real estate agent that they wanted a home with all the charm of their new country. But as it turns out, they only wanted the charm on the outside, because when it comes to the inside of the house, they still want to like Americans. They want it easy and comfortable – and familiar. They want the outside of the house to look Japanese or Italian or Moroccan, but the inside had better look American. Because no matter what they say, the home hunters usually choose a house that -- on the inside -- is as close to an American home as they can find. They’ve traveled to Japan or Italy or Morocco, but in important ways, they haven’t moved.

I think being a Christian can be like that. We can say we want to be Christians. We can look like Christians on the outside, because it’s really not hard to look like a Christian – wear a cross, carry a Bible, go to church, tell people we’re Christian. But what’s happening on the inside? Are we really Christian on the inside? Do we even want to be? Or do we not really want to change and risk being uncomfortable? Are we willing to give up the things we’re used to, the things that we think make us happy, in order to embrace a radically new way of living?

Looking like a Christian on the outside is easy. What’s difficult – and what really matters –  is being a Christian on the inside. What’s difficult – and what really matters –

is letting ourselves be changed on the inside, so that we may bear the image of Jesus inside. That image includes the cross. What’s difficult – and what really matters – is getting up each and every morning and trying to live that day as Christians, even when it’s difficult, and even when following Jesus is more costly than we anticipated.

The Voice of the Profits

Luke 12:13-21

Someone in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” But he said to him, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And he said to them, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.” Then he told them a parable: “The land of a rich man produced abundantly. And he thought to himself, ‘What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?’ Then he said, ‘I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘You fool! This very night your life is being demanded of you. And the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So it is with those who store up treasures for themselves but are not rich toward God.”

Many years ago, when I was living in Chicago, I had the opportunity to study with the well-known feminist theologian Rosemary Ruether. I was able to arrange for her to preach at the church I was attending, the Episcopal Cathedral of St. James.

As you may know, many churches follow the custom of having titles for sermons, often posted on a sign outside the church. It seems that Dr. Ruether assumed that my church followed the custom of naming sermons and would need a title for her sermon. She planned a sermon on the Old Testament text – a reading from one of the prophets – and phoned the church office with her sermon title:

Hearing the Voice of the Prophets in Today’s World

Unfortunately, whoever took down the message misunderstood what kind of prophets she planned to talk about. They apparently thought she was planning a sermon about the kind of profits found in annual reports of corporations. So the sermon listed in the service leaflet that Sunday was

Hearing the Voice of the Profits in Today’s World

I wonder how many people in the church that day were disappointed not to hear a sermon about the dangers of a capitalist economy. It would have been a good topic, because I think many of the evils in the world now and throughout history have been motivated by a desire to make as great a profit as possible:  the inclination to be greedy. Or as we read in the letter to Timothy, love of money is the root of all kinds of evil.

In today’s Gospel, we hear from a man who is concerned about money: getting what’s due to him, as he sees it. He’s so concerned, that he interrupts Jesus while he speaks, asking for help in getting his inheritance. It seems the man is involved in one of those fights over property that throughout history have often followed the death of someone with more than one heir. I think we’ve all known people who have fought with relatives over who gets what – often even over things that have little financial value.  For many siblings, disputes over their parent’s estate can lead to long-term estrangement. The rift created by conflicting claims and bad wills may persist for decades, sometimes ending only with the death of one of the potential heirs. The conflict between two brothers over their father’s estate is a serious matter, which can poison their relationship if some way isn’t found to resolve the dispute.

Since religious law covered inheritance matters in the world of Jesus, it’s not surprising that a dissatisfied heir would bring the dispute to a rabbi to judge. But clearly this man has mistaken what kind of rabbi Jesus is – he’s not the kind that settles disputes. Perhaps the man hasn’t been listening to what Jesus is saying. Jesus is talking about serious matters. He’s telling followers how they should answer when – not if -- they’re interrogated by the authorities. Suddenly the man interrupts him. “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.”

I’m sure we have all had the experience of listening to a speaker when someone interrupts, saying something totally inappropriate. This is one of those occasions. Jesus is talking about life and death matters. I can imagine people looking at each other, shaking their heads in disbelief.  Jesus gently points out that the request is not appropriate: “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And then Jesus addresses the spiritual problem that he discerns behind this man’s urgent request: Greed. “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.”

To make his point, Jesus tells a story about a greedy man. This man – a farmer –has had such a good harvest – or perhaps several harvests -- that he’s run out of places to store all the grain. What a problem! He decides he’ll need to build larger barns to contain the abundance. Then he can lean back and relax, his future secure: He can now enjoy himself. “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”

Now, he could instead be thinking that he can now afford to be generous, to share the extra grain. He could be thinking about people who are having a hard time that he can now help, people who don’t have enough for their basic needs. Instead, the successful farmer plans how he will stockpile his grain. After all, he has enough for many years – or so he thinks. I’m not an expert in such matters, but I suspect that even in a large, well-built barn, grain eventually rots. Or the mice and rats eat it all up.

