The Guarded House: Holding The Scaffolding Lightly

The Embodied Posture And The Text

Before I say a single word this morning, I want to invite you into a physical exercise. Wherever you are sitting, bring your hands out in front of you. Now, close them. Squeeze them into a tight, clenched fist. Squeeze until your knuckles turn white. Feel the tension traveling up your wrists, into your forearms, and tightening your shoulders.

Hold it there for a moment.

This is a universal posture of self-preservation. It is what we do when we are anxious. When we are afraid of what we might lose, or when we are uncertain about the future, our basic human instinct is to clutch tightly. We close our hands around our resources, our workflows, and our lives.

Now, take a deep breath, and let it out. Slowly open your fingers. Turn your hands over so your palms are facing up. Let your hands relax into an open palm. Notice how the tension leaves your arms, how your shoulders drop, and even how your breathing shifts.

With your hands open, listen to our reading today from 1st Timothy, chapter 6.

There is, of course, great benefit in religion, but only for those who are content with what they have. 

We brought nothing into the world, nor have we the power to take anything out. If we have food and clothing, we have all that we need. Those who want to be rich are falling into temptation and a trap. They are letting themselves be captured by foolish and harmful desires which draw us down to ruin and destruction. The love of money is the root of all evil. Some people, in their passion for it, have strayed from the faith and have come to grief amid great pain. 

But you are to flee from these things. As one dedicated to God, strive to be a person of integrity and piety, filled with faith and love, patience and gentleness. Run the great race of faith. Take firm hold of the everlasting life to which you were called when, in the presence of many witnesses, you made your good profession of faith. 

Before God, who gives life to all, and before Christ Jesus, who spoke up as a witness for the truth in front of Pontius Pilate, I charge you to keep God’s command without fault or reproach until our Savior Jesus Christ appears. This appearance God will bring to pass at a chosen time. God alone is the Sovereign over all, the blessed and only ruler above all earthly rulers, who alone possesses immortality, and who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no human being has ever seen or can see. To God be the honor and the everlasting kindom! Amen. 

Warn those who are blessed with this world’s goods not to look down on other people. They are not to put their hope in wealth, for it is uncertain. Instead, they are to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with all that we need for our enjoyment. Tell them they are to do good and be wealthy in good works. They are to be generous and willing to share. In this way, they’ll create a treasure for the future, and guarantee the only life that is real. --1 Tim. 6:6-19 (The Inclusive Bible)

The Posture Of Prolonged Transition

As a community, you have been navigating a long transitional chapter. Two and a half years of a pastoral vacancy, and seven years past a church merger. When a transition runs this long, it is entirely natural for a congregation to experience a deep, hidden exhaustion. We get tired of waiting. We get tired of the uncertainty.

And when that exhaustion settles in, we often unconsciously start acting out of fear. We begin to think, "If we just hold on tight enough to what we have left, we will survive."

We start clutching our funds out of fear of an imaginary rainy day. We clutch our workflows—clinging to the way we’ve always done things because controlling the process gives us a temporary illusion of safety. We even clutch our property, viewing our buildings as liabilities to be protected rather than tools to be used for the neighborhood.

Ask yourself honestly: Where have you noticed this tightening in our church lately? Where are we closing our fists?

Theologian Edward Pillar warns that, when a church becomes consumed by anxiety, it can easily start worshiping its own survival. The preservation of assets promises safety, but it actually keeps us spiritually stuck.

A Warning From The Wilderness

This is a very old spiritual trap. Long before Paul wrote to Timothy, Moses warned the Israelites about it as they stood on the edge of the Promised Land. In our reading from Deuteronomy this morning, he warns them against a specific danger: forgetting where their help comes from once they get comfortable. He says, "Take care that you do not forget the Lord your God... when your gold and silver is multiplied."  

When we get anxious about survival, we fall into the trap of thinking that real ministry, spiritual vitality, and the true abundance of this church are entirely paused until a new pastor arrives. We treat the present moment merely as an obstacle to survive.

But as we heard in the reading, Paul offers a radical alternative: true gain is found when godliness is combined with contentment.

Redefining Contentment And Godliness

In the ancient world, contentment meant absolute self-sufficiency—needing no one. Today, institutional contentment means massive financial reserves and perfect control over our programs. But the Christian framework flips this entirely: true contentment is rooted in the sufficiency of Christ. It is the freedom of depending on God rather than our own control.

And what is godliness? It isn't a method of scoring points through perfect religious behavior. Godliness is simply "God-with-ness." It is walking with God in the present moment rather than frantically trying to manage the future. It is learning to live along the journey. As another theologian, Jaclyn Williams notes, along the journey is precisely where we learn, grow, and build true community with fellow travelers.

Are we missing the grace available to us right now because we are so focused on the next chapter?

