"Do not be afraid; I am the first and the last, and the living one. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever; and I have the keys of Death and of Hades. Now write what you have seen, what is, and what is to take place after this." Rev. 1:17-19.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

In Stewardship, the End Defines the Means


        Reading the newspapers these days, I don’t think that it is hard for any of us—no matter what our political leanings—to find cause to point an angry and accusatory finger like the prophet Amos. The worsening political deadlock, no matter who you chose to blame it on, is frustrating, and the social consequences are frightening. How good it feels to sit in my armchair and to bellow like Amos, “Hear this, you who cheat the poor and trample the needy! God is going to let you have it! Justice will prevail! You are going to be so sorry!” Yes, Amos seems appropriate for our times. But what about today’s Gospel lesson?! It is one of the most difficult parables to understand and to accept in the whole New Testament. I have read commentary after commentary on this passage, and I haven’t seen one scholar or preacher who gives a satisfying take on it. Instead of pronouncing judgment on those who cheat and steal, instead of encouraging us to take the moral high ground like God is supposed to, this parable sounds like God wants us to connive and cheat like the worst politician in order to accomplish our goals. Can this be?

          As we begin to reflect on this story, we need to remember that parables take images that don’t fit together and place them next to each other in ways that are meant to blow our minds. Like poems and like metaphors, parables are made of language that is supposed to enable us to see the world in a new and different way. The trouble is that in our hurry to resolve the discomfort that parables create in us, we often turn them into comfy allegory as we read. “Oh yes,” we say to ourselves as we read this parable, “the steward in this story stands for the church, and the landowner represents God, and the debtors are sinners.” The problem with allegory, however, is that it would have God telling us that we are to be commended for being sly and even for profiting from dishonest wealth! Surely that is not Jesus’ goal. Parables are not straightforward representations. To avoid such misinterpretations—and to let the parables work their magic on us—we have to use our imaginations to enter into the vision that they hold out to us—a vision of the complex kingdom of God.

Since this is my “stewardship sermon” for this season, I was tempted to take advantage of the holes in this parable in order to work my own message into this confusing mess of a Gospel text, making it clearly say, “Give your money and your time to St. Thomas!” But that just didn’t feel right. So today in my sermon, I am going to be as frustrating as Jesus. I’m going to give you neither answers to your questions about stewardship nor Amos-like accusations toward those who are not giving. Instead, I’m going to try to intensify the images in our parable so that they can mess with your minds all by themselves! Close your eyes if you’d like, and turn on your imaginations—just don’t fall asleep on me!

          First, visualize the happy landowner, standing in the middle of fertile vineyards and olive groves. He is wealthy and accomplished. Think of times when you have felt strong, powerful, and sure of what you own, looking with well-earned pride at your new car or your remodeled house or your brilliant performance at work. Now, with an imaginary pen, write in lots of Jesus’ words about wealth all around the image of the rich man’s head and across his productive fields. Write: “The rich will be sent away empty.” “Blessed are the poor.” “Fool, do not store up treasures for yourselves on earth.” “Sell your possessions and give alms.” “Give to everyone who begs from you.” “The Pharisees were lovers of money.” Do you feel the uncomfortable conflict between God and wealth growing in your heart?

          Now, hold up the image of that tricky steward. Everything that he owns really belongs to the master. He is charged with turning a profit with it, but it is not really his, even though he seems to have forgotten this fact. Do you ever forget that everything that you are and everything that you have really belongs first to the God of all creation? Watch the tricky steward take the landowner’s precious wealth and scatter it imprudently around every which way, like seed in the wind. Feel the joyful freedom of the carefree steward. Think of Jesus, casting the Good News of God’s kingdom around, imprudently and with the same abandon. Think of the Prodigal Son, appearing just before this passage in Luke, who scatters his father’s savings among gamblers and prostitutes, as if it were worth nothing. Then feel the righteous indignation of the landowner as he fires his imprudent steward, face red and angry, but remember also the joyful forgiveness of the prodigal’s Father, running out to his son with open arms. As you picture this scene, can you feel your notions of ownership and prudent stewardship being turned upside down? What is the right kind of stewardship?

