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 Loving God Back |
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15 October 2006 Isn’t the news this week of the Nobel Peace Prize going to Muhammad Yunus something to warm your heart? Thirty years ago, this Vanderbilt-trained champion of the most impoverished of the poor reached into his pocket and give his first loan of $27 to 42 villagers living near the university where he taught economics. The year was 1976, when Bangladesh was struck by famine, and Yunus decided he must do something. Even in 1976, $27 was not a major contribution for professional, educated people–even in the economy of Bangladesh. But that’s the amount the Bengali professor loaned from the cash in his pocket. It amounted to a 64-cent loan to each villager requesting it. A loan, not a gift. No paperwork. No collateral. Yet when these same villagers invested the money and repaid him in full, that micro-loan opened doors for those no bank would touch.[1] In a world light years away from the poor of Bangladesh is the world of the quiz show, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? You know the format–one question–four possible answers. You pick the correct one. Ready? What subject does Jesus address more than any other in his teachings? Raise your hand if you think it’s (a) sex; (b) sin; (c) hell; (d) money. Of course, (d) money is correct.[2] Jesus talked about money – its use and abuse – more than any other subject.[3] It’s a huge issue for us. Think how much of our energy is tied up in it personally. Earning money. Saving it. Spending it. Giving it away. Juggling personal and household expenses. And communally. Regardless of which side of the “Read my lips, no new taxes” debate we’re on, how we determine our public obligations, and then how we finance them are issues Miss Manners counsels us to avoid at any social engagement. But the dimension money has for us personally and corporately is also a fair indicator of its spiritual weight. Consider: the Bible has roughly 500 verses about prayer. It has about another 500 verses about faith. How many verses does it have about money or possessions? (a) 500; (b) 1,000; (c) 2,000; (d) 5,000. The answer is 5,000. If we preachers addressed money and stewardship as often as Jesus told parables about money and possessions, nearly half of our sermons would take that focus–22 sermons a year.[3] It goes without saying that there are pretty good odds our lectionary readings are going to hit on these topics regularly too. Our gospel story begins with someone of means asking how to inherit the life of the messianic age. How does someone of means enter the ‘kingdom’ of God? It doesn’t matter how many times we hear the words of John the baptizer and the words of Jesus proclaiming that the realm of God is present among us, that the realm of God is here and now; we think of God’s realm as belonging to another time, (like after we die), and another dimension, (like ‘heaven.’) Right off the bat, Jesus reminds the questioner of many of the commandments–and creatively adds one not listed in the Ten–you shall not defraud. When the man assures Jesus he has kept these commandments from youth, we are told Jesus loves him. Here is someone who lives within the framework of his bar mitzvah. The man isn’t claiming to be perfect; he’s simply stating he has fulfilled his responsibilities as Jewish adult. He is a faithful son of the covenant, a covenant which has shaped his life since he was a child. And Jesus is pleased with him. This implies, of course, that how we live has some relationship to entering the realm of God. But it also suggests that for this faithful son of the covenant, there is still a void. Then comes the curve. Just when we think we’ve got Jesus nicely domesticated, quoting familiar scripture, welcoming young children like a favorite uncle, or breaking bread with the same people we so carefully step around with mumbled wishes for a better future and a few coins from our pocket, Jesus pushes us to reconsider. Again. After all, even with credit card debt not fully paid off, even with mortgages outstanding, even with depreciating value on virtually every piece of rolling stock we have, we still are people of means seeking Jesus. Of course, it never seems that way. Like Job, like the rich person in today’s gospel, we know ourselves to be basically good people; like the man in our story, we live out of that goodness and make a conscientious effort to live up to the vows of our baptism. So is Jesus’ command to give everything away serious? It was for St. Francis of Assisi. He became one of a handful of Christian heroes who surrender all for sake of the gospel. The Twentieth century saw that same radical response on three different continents: Dietrich Bonhoeffer in Germany; Mother Teresa in Calcutta; Oscar Romero in El Salvador. It is a serious command, a huge command, for a huge question. Jesus doesn’t demean the man by giving him a trivial answer. But...we don’t believe it. We don’t believe the man should give everything away. And how do we know we don’t believe it? What do we wish for our sons? For our daughters? Do we dream of a Mother Teresa? Of a daughter picking dying people up off the street for no pay? For the next Francis to renounce his inheritance and dump all of his worldly goods at his father’s feet, living the rest of his life on charity? Not really. Not most of us. Truth be told, we are more comfortable, even more willing, to consider self-denial in church. But when we go home, we plan for retirement, or for our child’s career, or our grandchild’s education. And there’s the rub. Jesus’ response throws us way, way off balance, because he puts the man’s possessions on par with God. Elsewhere Jesus proclaims that we cannot worship both God and mammon, God and money. In his last book, Credo, William Sloan Coffin comments, “that only money is put on par with God, not knowledge, not family nobility, not reputation, not talent: only money is elevated to divine status.”[3] Jesus’ response strikes at the heart of our materialistic, consumer-driven society. We know that things, no matter how beautiful, how useful, how novel, how anything, cannot give meaning to our lives. Just as the Amish community’s choice to forgive in the face of great trauma and intense personal suffering has been a witness to this entire nation, so too is their steadfast adherence to simple living in an increasingly complex world. That adherence, shared with the Mennonite and Brethren communities, also gives us a handle with which to approach this story. In his book, Desert Wisdom, Henri Nouwen relates the tale of two monks. One monk ask his Abba how to live his life. He is told: “Rejoice always, pray constantly, and in all circumstances give thanks.” Another monk, raises the same question, and hears: “Do not be confident in your own righteousness, do not worry about a thing once it’s done, and control your tongue and your stomach.” Clearly, these two monks are quite different.[5] The same exact question draws distinctly separate responses. Jesus’ response to the rich man strikes to the heart of the issue for that man, whose only distinction in the story is that he is rich. Jesus gives a spiritual answer to the spiritual question the man asks at the very beginning of the story: what must I do to inherit the life of the messianic age? If most of us are not candidates for sainthood, we are candidates for discipleship. Jesus’ challenge to the rich man, to each of us, is move beyond the critical first steps of our social covenant. We honor our parents. We don’t murder, steal, defraud or bear false witness. Those are foundational first steps. But the bigger issue is not whether we are rich or poor. The bigger issue is whether God is at the center of our living. Because when God is at the center of our living, every thing that we do will be loving God back. *** [1] Celia W. Dugger, “Peace Prize to Pioneer of Loans To Poor No Bank Would Touch,” The New York Times, Vol CLVI, No. 53,732, Saturday, October 14, 2006, Page 1. |