The Vista Mandate: Deploying Abundance

Vista is an established community with deep roots and real resources. By the standards of this world, we are wealthy. Near the end of today's reading, Paul directly addresses people in our position. He commands those who are rich in this present age not to be haughty, or to set their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but rather on God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment.

The mandate before us today is to move from a mindset of scarcity to the economy of God’s kingdom. True stewardship is not saving assets out of fear; it is deploying our combined abundance to bless our neighborhood right now.

To do this, we are called to be rich in good works, opening up our property and structures for community care rather than internal comfort. We must be generous, releasing hoarded funds to meet immediate, tangible local needs. Finally, we must be ready to share, shifting our attitude from "Come to us" to "How can we serve you?"

Conclusion: The Life That Really Is Life

True wealth is not found in the survival of an institution. It is found in our loving care for one another and our God-given freedom to hold our structures lightly.

When we unclench our fists, we finally become empty enough to receive the baseline, overflowing abundance of God's kingdom. Let us lift our hands, open our palms, and take hold of the life that really is life.

May God grant it. Amen.

Preached July 19, 2026, at Vista Lutheran Church, St. Louis Park, MN.

Seeking: How are we to live?

For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o'clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, 'You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.' So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o'clock, he did the same. And about five o'clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, 'Why are you standing here idle all day?' They said to him, 'Because no one has hired us.' He said to them, 'You also go into the vineyard.' When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, 'Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.' When those hired about five o'clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, 'These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.' But he replied to one of them, 'Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?' So the last will be first, and the first will be last." --Matthew 20:1-16 (NRSV)

On Thursday night, at Third’s council meeting, we dwelled in this story for a while. One of the first questions I asked was how they had heard this parable interpreted. Or what meaning they understood it to have? 

As I began my study of this text, I was once again reminded that this parable has been interpreted a myriad of ways throughout the past 2,000 years. I came across at least 8 different interpretations and several that were spin-offs of these eight.

So, I’m curious. And I’m going to ask the same question I asked the council on Thursday night to you. Here and now. How have you heard this parable interpreted? What do you understand it to mean? 

Yesterday, in our Saturday morning study, we talked about how who interprets Scripture has changed over the centuries. The interpretation of Scripture began as an oral tradition. Within communities. But, during certain times over the past 2,000 years, as people became more illiterate, the job of interpreting scripture was turned over to the “experts.”  Do you consider yourself an “expert?” I wonder, for many of us - myself included for a very long time - how many of us, because we don’t think we are experts, then rarely pick up our Bible to read it, much less understand it. Maybe that’s true for you. Maybe not.

Today, you and I - together - are going to exegete this text. To exegete means to draw out. You are I are going to try to draw out the meaning of this text. For us, for this community. We’re going to let go of any other interpretations we’ve read. We’re going to draw out the meaning of this text for this community. Right now. Together. In this place. 

But, first, to dispel some of your fear, we’re going to have a little fun. I need eight volunteers. 

Who wants to be our first storyteller? This person will start the story by saying one sentence that begins with the words, “Once upon a time…”. They must use the word that they received in their sentence. The next person in line will continue the story by adding one sentence that must contain the world they drew. This will continue until everyone has added to the story. The last person should end with the words, “The end.” Ready?

This story was certainly different from what we could have expected, wouldn’t you agree? There were twists and turns and things maybe felt a little unpredictable. As we study and learn parables, we realize that God’s kingdom often flips things around, catching us off guard. Jesus’ parables were meant to have twists that surprised the listeners, including us. Twists that highlighted the fact that God’s ways are often different from our own. Different from what we might expect. They’re also a little unpredictable. For example, the early workers in today’s story thought they knew what would happen, but they ended up surprised. And a little grumpy.

So, let’s work our way carefully through this text. What are some of the things you notice? Is there anything you wonder about this story? 

As we get near the end of the story, we hear from the workers who were first to arrive. It seems that they felt that the landowner was not being fair. 

• Do you agree? Or disagree? Why or why not?
• Think about a time when something happened that felt fair. How did you feel?
• Now think about a time when someone was surprisingly generous, especially when they didn’t have to be. What did that feel like?
• Do you think we focus more on generosity or fairness in our society?
• What is Jesus trying to teach us about the kingdom of God in this story?

We live in a world that teaches us scarcity. That there is not enough, for us, for everyone. This teaches us a mindset of scarcity that leads us to believe that we have to get what we can for ourselves and for our families. That we never have enough. Or that we cannot produce or do enough. That we are just not enough. It is a vicious cycle that just grinds us into the ground and leads to jealousy, resentment, to coveting that which our neighbor has or is. 

Friends, you and I are enough. You and I have enough. 