          Now hold up another picture next to the first two. Imagine the steward hearing that he is going to be held to account for the money that he spent. Uh oh. Think of those politicians in Washington. Watch him planning a wild scheme to cover himself, an ingenious scheme worthy of the likes of Brer Rabbit or Lucille Ball. Watch him skip over to all of the landowner’s debtors and gleefully collect only a portion of what the landowner is owed. Watch his pockets grow large with wads of cash. Feel his great relief that he will have something to show the landowner when he is asked to produce the profits from the land and hear him chuckle about how the landowner’s debtors are now also indebted to him. At the same time, picture the debtors kneeling before the steward. Feel their poverty. Feel the dread in their hearts every year when this steward shows up on their doorsteps looking for what is owed, no matter how bad the weather had been that growing season. Picture their relief that he is giving them a break this year! Across the foreheads of the landowner’s debtors and over the landlord himself and over the steward write the words of the Lord’s Prayer, Presbyterian version: Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors. Feel the joy of unexpected forgiveness. Feel the importance of relationship grow and the importance of wealth diminish.

          Now, listen to my true story, keeping all of the feelings from the parable with you in your hearts:

          Last fall, the room down the hall where we now have our nursery was packed full of toys. Shelves lined every wall, and from floor to ceiling, there were bins full of curriculum modules: every kind of plastic dinosaur for the dinosaur unit; every kind of plastic food for the nutrition unit; bins full of blocks; bins full of art supplies. When one of our teachers wanted to teach about something, she knew to go to that supply room and look at just the right spot on the shelf and pick out just the right toys that she needed to get her lesson across to the children in a fun way. That supply room was our pride and joy—built with care over many years, much better than the supply closets of other preschools. When I was touring the church before being hired three years ago, the Preschool Director, beaming with pride, took me straight to this supply room to show me how impressive it was, and I, a former teacher, was indeed impressed.

          Our Preschool, however, had to close in May. Unsettling change, uncomfortable failure, difficult economic times … they all came in and summarily fired us from our preschool mission. After closing, when vestry members and I went into that supply room, all of those possessions stacked wall to ceiling suddenly lost their glow. “So much stuff!” we moaned. But we were in debt to ourselves from the closing of the school. We needed money. Suddenly, the room looked different. Dollar signs rather than educational value flashed across all of those treasured bins. “How can we sell these to get the most money,” we asked ourselves. We didn’t care if we got the full value; we didn’t care how much they had once meant to us. We just wanted to maximize our profit to get out of the mess that we were in. We had a big sale, and we patted with crafty satisfaction the wads of dollar bills that rolled in. The preschools that bought our supplies for less than their store value were delighted and relieved. “Well done, good and faithful stewards,” you said to us. Of course, not everything sold. The stray remnants of our treasured supply room still sit in cardboard boxes in the hallway and in the empty community building. Things that had once been an integral part of a lesson plan are now useless pieces of plastic that stand in the way of our new plans for our space. “Ugh, throw them out,” we cry. Even treasured possessions are only the means to an end, aren’t they? When the end or goal changes, so does the value of the possessions.

          Stewards of God’s gifts at St. Thomas, is your end, your goal, to build your house upon the power structures of this world, filling your house with bins of rules and right answers, relying upon a judging God to condone your grasp of the status quo and a full bank account to insure your future? Or, precious stewards of God’s gifts at St. Thomas, are you ready to make your home in Jesus’ tent, blown about by the gusty winds of the Spirit, using your wealth and your possessions as means to God’s Kingdom of love and grace? Really, Amos and Jesus are both asking the same question, aren’t they?

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Letting God Love for Us



A short homily for a family eucharist.

(At the beginning of the service, have kids count how many people are at worship today.)

