Sermons from Park Hill Congregational UCC Denver, Colorado Rev. Dr. David Bahr [email protected] August 11, 2019 “All the Stuff We Really Need” Luke 12: 32-34, 48b – New Revised Standard Version “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.” This is a story by Byrd Baylor: If you could see us sitting here at our old, scratched-up, homemade kitchen table, you’d know that we aren’t rich. My father tries to tell us we that are, but can’t he see my worn-out shoes? Or that my little brother has patches on the pants he wears to first grade? “You can’t fool me,” I say to him. “We’re poor. Would rich people sit at a table like this?” My parents made this table out of the lumber someone else threw away. They even had a celebration when they finished it. My mother pats the table and agrees with my father. “We’re rich because we sit here every day.” Sometimes I think I’m the only sensible one in my whole family. Now understand, I like this table just fine. All I’m saying is, you can tell that we didn’t pay anything for it. That it didn’t come from a furniture store. It’s not a table where rich people would sit. I called a family meeting and the subject is money and I tell my parents we don’t have enough of it. I tell my parents they should both get better jobs so we could buy some nicer things. And add, “I hate to bring this up, but it would really help if both of you had a little more ambition.” My parents have some strange ideas about working. They think the only jobs worth having are outdoors. They want cliffs or canyons or desert or mountains around them wherever they work. They want a good view of the sky. They want to always work together, and their favorite thing to do is to pan for gold – piling us into a beat-up old truck and heading for the rocky desert hills or back in some narrow mountain gully where all the roads are just coyote trails. They love to walk the wide arroyos, the dry streambeds, where little flecks of gold are found. After a month or two out there, they always find a little bit of gold to sell, but it’s never made us rich. And as far as I can see, it’s just an excuse to camp in some beautiful wild place again. They also like to pick chilies and squash and tomatoes. They don’t mind planting fields of sweet corn or alfalfa. They’ll put up strong fences or train wild young horses. My father asks, “How many people are as lucky as we are?” But I’ve called this family meeting to say, “You could make more money working in a building somewhere in town.” “But,” he says, “our number one rule is that we have to see the sky.” “You could look through a window.” But they won’t even think about it. Do you see what I mean about being the only sensible one in this family? My mother hands my brother and I a pencil and some yellow paper. “OK, let’s add up our assets. You be the bookkeeper.” We start with $20,000. That’s how much my father says it’s worth to him to work outdoors, where he can see sky all day and feel the wind and smell rain an hour before it’s really raining. He says it’s worth that much because, if he feels like singing, he can sing out loud and no one will mind. I have just written $20,000 when my mother adds, “You better make that $30,000 because it’s worth at least another 10,000 to hear coyotes howling back in the hills.” So, I write down $30,000. Then she remembers that they like to see long distances and faraway mountains that change color about 10 times a day. “That’s worth around $5,000 to me,” she says. I scratch out what I had written and put down $35,000. My father thinks of something else. “When a cactus blooms, you should be there to watch it because it might be a color you never see again.” He asks my brother, “How much would you say that color is worth?” “50 cents?” But they decide it’s worth another $5,000. So now I write $40,000 on the yellow pad. My father loves to make bird sounds. He can copy any bird, but he’s best at white-winged doves and ravens and red-tailed hawks and quail. He’s good at eagles too, and great horned owls. So, of course, he tells me to write down another $10,000 for having both day and night birds around us. I cross out what I had. The total is now $50,000. My mother asks me how much I’m worth to them. I suggest they could add another $10,000 to the list of assets. But my father said, “Don’t underestimate yourself. Remember how good you are at making lists for us.” He’s right. I am very good at making lists. Someone in this family has to. They end up deciding I’m worth about a million dollars. I tell them that’s a little high, but I smile and write it down anyway. Naturally I have to add another million for my brother, though at 7 years old, he doesn’t do much yet to add to our bottom line. And then add one million each for my parents. So, I scratch out all the previous numbers and write 4 million, $50,000. My brother says we should add $7 for all the nights we get to sleep outside under the stars. We all agree that’s really worth more like $5,000. Then I decide I want to add $5,000 for the pleasure of wandering around in open country alone, free as a lizard, not following trails, not having a plan, just turning whatever way the wind blows me. Now my yellow pad says we have 4 million, $60,000. And we haven’t even started counting actual cash. But by then I realize the cash part doesn’t really matter. And suggest it shouldn’t be included on our list of riches. So, I declare the meeting is over. The rest of them go outside to see the sliver of a new moon while I sit at our beautiful, hand-carved, homemade kitchen table. I think, no one is rich enough to ever afford something as nice as this. This beautiful story is entitled The Table Where Rich People Sit. It might be an interesting exercise for your family to sit down with a pencil and a pad of yellow paper to make your own list of assets. Last week in our text from the Gospel of Luke, Jesus told the crowd, “Guard yourself against all kinds of greed. After all, one’s life isn’t determined by one’s possessions.” He asks them to consider the ravens. “You are worth so much more than birds.” Jesus said, notice how the lilies grow. Solomon in all his splendor wasn’t dressed as beautifully as those. He points to the grass in the field and exhorts his followers not to chase after what we will eat or what we will we drink, but instead, desire the kingdom of God and all these things shall be added unto you. I can only imagine the girl in the story I told, at least at the beginning, rolling her eyes. “Let’s be sensible about this, Jesus.” In today’s reading, he goes even further. Yes, considering the ravens and noticing the lilies and admiring the grass is a lovely idea. But then he said very directly, “sell your possessions and give to those in need.” And adds the familiar phrase, “For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” which is the lesson of the family. But it’s the last line of today’s scripture that speaks most directly to me. It’s the disconnect I feel in our country. It’s the disconnect and it’s the solution. “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.” Sit with that for a few seconds. “From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded.” The disconnect and the solution. For our country. And maybe for you too. Jesus isn’t speaking spiritual-eze. This isn’t about heaven. And not just about ravens and lilies and grass but specifically about possessions. Our stuff. Jesus is talking about our stuff. Because your stuff reveals your heart. What if we think about all our stuff, stuff that’s stuffed into corners and stuffed down in basements and up in attics and in all those storage locker facilities that keep going up everywhere… What if we think about all our stuff and realize our stuff has nothing to do with our heart? What if our stuff is just about having stuff? And more stuff to go with it. And if so, wouldn’t we be better off selling it and giving away the proceeds? To help people who need stuff? Wouldn’t that liberate us? And in the process, help liberate others? Art and I did the Marie Kondo thing – The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up – asking of every possession, does this bring me joy? He was much better at it than I. I drew the line at a few things, like when he wanted to part with our first season DVD set of the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I hid it in a drawer. But after all, how much stuff do we really need? In essence, Jesus said, desire the kingdom of God – a world that is open, inclusive, just, and compassionate – and we’ll find ourselves with all the stuff we really need. Aladdin Paperbacks, Simon and Schuster, 1998
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