Every Sunday we pray to God to “Give us this day our daily bread.” God promises to give us what we need each day. Just as God ensured that each one of these workers had a day’s wage. Not a year’s worth. Or a month’s worth. Or even a week’s worth. But a day’s worth. Because, that is what God promises to provide us. Because God is generous. Because, God promises to care for us. Because God has provided enough for us and for all people. Because God loves us. 

In turn, God invites us to be generous. To let go. To share with others. And to trust that we will have what we need. Always.

May God grant that we learn to trust in God's generosity and, in turn learn to be generous as well. Amen.

Preached Sunday, March 5, 2023, at Grace & Glory Lutheran, Prospect, with Third Lutheran, Louisville.

Lent 2

Readings: Matthew 20:1-16; Psalm 16:5-8

Who We Are: Generosity

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Well, we made it! We have been in 2nd Corinthians for five weeks as of today. Immersed in this letter that is considered one of Paul’s most theologically dense writings. I don’t know about you, but I’m kind of exhausted. Yet, today, we come to the place really where the “rubber meets the road.” For the first seven chapters, Paul has been trying to explain to the church in Corinth the nature of his apostolic ministry - a ministry patterned after the life of Christ. And, in turn, what the nature of their ministry is to be. And my ministry. And your ministry.

So, this morning we see how all that Paul has talked about up to now is manifested in the most practical of ways. We read from 2nd Corinthians, chapter 8.

We want you to know, brothers and sisters, about the grace of God that has been granted to the churches of Macedonia; for during a severe ordeal of affliction, their abundant joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. For, as I can testify, they voluntarily gave according to their means, and even beyond their means, begging us earnestly for the privilege of sharing in this ministry to the saints— and this, not merely as we expected; they gave themselves first to the Lord and, by the will of God, to us, so that we might urge Titus that, as he had already made a beginning, so he should also complete this generous undertaking among you. Now as you excel in everything—in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in utmost eagerness, and in our love for you—so we want you to excel also in this generous undertaking.

I do not say this as a command, but I am testing the genuineness of your love against the earnestness of others. For you know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich. And in this matter I am giving my advice: it is appropriate for you who began last year not only to do something but even to desire to do something— now finish doing it, so that your eagerness may be matched by completing it according to your means. For if the eagerness is there, the gift is acceptable according to what one has—not according to what one does not have. I do not mean that there should be relief for others and pressure on you, but it is a question of a fair balance between your present abundance and their need, so that their abundance may be for your need, in order that there may be a fair balance. As it is written,

“The one who had much did not have too much, 

    and the one who had little did not have too little.” --2 Corinthians 8:1-15 (NRSV)

Throughout all of 2nd Corinthians, Paul uses these themes of giving and receiving. Of reciprocity. If we think back to the first week, when our focus was on the word, consolation, we learned that within the body of Christ our suffering is mutual. When Christ suffers, we suffer. When one of us suffers, we all suffer. We are bound together in suffering and in consoling one another. There is reciprocity - a sense of suffering and consolation, of giving and receiving. An interconnectedness.

Then, in week two, we heard Paul talk about forgiveness and reconciliation. How Paul could have, in his anger and hurt, walked away from the Corinthian congregation. But that he didn’t. And instead, he moved in. Closer to them. Forgiving them. And seeking to be reconciled with them. A true and reciprocal witness of Jesus and of Jesus’ own love and reconciliation for us.

In the third week, we listened as Paul compared us to earthen vessels. Cracked and broken clay jars into which God has poured God’s Spirit. This treasure, this life that God has worked and continues to work in us that points to Christ. A life lived reciprocally, in response to the gift - the gracious gift of God’s mercy and love.  And a life that, as we heard last week, through which we walk by faith, trusting in the steadfast love of God, and shaped by the death and resurrection of Jesus. 

Today is where all of this comes to fruition. Manifested through the reciprocity of love. If we truly believe that God is love and that the nature of this love is manifested in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus - love poured out for us in grace, then our only response can be love. Love that manifests itself in the most practical of ways. In generosity. By caring for one another, for our world, and for all that God has created.

There had been a desire, a plan generated in all earnestness by the churches in Macedonia and Achaia, including the congregation in Corinth. A plan to gather a collection of money for the church in Jerusalem, whose members had been experiencing economic hardship. Titus, Paul’s associate, had agreed to take the lead in organizing this collection from among the churches - gathered, as Paul had suggested, by each member setting aside a certain amount every week. Then gathered by Titus and delivered by Paul to their Jerusalem sisters and brothers in Christ on his next visit there. 

This is the reciprocity of love. As we have received, so we give. But note that this is not a one-way giving. Because one-way giving, one-sided giving, has the very real tendency to create a power imbalance, where those with wealth to distribute hold power and status over those without. Paul, instead, stresses equality and reciprocity. We have all been given gifts in abundance by God - gifts that may be manifested in different ways. Paul is seeking a fair balance, a fair distribution in wealth and of other gifts given to them by God. So that one with much doesn’t have too much. And one with little doesn’t have too little.