Good morning, church folk! Unlike many of your neighbors, you all are in church today, keeping the Sabbath, listening to scripture, giving your valuable time to St. Thomas, even listening to stewardship testimony! I love church folk![1]
OK kids, I need your help. Did you count? How many good church folk do we have in worship with us today? Looks like a pretty good crowd. [Get number]. Oh, that’s great. Well, I am indeed really glad to see you all, but if you will excuse me, ____ is not here again today, so I’m going to need to check on her/ him. Just sit tight, and I’ll be back in, oh, about 30 minutes. I should get back before Eucharist, though, if I don’t run into too much traffic…. [Start to walk down the aisle].
          [Then Rob interrupts: Oh wait, oh darn, I just dropped the organ key down in the pedals. I’ve got to find it! Just hang on while I look for it. I’m going to run downstairs and get the vacuum and suck it up with the hose. It shouldn’t take too long, and sorry for the noise …. I know-- I’ll have the choir sing the Alleluia Chorus when I find it! That’s it, perfect!]
          Here’s the question, church folk: Would it really be acceptable for me to walk out on ____ of you good church folk to look for an absent member? Or for Rob to run the vacuum and add in the Alleluia chorus in the middle of the service just because he lost and found a key? Of course not! When Jesus asks in today’ Gospel, “which one of you” would leave 99 sheep alone in the wilderness, where they could all wander off to their deaths, to go look for one lost sheep, he expects you to think, “Not me! Who would do something that irresponsible?” When Jesus asks, “which one of you” would throw a party for the neighborhood after finding a lost ten dollar bill, he expects you to answer, “Not me, for goodness' sake! That party would cost more than the 10 dollars that were lost!”
          Jesus is not worrying about how or why we, or the sheep, or the coin, got lost. Getting lost is just part of life. Jesus is interested, instead, in telling us something about God. Jesus aims these parables at good people like you and me; people who follow the rules; people who go to church and tithe and serve and sit on committees and come to parish work days and teach Sunday school and always remember when it is their circle’s turn to bring food for Fellowship; people who listen to the teacher at school and turn in their homework on time; good people who don’t hang out with the wrong crowd; God-fearing people who know the difference between right and wrong.
Jesus is telling us church folk that God is not bound by the measures that rule our lives. We can't leave 99 sheep to look for one, but God can. We can't fully imitate the diligence or the extravagance of the woman with the coins, but God can. God's abundant love is beyond our understanding. God loves us, but God also loves the people who scare us, the people who disgust us, the people who don’t live by our rules. And most of all, God rejoices with all creation when the lost and the found are reunited at the same table.
          Two weeks ago, during an evening meeting, I had money stolen from my purse in my office. “Who would do such a thing?” I fumed. “What kind of terrible person would abuse my trust and dishonor the church in that way?” A few days later, a stranger showed up to our Saturday night Eucharist. She accosted me at the Peace, desperate for money. I told her that I couldn’t help her until after the service. In the middle of the Eucharistic prayer, she slipped out of the room. As I prayed to God for the blessing of the bread and wine, the holiest time of the Eucharist, my Pharisee-mind was running rampant, thinking, “Oh man, I hope that I remembered to lock my office. Did I lock it? What was I doing before the service? That's it--I’m going to be robbed again. Did I lock the church office, too?” Fret, fret … This is my Body… fret, fret… this is my blood, given for you.” When it came time for everyone to join me at the altar, the woman and her little boy had returned. Guilt-ridden for my thoughts, yet absolutely certain that someone like her would not join us, I feebly called out to her, out of duty: “You are welcome to join us at the altar for Communion.” Well, you know what? She came. She joined our circle of church folk, and I fed her the body and blood of Christ.
          I don’t know if this woman was the person who stole my money, but she did come back at night after that Eucharist, desperate for cash, looking very much like the kind of people that Jesus ate with, yet scaring me, making me lock doors and call police and think judging thoughts. Yet here is the amazing thing: In my day to day world, she was still lost, and I was still church folk, and God was still reaching out to us both. But for one moment on that Saturday night, when she and her son stood among us and shared the Body of Christ with us, we all became the Body of Christ, and God rejoiced. The deficits and troubles of our everyday lives didn’t matter anymore, because God was in the midst of throwing a huge party—for us and for her. God was throwing a party because, in that moment, lost and found were One. And this is the Good News: God will not rest until we, the beloved lost and the beloved self-righteous, are in every moment joined together as one, in Christ.


[1] “Church Folk” idea adapted from a sermon given by the Rev. Jeremiah Wright at Bates Memorial Baptist Church, Louisville, KY on September 3, 2013.