But it doesn’t matter, because the farmer is in for a big surprise. He’s about to discover that being wealthy doesn’t mean that he’ll have a long and happy life. That very night he’s going to die. And then his heirs will claim his estate.

We might think that Jesus is condemning money as a bad thing, but I don’t think it’s money: it’s what money can easily do to us. The problem is in how we regard money: whether we allow money to become an idol that rules us, and what we choose to do with our money.

St. John Cassian is one of the group called the Church Fathers, the ancient group of Christian  teachers and church leaders whose writings have influenced Christian thought for over 1600 years. John Cassian was born around 360 CE, probably in what is now Romania. He traveled to Egypt to live with monks who had fled to the desert to live austerely and simply, and spend their lives in prayer. He wrote about his experiences living among them, and what he had learned.

Cassian wrote about the eight sins he observed, one of which was the sin of avarice or greed: lusting after possessions and wealth, more than what a person actually needed. These desert monks had given away everything they owned to go live in the desert and devote their lives to prayer. Yet despite this great sacrifice, Cassian observed that a monk beset with the sin of greed would become enraged when he lost something. He could give away all his wealth, but still remain greedy. The real problem lay in the monk’s desires, and his attitude toward his possessions. Giving away his possessions was an outward sign of a more important inward struggle against greed, a struggle that continued even after he was outwardly poor.

Greed leads to anger and interferes with our relationships. I think we’ve all seen people fighting with those they love over things of little actual value. We make the possession – the money or whatever we both want – more important than the relationship. A friend of mine, who practiced family law for a number of years, said divorce brought out the worst in people. She told of one occasion in which a divorcing husband and wife were meeting with their lawyers present to try to settle how they would divide their property. At one point, the couple got into a lengthy argument over who was going to get the gardening tools. The lawyers, who were charging quite a bit per hour, watched in amazement. The couple could have easily bought new gardening tools for what the argument was costing them in legal fees. The fight over their possessions grew out of a disordered relationship, but greed made a bad situation even worse.

Greed can be a sign of fearfulness, and a lack of trust in God.  John Cassian thought the root of avarice was a lack of faith. Monks beset by avarice feared the future: they feared that if they were old or sick, or decided to leave the monastery, they would not have enough.

Likewise, we may become too concerned about collecting possessions because we fear the future and hope that if we have enough stuff, we will be safe in a world that is sometimes scary. At an extreme, survivalists stockpile large amounts of food and other necessities of life expecting that in the foreseeable future, after an apocalyptic collapse of civilization, they will have to take care of themselves and protect themselves from their neighbors. Their hoarding is driven by intense anxiety and a belief that they will be left entirely on their own. But as Jesus makes clear in this parable, our lives are always in God’s hands, and anything we possess has been given to us by God. We are simply stewards of what is not really ours.

Most of us possess so much stuff that like the rich farmer, our big problem is figuring out where to put it all and how to find it should we need it. I like to watch television shows like House Hunters, or Love It or List It, which show prospective homebuyers visiting houses they’re considering buying. The houses tend to be very new and large, and the closets are often huge – the size of bedrooms in older homes. Yet the home buyers routinely complain that there’s not enough closet space. Do we truly need mammoth closets?  If you’ve ever lived in an old house, you’ll know that in the past, people had small closets because they didn’t have so much stuff, even if they were relatively well off. Were our grandparents less happy than us because they had less? Can large walk-in closets bursting with all sorts of stuff really make us happier? More content with life? Closer to God?

Personally, I don’t think so. I think possessing a lot only makes us long for more, like an addict who needs more and more of a substance to satisfy – at least for moment -- the craving. We move into a home with big closets, and when we’ve filled those big closets, we go looking for a new home that has even bigger closets – which we will fill with more things we don’t need. No-one truly needs 30 or more pairs of shoes. And what are we to make of the fact that we are only able to possess so much that we don't need because we benefit from cheap labor in third world countries, labor that often involves children and terrible working conditions. Is our greed contributing to the demand for these products?

I recently heard of a woman who has a lot of stuff – much of it unopened and unused. Every time she sees a bargain, she buys it – whether she needs it or not. She has far more of just about everything than she’ll ever be able to use. She has no babies to buy for, but if baby clothes are on sale, she buys them. I’m told that this woman’s basement looks like a department store, filled with new merchandise. Meanwhile, people who could actually use these things that she owns but doesn’t need go without.