What are the implications of this for us? For us as the body of Christ in this time and place? Perhaps it is to be open in our giving. But, not to only be open and generous in our giving, but also to be open and generous in our receiving. Open to receiving the gifts God has given us and to others without resistance. Without fear. Without shame. Without trying to one-up one another’s gifts. Where all is grace. Grace that is modelled after the upside-down kingdom of God, where God’s grace is poured out generously and abundantly for us in love in Jesus. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.

It is through this reciprocity of generosity - a generosity of receiving and giving - that in us and through us, God’s destiny is ultimately fulfilled. Amen.

Preached August 16, 2020, online at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.

12th Sunday after Pentecost.

Readings: 2 Cor. 8:1-15; John 13:31-35

The Ways of the Kingdom: Generosity

“For the kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers for his vineyard. After agreeing with the laborers for the usual daily wage, he sent them into his vineyard. When he went out about nine o’clock, he saw others standing idle in the marketplace; and he said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard, and I will pay you whatever is right.’ So they went. When he went out again about noon and about three o’clock, he did the same. And about five o’clock he went out and found others standing around; and he said to them, ‘Why are you standing here idle all day?’ They said to him, ‘Because no one has hired us.’ He said to them, ‘You also go into the vineyard.’ When evening came, the owner of the vineyard said to his manager, ‘Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last and then going to the first.’ When those hired about five o’clock came, each of them received the usual daily wage. Now when the first came, they thought they would receive more; but each of them also received the usual daily wage. And when they received it, they grumbled against the landowner, saying, ‘These last worked only one hour, and you have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.’ But he replied to one of them, ‘Friend, I am doing you no wrong; did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?’ So the last will be first, and the first will be last.”  Matthew 20:1-16 (NRSV)

Grace and peace to you from the blessed Trinity: Creator, Sustainer, and Comforter. Amen.

Throughout Lent, we’re continuing to think about what God’s reign looks like, using the theme “The Ways of the Kingdom.” As Jesus has done before, in our reading this morning, he uses a parable to help us understand.

We’re going to play a little game this morning to help us better understand the unexpected and unpredictable nature of parables. I need six of you this morning to help me tell a story. In this basket, I have several different words. I’ll start the story with the words “Once upon a time…”. Then, as I point to each of you, you will continue the story by adding one sentence that must contain the word you drew. The last person should end his or her sentence with the words, “The End.” Got it? Let’s begin.

Did this story that we just told end the way you expected it would from the opening sentence? I think it’s fair to say that the story was very different than any of us could have expected. There were twists and turns and things that might have seemed a little unpredictable.

As we learn the parables in this series, we will realize that God’s kingdom often flips things around. Catching us off guard. A few weeks ago, when we were studying the parables of the wheat and the weeds, and the mustard seed, we learned that Jesus’ parables were intended to have little twists in them that surprised the listeners. These twists highlight the fact that God’s ways are often different than ours. And different from what we might expect. God’s ways can also seem a little unpredictable. 

In today’s story, the workers who were hired first thought they knew what was going to happen. But, in the end, they were surprised. And a little grumpy.

So, let’s move to our story. Our story is one of these surprising parables that, once again, tries to help us understand how God’s kingdom operates. To tell the story today, I need a little help. I need five volunteers to be workers. I’ll play the part of the landowner.

The story opens with the landowner needing help in his vineyard. (You all know how much I like vineyards, right? I’ve even been able to help with a grape harvest, so I know how backbreaking this work can be.)

The landowner goes out early around 6 a.m. to the nearest Home Depot, because he (or she) knows that this is a place is where one can find workers. Day laborers. So, that’s what I’m going to do.

After the landowner gets to Home Depot and finds the day laborers, he negotiates with them a daily wage. I have a lot of experience negotiating, so I’m going to do this with these workers. 

We all agreed that $60 was a fair wage for the day. So, then, the landowner hired one of the workers, who he took back to work in the vineyard. About nine o’clock, he went back and hired one more. Then, around noon, he did it again. And, around 3 in the afternoon, he did it a fourth time. Around five he went back out and found others standing around. He asked them, “Why are you standing here idle all day?” They answered him, “Because no one has hired us.”

So, the landowner hired the remaining workers and sent them into the vineyard to work. 

Then, it was evening time. An hour later. Around 6 o’clock. It was the end of the work day. So the owner of the vineyard told his manager to give the workers their pay. The owner said, “Call the laborers and give them their pay, beginning with the last. And then going to the first.” When the workers who were hired at 5 o’clock came, they received the daily wage of $60. When the other workers came - the one hired at 3 in the afternoon, the one at noon, the one at 9 in the morning, and the one at 6 a.m. - when those other workers came for their pay, they expected that they would receive more. Because they had worked longer than the one hired at 5 in the afternoon. But they each received the usual daily wage. Sixty dollars. A fair day's wage. The amount that had been agreed upon at the beginning of the day. 

