Readings: Hosea 11:1-11; Psalm 107:1-9, 43; Colossians 3:1-11; Luke 12:13-21
“This
is what happens to people who store up everything for themselves, but are poor
in the sight of God.”
Oh. Ouch. At
first blush, that one kind of stings, don’t you think? I mean, most of have been taught to save: for a special purchase, to make it from pay-check
to paycheck, for retirement—so that we can be self-sufficient and not depend on
others to “take care” of us.
Hearing
of a person storing up, saving, if you will, for the uncertain future, seems,
well, prudent.
And
yet, there are a couple of things about this text that just might set some of
our discomfort aside, at least for a time.
You
see, the man in the story is rich. Even
though we don’t learn much about him, it appears he does not want for anything.
Jesus says he was rich and then quotes the
man using lots of “I” statements. Those
two bits of the story seem to solidify the notion that he is either selfish or
unaware of the need around him.
Sure,
the man is rich. We know this because his
farm just brought in an abundant crop, so abundant that he doesn’t have enough
room to store it. He is perplexed in his
effort to consider what to do with the excess.
He
doesn’t think about sharing the excess.
He thinks about ways to hoard it for himself. He decides to not just build bigger barns so
that he can put all that he has inside.
He is willing to tear down the barns he already has, to build bigger,
better barns.
If he
lived on the east side of Indy, he could store his stuff at a place along
Pendleton Pike cleverly called “Never Enough Storage.”
We do
that sometimes. We hang onto things that
provide us security. And I don’t just
mean financially. We hold onto things
that bring us back in time, things that invoke memories. Some of us, me included, were raised to
always keep about three-months’ worth of food stored up, just in case something
drastic happened to the family, the economy, the country. Being raised by children born during the
Great Depression has a lot to do with that way of thinking.
This
story, however, leads us to wonder why we do that. Why do we cling to “stuff” and save up, “just
in case,” and try to make sure our futures feel safe and secure? When is enough, enough?
Being
fiscally prudent is one thing. I’m not suggesting we should not make plans to
ensure we are taken care of, if we can.
The
thing is, that’s not what this story is about.
This rich man had plenty to begin with. His barns were already full of grain and other
goods. But grain has an expiration date
due to moisture, mold, rodents, and the like. That didn’t matter to him. He needed to keep all that was his, simply
because it was his.
He
didn’t know what to do with the excess. It
didn’t even occur to him that he could sell it or share it with others. Instead, he wanted to keep it for himself.
We
know that this is the case because Jesus says that God asks the man “who will
get what you have stored up once you are dead?”
And in his case, death was imminent.
It
doesn’t seem that this rich man had beneficiaries on his accounts. He became a great example of someone who
stores up everything for themselves. He,
according to Jesus, was “poor in the sight of God.”
Compare
and contrast this story with the one I heard on Friday.
Georgia
told me about a time when she would go to a farm where migrant workers from
Mexico were picking the crops.
The
families lived in one-room cinder-block buildings with a stove and multiple bunk
beds for the many people living in each.
Through her description, I envisioned an overcrowded 12 x 12 shelter
that could somehow become a home for all of them. And a communal bathhouse. A temporary home for migrant families that
mimicked, in my mind, a modern version of the slave quarters of years gone by.
At
that time, families would come together to work in the farm fields. Now whether the farmers were wealthy or not,
we can only surmise. And these people,
while not slaves, were not, likely, living in comfort.
But
they lived in community. At least that’s
the way I pictured it, as Georgia described it.
If I
am correct, Georgia would not go to this migrant camp, the migrant community,
alone. Over the course of the season,
Georgia came to know some of the people living there.
One
day, Georgia saw a group of about 12 children playing, when someone gave one of
the little girls, she was maybe 5 years old, a candy bar.
Georgia
watched as the little girl opened the candy bar and the children gathered
around. Instead of gobbling that candy
up, the girl took it and broke it into pieces, giving each child a share of her
gift.
This
little girl gave from her abundance. Not
because it was required of her, but because she lived in community and what one
had, they shared.
She
was rich in the sight of God.
They
call it Ubuntu in Africa. "I am because we are."
Bishop
Desmond Tutu says Ubuntu can be tied to Christian principles of goodness. He says people who are true to Ubuntu are “generous,
hospitable, friendly, caring and compassionate." And that it is where
one's "humanity is caught up and inextricably bound up" in others.
Tutu says of Ubuntu "I am human because I belong, I participate, I
share." In other words, Tutu's use of Ubuntu is an "I am because
we are" idea that encourages the individual to participate in the
responsibilities of the communal good and makes them find their good only in
the communal good.[1]
When
we share what we have, and who we are, whether that is our gift of talent, our
gift of time, or our financial gifts, whether we feel we live in abundance or
not, we create an atmosphere of a beloved community. We offer what God has given to each of us and
we give it back … we share it.
I
recognize that abundance is relative. What
I might consider “enough” might not be what you consider “enough.” For example, the Peace Garden is doing
abundantly well, providing pounds and pounds of produce to the food pantries. While we are thankful and some might think it
is “enough,” others might wonder if what we are doing is it truly “enough” to
make a real difference in the lives of those who are hungry. Because there are so many who are hungry.
Talents
are unique. One might be more of a “words”
person, another is more of a “numbers” person, while another might be a
“garden” person. We each bring the best
of ourselves to the community for the same goal. We need all of us to accomplish what we have
set out to do. Sometimes we might not recognize our gifts or know how to share
them, and we might need others to help us affirm and use them to fill needs.
Time
is precious. Like the man in the Gospel,
we don’t know how many heartbeats any of us have, how many minutes we get on
this earth. The ways we choose to spend
our time and who we spend it with, can reflect our commitment or devotion.
Our
financial gifts are necessary for the operations of the church. But it’s much more than that. Many give back to the church from what God
has given, reflecting thanksgiving to God.
Some give money to the church because the church defines community. Not just as a place of worship, but as a
place that invites people to be authentic and to find and know that love from
others. And to offer love in return.
All of
these things, particularly in a faith-based community context, are ways we give
back to God to create and maintain our beloved community.
It’s
like sharing a candy bar.
Let us
pray.
Heavenly
God, you have created each of us with special qualities that are meant to be
shared. You desire that we live in community
to bring out the best in one another. Teach
us to live less like the man who needed more room to hold his grain and goods,
and to live more like the little girl, willing to share her candy bar. To create the beloved community you so desire
for us, teach us to live Ubuntu: "I am human because I belong, I participate,
I share. I am because we are." Amen.
Note: This
sermon was preached less than 24 hours after 2 mass killings occurred in the
U.S. In El Paso, TX and Dayton, OH. Last Saturday, another mass murder
occurred at the Gilroy Garlic Festival in CA.
Bishop
Jennifer Baskerville-Burrows wrote these words before the shooting in Dayton
occurred. I shared them in our portion
of the worship service we call “Joys and Concerns.”
"I long for the day when these words are irrelevant—we don’t have to live and die this way:
Let us confess that we allow our fear of being uncomfortable to be more
important than the systemic racism, poverty and violence that is killing… all
of us. Let us confess that talking about giving up privilege and giving away
power is much harder than we thought it would be.
How about right
here, right now...we vow to not grow weary in listening, not grow weary in
learning from those who would otherwise be
invisible to us. How about right here, right now, we commit to deciding that
the real work of the church, the gospel work of the church is to spend itself
for the life of the world—that others may live without fear of hunger, without
fear of violence, without fear of deportation, without fear of exile from
education, without fear of not having a childhood."