We may not have a basement full of brand new stuff that we have no real need for, but I think most of us have too much stuff – so much that we periodically have to find ways to get rid of things. We have garage sales; we fill dumpsters; we haul it to thrift shops. We even rent storage lockers – spending money each month to store things we don’t need and will likely never use.

The last time I moved, I threw away an astonishing amount of stuff, and wondered how and why I had accumulated so much.  Was someone sneaking into my house in the middle of the night and leaving all these useless things? No, it seems that I was responsible. I swore I’d never again collect so much stuff – but that’s a promise I’ve made and broken many times.

I think part of the problem lies in the society in which we live. Marketers and merchants continually tell us that the things they sell will bring us happiness. But I think believing this false promise is only part of the problem. I think we acquire too many possessions to try to fill a spiritual void, to fill what we sense is missing in our life. I think we all know that however much we accumulate, it will never fill that emptiness. We will always want more. What we’re truly longing for isn’t more stuff and can’t be bought at any store.

The 17^th century French philosopher Blaise Pascal once wrote,

There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of every person, and it can never be filled by any created thing.  It can only be filled by God, made known through Jesus Christ.

What we’re really longing for is spiritual:  We long for better relationships with other people, for meaning, for inner peace, for contentment. We long for the peace that only God can bring to our lives.

The Worst Seat in the House

Luke 14: 1, 7-14 

On one occasion when Jesus was going to the house of a leader of the Pharisees to eat a meal on the sabbath, they were watching him closely. 

When he noticed how the guests chose the places of honor, he told them a parable.  “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not sit down at the place of honor, in case someone more distinguished than you has been invited by your host; and the host who invited both of you may come and say to you, ‘Give this person your place,’ and then in disgrace you would start to take the lowest place. But when you are invited, go and sit down at the lowest place, so that when your host comes, he may say to you, ‘Friend, move up higher’; then you will be honored in the presence of all who sit at the table with you. For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

He said also to the one who had invited him, “When you give a luncheon or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or rich neighbors, in case they may invite you in return, and you would be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”

My first Sunday in Georgia is one that I still vividly remember. It was mid-August, and I was moving here from Connecticut, traveling at a leisurely pace because I knew my furniture would also be traveling at a leisurely pace. Moving to a place where I knew no-one was – quite frankly – scary, but I knew that in the Episcopal Church, I would always find a welcome. I stopped in Athens on a Saturday, and the following morning I headed for church.

As I sat quietly in the pew, waiting for the service to start, an older woman appeared in the aisle beside me. She was on the arm of a young man, possibly a relative, or perhaps an usher. Despite the severe heat wave the country was experiencing, she was dressed as people used to dress for church: formally. She leaned toward me and, with an air of authority, said: “You’re sitting in my pew. Would you please move?”

My jaw dropped. I was at a loss for words. Part of me took umbrage. I bristled. We were in a large church, with lots of empty seats. Why did she need my seat? Who did she think she was?

The younger man whose arm she clung to avoided making eye contact. He studied the floor, and looked as though he wished he could sink right through it.

I quickly considered my options. I could either move – resentfully -- and fret for the next hour, or I could see the humor in the situation and move graciously. The expression on the young man’s face made my choice easy. It was really pretty funny, if I would get off my high horse. So I smiled, and scooted over a few feet. The lady took her seat, and the young man fled.

A moment or so later, she leaned toward me and whispered, “I know I shouldn’t have done that, but I always sit here.” “It’s all right,” I replied. And I meant it.

Sometimes where we sit matters, particularly if we have no choice about where we sit. And there can be issues of power: who is more important, who is less important. If we’re seated in a prominent place – the head table, for example – we may feel honored and respected. On the other hand, if we’re unfairly forced to take a seat we don’t want, or even worse, we’re asked to move so someone more important can take our seat, we may feel disempowered and disrespected – as though we have treated as less worthy.

A few days ago, we commemorated the 50^th anniversary of the March on Washington, and Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech. Difficult as it may be to imagine, in my memory there was a time when even in public places, some of our citizens had little choice about where they could sit. Bus stations in the South had separate waiting rooms for Blacks and Whites. And persons of color could be denied seating altogether at restaurants and lunch counters. Even in my home town in the less segregated Midwest, up until the time I was in high school, the lunch counter at the big department store was for Whites only. Many people accepted this as natural, a matter of common sense, and even as good. Of course, it’s easier to see these restrictions that way if you can sit wherever you like. Those whose choices are strictly limited are much more likely to understand that there is nothing very natural or good about discrimination.

Seating matters, particularly if where we sit tells everyone our position in society, what others think of us. Any bride can tell you that arranging the seating at a wedding can require the skill of a diplomat to avoid offending anyone. And in settings such as the military or English high society, there’s an established order – a written protocol – to determine who has precedence. Everyone is ranked in order of importance, and that order dictates where people are seated, and who goes first.