When these four got their wage, they started to grumble. (Can each of you grumble?) “These last workers only worked for one hour. You have made them equal to us who have borne the burden of the day and the scorching heat.”

The landowner said to them: “Friends, I am doing you no wrong. Did you not agree with me for the usual daily wage? Take what belongs to you and go; I choose to give to this last the same as I give to you. Am I not allowed to do what I choose with what belongs to me? Or are you envious because I am generous?"

The last will be first, and the first will be last.”

Thank you for helping me with the story. Now, let’s talk about it for a few minutes. In our story, the workers who were hired early in the day, felt like the landowner wasn’t being fair to them. Do you agree with this? Or disagree? 

If we look at the story from their perspective, then I would agree that it doesn’t seem fair. If that same landowner did this in our world today, he or she would probably be reported to the Department of Labor. For not being fair. For not paying each of the workers for the hours they had worked. What they deserved. This is how we most likely see this story.

Now, I want you to think of a time when someone was surprisingly generous to you. Think of a time, if you can, when someone completely surprised you with their generosity. When they didn’t have to. How did that feel to you? 

What if we looked at this story from the perspective of the last worker who was hired? He had waited all day long to be hired. Standing there. With nothing to do. Thinking about his family at home. And the money he needed to bring home so they could have food on their table that night. Needing a full day’s wages, yet not getting hired. Until the very end of the day. What if, the entire hour he was working, all he could think about was what he would tell his wife when he came home with less than a full day’s wages? And how, once again, they wouldn’t have enough food on their table to feed their family?

But, then, when it came time to be paid, he received a full day’s wages. He was beyond joy. And fell to his knees with gratitude. That even though he was hired last - after all of the other workers - the landowner, in his generosity, knew that, to feed his family, he needed that full day’s wage.

How might our perspective change if we looked at it from his perspective? Instead of from a perspective that brings envy. Or, as the Greek puts it, with an “evil eye?”

We live in systems that are characterized by status differences and by privilege that result in some people being valued more than others.  This results in a system of “haves” and “have nots.” A system that becomes our way of living. What if this was the way of God's kingdom? What if, in God's kingdom, we got what we deserved? 

But, thanks be to God, this is not the way of God’s kingdom. In God’s reign, we don’t get what we deserve. Instead, we receive what we don’t deserve. We receive God’s grace - an undeserved love that is given to everyone. In equal measure. God’s reign is marked by a surprising equality. The same equality witnessed in today’s parable. Where all receive an equal measure of God’s grace. And where we witness the extreme generosity of God. A generosity fully embodied in Jesus. Dying on the cross. For us. And for all people.

This is the way of God’s kingdom. In the world’s eyes, it is a way that is twisted and unexpected. It may seem unfair to us, who are so influenced by the world’s perspective. Yet, it is the way of God. A way of love. And a way of amazing generosity. For everyone.

May it be our way. May we, who have received everything we need from God and so much more - may we live with gratitude. May we model God’s unquestioning generosity. May we love and serve all people. Generously. Without envy. Amen.

Preached March 17, 2019, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Lent 2.
Readings: Matthew 20:1-16; Psalm 16:5-8.

Treasure Hunting: Our Hearts and Grief

As Jesus continued down the road, a man ran up, knelt before him, and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to obtain eternal life?”

Jesus replied, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except the one God. You know the commandments: Don’t commit murder. Don’t commit adultery. Don’t steal. Don’t give false testimony. Don’t cheat. Honor your father and mother.”

“Teacher,” he responded, “I’ve kept all of these things since I was a boy.”

Jesus looked at him carefully and loved him. He said, “You are lacking one thing. Go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor. Then you will have treasure in heaven. And come, follow me.” But the man was dismayed at this statement and went away saddened, because he had many possessions.

Looking around, Jesus said to his disciples, “It will be very hard for the wealthy to enter God’s kingdom!” His words startled the disciples, so Jesus told them again, “Children, it’s difficult to enter God’s kingdom! It’s easier for a camel to squeeze through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter God’s kingdom.”

They were shocked even more and said to each other, “Then who can be saved?”

Jesus looked at them carefully and said, “It’s impossible with human beings, but not with God. All things are possible for God.”

Peter said to him, “Look, we’ve left everything and followed you.”

