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

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)

Claiming LIfe

Then he looked up at his disciples and said:

“Blessed are you who are poor,

for yours is the kingdom of God.

“Blessed are you who are hungry now,

for you will be filled.

“Blessed are you who weep now,

for you will laugh.

“Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man. Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, for surely your reward is great in heaven; for that is what their ancestors did to the prophets.

“But woe to you who are rich,

for you have received your consolation.

“Woe to you who are full now,

for you will be hungry.

“Woe to you who are laughing now,

for you will mourn and weep.

“Woe to you when all speak well of you, 

for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets.

“But I say to you that listen, Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you. If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you. (Luke 6:20-31 NRSV.)

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

This past summer, as I was nearing the end of my internship and the end of my studies at Luther Seminary, I took a break from reading non-fiction. For nearly five years, it has seemed to me that the only books I’ve read have been those related to school, whether they were about theology, faith formation, church administration, missional leadership, or pastoral care--or any other topic a seminary student needs to know about in order to be a pastor. Or at least to be a beginning pastor.

So, I decided to read through the entire Harry Potter series.

Now I’m sure that I’m probably the only person alive in our world today who, by 2016, had not read any of these remarkable books by author J. K. Rowling. Unless, of course, some of you choose to admit that, too. 

So, over about 6 weeks, I delved into the world of wizardry and Harry Potter. 

The books were fascinating and magical. Frightening, at times. Funny, at others. It was completely worth it and, if you haven’t read them, I really encourage you to do so.

Now, I’m not going to preach on Harry Potter today. But, as I read through our lessons today and, particularly, the lesson from Daniel, about his vision of the four beasts, I couldn't help but think of the Dementors, those foul creatures from the Potter series. They are described as infesting the darkest, filthiest places; glorying in decay and despair; draining peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them. Get too near one and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you.

No wonder Daniel’s spirit was troubled within him. And the vision in his head terrified him. 

This seems like a bizarre text for today, doesn’t it?  On this All Saints Day, a day when we remember all those in the faith who have gone before us, who have moved from the Church Militant to the Church Triumphant, those whom we have loved and who have loved us and who, most importantly, have been examples of faith for us, examples of believing in God and trusting in God’s faithfulness. On this All Saints Sunday, this Daniel text just doesn’t seem like a good fit.

Oh, but it is!

In order to understand why it is so appropriate for us today, we have to understand the nature of this text. This portion of Daniel, along with the book of Revelation, is what we call apocalyptic literature. If you’ve ever read any part of Revelation, it can be a terrifying book. I had a parishioner last year who asked me why this book was in the Bible, sharing that it terrified her so much she never read it. 

The function of this type of literature may be unfamiliar to us. It is crisis literature. It is literature written to encourage, to give hope and support in a time of crisis. In Jesus’ day, these passages from Daniel 7 were so widely read at the time, that there grew to be what we might call a Daniel 7 cult. It is from this text that we first hear the term “son of Man.” It is also one of the first anti-empire texts in scripture. 

The beasts in this text represent empires. Empires that, like the Dementors, are sub-human. That drain the life out of our world. They seek to amass great wealth and power and, in the process, destroy our planet, destroy the poor, destroy peace.

It is in response to these destructive, Dementor-like empires that the “son of Man” comes. Here, in Daniel 7 we first hear that term--son of Man. Here in Daniel 7 we also hear the first anti-empire texts in scripture.  Read Daniel 7:13b-14. 

Daniel, troubled and terrified, seeks to understand his vision. In the interpretation, beginning with v. 17, notice that singular son of Man becomes plural. Look at verse 18. No longer does it read the “holy one of the Most High,” but the “holy ones of the Most High.” The saints of the Most High.

One individual sent by God stands up to the powers of empire. In Christ, God breaks into these destructive empires to establish God’s kingdom--a kingdom of justice and peace, a kingdom of love and forgiveness, a kingdom of hope and healing, a kingdom in the fullness of God in Christ.

The inbreaking begins with Christ’s coming. It continues through the work of the holy ones of the Most High--the saints we honor and remember here today. Some of them we read about in Scripture. Some became known across the world. But most, like the saints we remember today, were those who were not famous, not known. But they carried on the work of God’s kingdom. They shared their faith and gave us a glimpse of God’s kingdom so that we, too, might be called the saints of God, members of the body of Christ, the holy ones of the Most High.

We, saints, are citizens of a different kingdom than that of the empires of the world. It is this kingdom that Jesus describes today in our Gospel text. 

It is a kingdom where true power is not shown in dominance, but in service to others. It is a kingdom that calculates worth based on a different standard. Where those with wealth stop working for the systems--the empires--that exploit the poor, instead of continuing to build more wealth. Where those with power, turn away from amassing more of that power to stand in solidarity with the poor and powerless and to seek to change the systems that continue to oppress them.  Where God continues to lift up people who, under the world’s standards, have no business being lifted up. In this kingdom, God continues to lift them up--the poor, the hungry, the grief-stricken--and says to them, “These are the ones who are blessed. These are my people.” 

It’s been a difficult election year in our nation, hasn’t it? It seems as though we have experienced--endured might be a better word--endured one of the ugliest elections in years. One of the most painful parts for me especially has been the insults and recriminations that have flown back and forth between political candidates and their followers, the daily barrage of hostility, cruelty, dismissiveness of “others”, whether women, Catholics, Mexicans, Asians, losers, Republicans, Democrats, Independents, Russians, or Syrians. I have to admit that I, too, have gotten caught up in the back and forth, in the ugliness of this election.

All of this--the insults, the recriminations, the name-calling, the hatred--all of it comes out of fear. It is the same fear that drives us to build walls to keep immigrants out. The same fear that drives us to create economic structures to wall in our profits and project our jobs. The same fear that causes us to protect ourselves and to keep what is ours. It is a fear that divides us and keeps us from experiencing the fullness of life in God’s kingdom and with each other. It is this division that Jesus warns us against in our text today. A division that, like the Dementors, destroys life and sucks away every happy memory, every shred of hope.

In a recent essay, Willie James Jennings, a theologian who graduated from my alma mater, Fuller Seminary, calls on all Americans and, particularly, Christians to “claim the power of life together precisely at the site of threat and fear. Our faith places us inside the actions of a God who faces our dangers and yet refuses to yield to fear. God offers life and invites us to gather courage there, making it a place where God creates community.”

Yielding to fear destroys community. Our Christian faith claims the power of life together precisely at the site of threat and fear.

This is exactly what Jesus’ disciples did in the first century. In the midst of a Roman empire that sought to destroy them, they claimed life right at the point of threat and fear, spreading the Good News throughout the Roman empire and beyond. 

In the same way, Luther claimed life at the point of threat and fear as he stood up to challenge the authority of an empirical church that had lost its way, spreading the Good News throughout the Western world.  

Over and over and over again, we have story after story of saints, known and unknown, who, in the midst of threat and fear, stood up and claimed life--showing the world and us how to imagine better, how to hope once again, and how to acknowledge that our lives and our needs, our safety and shalom are all in God’s hands.

So stand with this whole communion of saints today and claim life. Claim the gift of life that is yours through the death of our Savior Jesus Christ. And then dare to imagine and to engage the world in God’s name. Amen.


Preached on All Saints Sunday, November 6, 2016, at Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Bastrop, TX.
Texts: Daniel 7:1-3, 15-18; Psalm 149; Ephesians 1:11-23; Luke 6:20-31.
Credit for ideas to WorkingPreacher.org.