In the time of Jesus, seating order mattered, because honor and shame mattered in ways that we can’t imagine today, here in this country. Where a person was seated involved honor, and to lose honor was to lose everything. To be shamed was just about the worst thing that could happen to a person – or a family. People carefully guarded their own honor, and the honor of their family.

So when Jesus sees the esteemed guests at the dinner party jockeying for the best seat they can manage to claim –  and I imagine something like a game of musical chairs – he cuts through the social order game by completely rejecting the whole system of honor and shame, the continual ranking of who is more or less important.

Instead of sitting as close to the host as possible, Jesus suggests instead that guests should always take the least honorable seat – the seat that no-one wants, at the foot of the table. After all, he says, they might be lucky: the host may invite them to move further up the table. But if they start at the foot of the table, at least they won’t face the indignity of being asked to move, if someone of higher social standing arrives.

Take the worst seat? Risk dishonor, even shame? Here Jesus is being radically counter-cultural. In this society, humility is not considered a virtue – not even in theory. If anything, it’s regarded as a character flaw. Jesus is challenging everything the dinner guests value and compete for, how they make sense of the world. He’s turning the social order upside down. He’s inviting them to enter an Alice-in-Wonderland, Through-the-Looking-Glass world, in which everything is the exact opposite of what we expect.

In the Gospel of Luke, we repeatedly hear that in the Kingdom of God, everything we believe about the world will be reversed. The first will be last, the last will be first. God is filling the humble with good things and sending the rich away empty. In a world in which people jockey for status and position, in which everyone wants to be exalted, Jesus tells them to choose humility instead: 

"For all who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted."

And then – while everyone is still reeling at the thought of having to sit shamefully at the foot of the table -- Jesus brings the point home by telling them that when they entertain guests, they shouldn’t invite their relatives and friends, expecting to be invited back, or powerful people, hoping to gain some advantage. Instead, they should invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind.

In the time of Jesus, the dinner guests he suggests – the poor, the lame, the blind, the crippled – would never have been invited to dinner. They wouldn’t even make the B list. Or the C or D lists, either. The lame, the blind, and the crippled are -- by religious law -- considered unclean: they cannot be priests. And the poor are – well, poor. None of these people would be suitable dinner guests. And these people can do nothing in return, which is precisely the point. To paraphrase John Kennedy, it’s not about what others can do for us: it’s about what we can do for others.

Some of you may remember a movie from many years ago: Places in the Heart. The story takes place in a rural Texas, during the Great Depression. At the beginning, a young Black man impulsively kills the sheriff, a man who leaves behind a wife and young children. Some White people respond by savagely lynching the killer. 

This vigilante violence is of no help to the sheriff’s widow, Edna, who is now destitute. She has no money, no job, and no husband. She has children to support and a mortgage she can’t pay. This is before Social Security, and this family’s future is very grim. Many of the respectable people of the town -- the bankers and merchants -- the ones in church every Sunday -- not only don’t help the young widow and her orphaned children, but they even try to take advantage of their helplessness and desperation.

Edna takes in two boarders: A blind man, who pays her for his room and board, and a homeless Black man, who out of desperation is willing to work for only room and board. All three – a widow, a blind man, and a homeless Black man –  are marginalized and disempowered, each for a different reason. But somehow, these three people – the least powerful, who individually are vulnerable -- band together. They miraculously harvest the first cotton crop of the year, winning a cash prize large enough for Edna to avoid financial disaster and keep her family together.

What most people remember about the movie, however, is the ending. Suddenly, we’re in an old-fashioned country church, with the choir singing “Blessed Assurance.” The minister reads the words of Paul: That without love, nothing else matters. It’s one of those churches where communion is served on trays with little glasses, which are passed around as people sit in their pews. One by one, as each person takes a glass, we recognize all the people in the movie: good or bad, dead or alive, respectable or not so respectable, Black or White, they’re all there. The sheriff sits next to the man who killed him. They are at peace, reconciled to God, and to each other.

This is what the Kingdom of God is like.

Jesus reminds us that every individual is precious to God: not only welcome at the table, but equally worthy of a good seat at the table. Our worth – anyone’s worth -- is based on being a beloved child of God, and not on how the world views us, or anything we accomplish, however worthwhile. Our worth is not even based on how we view ourselves. Rather, it is how God views us that matters. We receive our worth from God, as we each bear the image of God, and each person reflects the face of Christ.

The Kingdom of God will grow as each person embraces a topsy-turvy world, where we are most concerned about those who can’t seem to help us, where we treat the powerless with respect, where arrogance and pride are rejected, and where humility exalts those who choose to enter the Kingdom of God.