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 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.