Jesus said, “I assure you that anyone who has left house, brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, or farms because of me and because of the good news will receive one hundred times as much now in this life—houses, brothers, sisters, mothers, children, and farms (with harassment)—and in the coming age, eternal life. But many who are first will be last. And many who are last will be first.” Mark 10:17-31 (CEB)

Grace and peace to you from God, our Creator, and our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

I’ve been thinking a lot this past week about the experience we had here last Sunday morning. In case you missed it, would any of you like to share what happened? That’s right. We had a Spanish-speaking family visit us last Sunday—a husband and his wife and their two children, a boy and a little girl. They were a lovely family. As we communicated with them, difficult as that was, we learned that they were traveling from the East Coast to Texas. That they had gone to the East Coast for work, that this hadn’t worked out, and that they were returning to Texas, which is where they had originally travelled from. They were seeking help from us—help to ensure they had money for gas and, perhaps, a place to stop to rest. This was their story.

What if, though...what if the story they told was untrue? What if they were telling us a lie?

I returned late last night from Seattle. I was there for a conference of congregational developers and re-developers. These are pastors who are called to a place to either start new churches or to help lead with the revitalization of existing congregations. While I was there, I heard a lot of stories about some of these existing congregations around the ELCA—congregations stuck in the past or isolated within their church’s walls. Congregations who refused to look outward, to go out into the neighborhood. Unwilling to look for where the Holy Spirit might already be at work in their community. Congregations unwilling to be open-hearted.

As I sat there and listened to these difficult stories, all I could do was to reflect upon our experience here last Sunday. I felt this incredible sense of joy. More like pride, really, at how warmly you, the members of this congregation, welcomed this family. In fact, at times I felt overwhelmed by your response—at how you gave of yourselves and your own wealth so abundantly—with even a couple of you going to get cash to give. Or how you helped them pack up food from our pantry so generously and graciously. But, mostly, how you opened your hearts so openly. Without worry, which was the very thing we talked about last week. 

This was the first thing that remained with me from last week and, to be quite honest with you, this is what matters most--that you responded with such generosity and open-heartedness, trusting that God was calling you at that very moment to a deep place of generosity.

There was a second thing that stuck with me...something that left me wondering a little bit. As we packed them into their van, knowing that they had so little and that it was very likely that everything they owned was in this van, I began to wonder about whether I could survive with so little. Whether I could survive without all of my possessions. Without my stuff.

It’s that question of possessions that is central to our story this morning. Here we have a man—a rich man—who approaches Jesus. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” He asks. What must I do to inherit eternal life?

Do you notice Jesus’ response? He recalls for the man several of the Ten Commandments—commandments that, if you recall from earlier this summer, come from what is often called the “second table” of commandments. The “first table” teaches us how we are to live in relationship to God. The second table—those Jesus reminds him of here—are the ones that teach us how we are to live in relationship with each other. Jesus tells him that he must keep these commandments.

“I’ve kept all of them—every one of them!” The man replies. Now, my initial thought is “What arrogance this man has!” Yet, if we read the text carefully, one notices that it seems that he is completely sincere. The opening verse says he came to Jesus and kneeled down before him. It would appear that he truly wanted to know. Jesus recognizes this sincerity. Our text reads that Jesus looked at him carefully and loved him. Loved him. 

And, then, Jesus told him to sell everything—all that he had. All of his riches, his great wealth. And to give the money to the poor. 

We must be careful here about what this text says to us. It’s easy to jump to the conclusion that being rich is sinful. Or that having wealth will keep us from being in God’s kingdom. After all, doesn’t Jesus go on just a few verses later that it will be easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom? But, that’s not the message of this story. When Jesus asks him to dispose of all of his stuff, then man turns and walks away, grieving. Grieving, our story says, because he had many possessions.

You see, Jesus knew that the big roadblock to his man being in relationship with both God and with his neighbor was his stuff. It was the emotional investment he had in his stuff—an emotional attachment so deep that, to even consider giving it all away, left him grieving. 

We live in a consumeristic culture. A culture that teaches us that there is a value in things, in our possessions. That we should strive for these things. Our status is so often connected to how much stuff we have. And we, very easily, can become emotionally attached to our stuff. If you’ve ever had to take a cell phone or a Game Boy or some other electronic device away from a teenager or a child, and then witnessed the accompanying grief, you know exactly what I’m talking about.  

We, adults, aren’t much better. We all wrestle with this—with the emotional attachment we have to our stuff and the investment we have in wealth and getting more and more of it. At the core of this is grief. Just like the rich man, who grieved over the idea of giving up all his wealth and turning his entire life over to God, we also grieve over the thought that we have to give it all up to be in relationship with God.

I wonder, though, if this is really the message here. Think about it. God doesn’t hate stuff. In fact, matter matters to God. Because God is all about creating stuff. About making new things out of the old. About making more stuff.

I wonder if the invitation for us is to think differently. Instead of feeling guilty and ashamed about our stuff, what if we were to rethink our relationship to it and wonder how, through our connection to things, we might better connect to our neighbors. To wonder how we might pick something up and consider how we might use it for our neighbor. To clean out that closet and give our clothes to a neighbor or to Goodwill for someone else to use—someone who, perhaps, doesn’t have the abundance we do. 

Or, perhaps, it’s an invitation to pick something up and reflect upon what the cost was to get it to our houses. About the wages paid to the person who made it. About the cost to the environment to create it or to dispose of it.  And then to consider an alternative that isn’t as costly to our created world.

Or maybe it’s even a way for us to deepen our relationship with others by sharing the richness of the emotional attachment we might have to something—the expensive grand piano that has been passed down in your family and the memories we have of those who played it. Or the Bible that, in my family, for example, was given to me by my grandmother who painstakingly tracked all of the births, marriages, and deaths in our family over the past several generations.

Perhaps, in his challenge to the rich man, Jesus isn’t trying to guilt or shame him, or us, but to inspire generosity and to give us a sense of freedom. To lift the weight off of us from all our stuff and to help us see that true life doesn’t come from that stuff, but from our relationships. Our relationships with others. And, particularly, our relationship with God.

Because God is the agent of our saving. We aren’t. And our stuff certainly isn’t. God is. Giver of the greatest gift to us—the gift of life in Jesus. Not a life of grief over losing our possessions. But a life of joy in gaining God’s kingdom. And a life that is reoriented away from our possessions to one of free and generous stewardship, serving God. Where our money and wealth are agents of that service.

We give thanks for God’s gifts. May God give us such clean hearts and right spirits in which to use them. Amen. 

Preached August 26, 2018, at Grace & Glory Lutheran Church, Goshen, KY.
Pentecost 14
Readings: Mark 10:17-31 (Psalm 51:10-12)

The Woman with the Long Hair

Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.” (John 12:1-8 NRSV)

I knew that visit was different.

Perhaps, it didn’t seem very different.  Jesus had visited our small village often.  It was convenient for him.  You see, Bethany, was so close to Jerusalem, only a mile and a half away.  And it was so small and secluded, just a few hundred people living across the Mount of Olives, east of Jerusalem.  So peaceful.  Full of palm trees rustling in the breeze coming out of the valley.  Hidden away from the bustling noises of the nearly 50,000 people who lived in Jerusalem.  Bethany was a beautiful place.  And it was only an hour’s walk from Bethany into the city.  So, it was a perfect place for Jesus to come and rest and be refreshed. 

He would stop to visit my sister, Martha, and I.  Or he would stay overnight in our village, sometimes with Lazarus, our brother.  Or with our neighbor and friend, Simon, who Jesus had healed from leprosy.  

But, that visit.  Well, there was something different about that visit.  Something different from all of the rest. 

It had only been a few weeks since Jesus had raised my brother, Lazarus, from the dead.  I think you know the story.  How Lazarus had become sick and we had sent for Jesus, who was across the Jordan, east of Jericho.  The road from Bethany to Jericho was 45 miles--a three day’s walk.

We sent for Jesus when Lazarus became sick, thinking that he would respond immediately.  That he would come to heal our brother, who we knew was one of his closest friends.  Yet, he didn’t come until several days later.  Until after our kind, sweet, quiet brother was already dead and in the tomb for three days.  

I’d anointed his body for the burial.  Our family had accumulated a large amount of anointing oil--over a pound of pure nard.  Or, as you measure it, over 12 ounces. 

Nard was a rare oil.  It was imported from Nepal, northeast of India.  We imported nearly all of our spices from the Far East, but nard--well, nard was something special.  Along with frankincense and myrrh, nard, made from the spikenard plant, was very rare.

Because it was so rare, it was also very expensive.  We had saved up small quantities of it, so that we might use it to anoint the bodies of family and friends for burial.  We were so frugal in our use.  Over time, we had accumulated a pound, which was a large amount--an amount that if sold in the marketplace would bring half of a year’s salary, which in your currency was nearly $30,000.  

We were not wealthy people.  This was the most expensive thing we owned.  It was very precious to us.  I kept it in an alabaster jar, stored away in a small cupboard.  Only Martha and I knew where it was kept.

After Lazarus died, I was nearly inconsolable with grief.  The professional mourners in our village had long since left, yet I continued to grieve.  I was so distraught over his death.  But, even more than that, I grieved that Jesus, in whom I had trusted and believed and who loved Lazarus like a brother, had not come when we called.  And there was no message.  Nothing.  Lazarus had died.  So had my faith in Jesus. 

And, then, he came.  My sister, Martha, greeted him with an accusation, in such a loud voice I could hear it from inside our house.  “Where were you?  If only you had been here, Lazarus would not be dead!” 

I went outside.  I was crying.  When I reached Jesus, I crumpled at his feet, sobbing.  He looked at me.  And, then, he, too, began to cry.  He started to walk to the tomb where Lazarus was buried.  We followed him.  When he arrived, he ordered the stone removed from the entrance.  Then, in a loud voice, he called for Lazarus to come out. And he did.  Alive.

Jesus had raised my brother from the dead.

Things began to change from that point.  The story spread.  Large crowds of people began to follow Jesus and his small group of disciples.  Crowds numbering in the thousands.  It was as though this sign--this raising of my brother from death to life--this was the sign the people needed to truly believe that Jesus was the Messiah to us for thousands of years.  It was him!

The more people saw my brother, the more the story spread.  And the greater the crowds became.  Our religious leaders began to feel threatened.  You see, Jesus had not hesitated to challenge them.  He had not hesitated to stand up to them and to publicly accuse them of corrupting our beliefs.  They hated him.  And, then, when Jesus said he was the Messiah and they saw Lazarus alive, and the crowd of believers growing--well, things began to happen.  Their hate turned into action.  They made a plan, a plan to kill both Jesus and Lazarus.  A plan that even involved Judas, our friend and one of the twelve.

But, at the time Jesus came to our house on that Saturday evening, six days before the Passover, I didn’t understand all of this.  You have a saying--that hindsight is 20/20.  That’s very true.  I understand everything now.  But, then, I didn’t. At least not fully.

Yet, I could feel that this visit was different.  There was something in the air.  Tension, sadness, excitement? All of these wrapped into one? It’s hard to name, but I could feel it.  I could feel it just like I feel the wind blowing.  And, perhaps, it was the wind that blew into me that evening, that breathed in me and caused me to do what I did.  

You see what I did was completely improper.  No woman of good standing would have let down her hair like that.  No woman of good standing would have even considered anointing a man with oil.  Men anointed men.  Kings anointed kings.  Women--well, women only anointed dead men and dead kings. 

Yet, Jesus never seemed to care about these rules and conventions. He never seemed to see me, a woman, in any way that was different from from any man or from anyone else.

So, as Jesus and Lazarus and the others reclined around the table after dinner--a dinner served, of course, by my dear sister, Martha--as they reclined there, I went to that small cupboard and I took out that alabaster jar that contained everything of value to us. 

And I broke it open and poured it onto Jesus’ feet.  Not his head, but onto his feet.  As a slave would have poured oil onto the feet of her master.  And, then, I let down my hair and I used it to wipe Jesus’ feet. 

Perhaps, my gestures were too intimate.  Perhaps, they were too extravagant.  Yet, in that moment, I looked into his eyes and I knew that they were right.  And, in that room filled with the beautiful fragrance from the oil, I knew that I was deeply loved by him. I felt like the bride hearing the bridegroom speak the poetic words to her from Song of Songs: “Your plants are an orchard of pomegranates with pleasant fruits, fragrant henna with spikenard, spikenard and saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with every kind of incense tree, with myrrh and aloes, and all the finest spices.”

The reaction from the others was immediate.  Judas--that betrayer, that non-believer--led it, condemning me for using all of this expensive oil on the Jesus’ feet, instead of selling it to help the poor.  As though I had never helped the poor in our village. 

But you know what that’s like--when you give wholeheartedly to help the poor or the hungry and are immediately criticized by those who talk about helping others, but do nothing about it.  It seems that good and true actions always bring immediate criticism. 

Jesus’ reaction was immediate, too.  He told Judas to leave me alone.  And then he said these words, words that I didn’t understand then, but do now.  “This perfume was to be used in preparation for my burial and this is how she has used it.”  I didn’t know then what I know now--that we would never have had the opportunity to use this oil to prepare Jesus’ body for burial.

Jesus said something else, something that may seem confusing.  “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”  Those of with him, we knew what he meant.  We understand that he was quoting only part of a verse from Deuteronomy, a verse that reads in full, “Poor persons will never disappear from the earth.  That’s why I’m giving you this command: you must open your hand generously to your fellow Israelites, to the needy among you, and to the poor who live with you in your land.” (Deut. 15:11, CEB)   

We understood at least this much then.  But there was so much more to understand.  And that’s why this visit was so different.  Because, from this visit things began to happen that allowed me and the others to understand why Jesus had come to earth.  It began with this visit. 

You see, the very next day, Jesus would ride a donkey into Jerusalem, into the crowd of thousands gathered from the countryside to celebrate the Passover and to celebrate this man about whom they had heard so much.  And then, just as quickly, to turn on him and crucify him. 

In hindsight, I now understand everything.  I understand that Jesus generously and abundantly gave his own life on the cross for me and for you.  Generously and abundantly.  Sparing no expense.  

And I also understand that I should live and serve just as he did--giving generously and abundantly of myself and my gifts to serve others, especially those in need. 

That’s why this visit was so different.  May you go and do the same.