Joel D. Kline
August 1, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Ninth Sunday after Pentecost
If we were to choose one word to define the emotional climate of our day, might we agree upon the word anxiety? Many would argue that anxiety stands at the very foundation of life in the modern Western world—anxiety about getting ahead in life, anxiety about making end’s meet, anxiety about status and income and possessions. We fret about tasks we need to accomplish, and about those tasks that, in our busyness, we have not been able to get to. We worry that someone else may get a portion of what we think we deserve, so that along the way, we become suspicious of one another’s motives.
Such suspicions are heightened in a post-9/11 world in which the threat of terrorism runs rampant. How quickly we become wary of those we do not know, particularly those whose differences from us are readily apparent. Racial differences, political differences, religious differences, differences in life experience—all these we tend to view with increasing suspicion in these days of uncertainty.
At one level, we know better, don’t we? We are like the apostle Paul who confesses, in his letter to the Roman church, “I do not [always] understand my actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (Romans 7:15). Anxiety can be crippling, and yet, even though we understand that to be true, we nevertheless find ourselves frequently caught in anxiety’s web.
Perhaps this helps to explain the rather harsh way in which Jesus responds to the listener from the crowd who seeks Jesus’ intervention in a family dispute. Long before the modern era with its fears of terrorism and its layers of suspicion, this unnamed man in Jesus’ day is caught in his own web of anxiety. It is an anxiety centered upon the way in which the family estate will be divided. The fellow finds himself in apparent conflict with his brother, and he is hoping that Jesus, the wise teacher, will arbitrate the dispute. But Jesus only turns things back upon the anxious brother, questioning, “Friend, who set me to be a judge or arbitrator over you?” And then Jesus warns the questioner, “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions” (Luke 12:14-15). To underscore his intent, Jesus tells the story of a rich farmer, a story that calls into question much that the troubled brother—and you and I as well—hold as most dear in life.
Consider the story Jesus tells. The land of a rich man has produced abundantly, and the farmer decides to pull down his barns and build larger ones. Sounds like a perfectly logical conclusion, does it not? Indeed, the farmer meets all of our customary standards of success, epitomizing hard work and wise planning, while Jesus labels him a fool! If we had not known that this was a story of Jesus, I suspect we wouldn’t give it another hearing. We might even dismiss it as the ravings of a fanatic who simply does not understand the complexities of living in our modern world.
For we live in a culture far more likely to reward greed than to chastise greed. Richard Foster asserts in his book Celebration of Discipline that in our society “covetousness we call ambition. Hoarding we call prudence. Greed we call industry.” Given that context, it is any wonder that we find this story of Jesus troubling and shocking, even subversive. What is Jesus getting at when criticizing what appears perfectly sensible to us?
Ever stop to consider how frequently Jesus answers a question with a follow-up question? Is it not his way of prodding us to consider which questions are worth asking? And the question behind the question has to do with what drives us, what motivates us, what we hold as most important in life. Jesus’ words are a call to self-examination. It is not enough for us to come before Jesus requesting, “Lord, change my brother [or my sister, my spouse, my coworker, my employer, my neighbor, my daughter or son, my pastor, my friend].” No, Jesus prods us instead to question what our own growing points are—where we ourselves need to grow and to change, to struggle and to become the persons God intends us to be.
In the parable of the rich fool, the farmer’s problem appears to be that he is unable to think any further than himself. Every thought is in the first person singular: What shall I do? I have no place to store my crops. I will do this: I will build bigger barns. Even when choosing to stand back and celebrate his good fortune, the rich farmer cannot think beyond himself, saying, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.” New Testament scholar William Barclay tells of a self-centered young woman about whom it was said, “Edith lived in a little world, bounded on the north, south, east and west by Edith.”
What about us? Blessed with abundance, dare we think about anyone beyond ourselves? Or does what we own begin to master us? In his book Here and Now: Living in the Spirit Henri Nouwen reminds us that “Jesus came to announce to us that an identity based on success, popularity, and power is a false identity—an illusion! Loudly and clearly Jesus says: You are not what the world makes you; but you are children of God.” “Money and success,” continues Nouwen,
do not make us joyful. In fact many wealthy and successful people are also anxious, fearful, and often quite somber … There is no reason to romanticize poverty, but when I see the fears and anxieties of many who have all the goods the world has to offer, I can understand Jesus’ words: “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God.” Money and success are not the problem; the problem is the absence of free, open time when God can be encountered in the present and life can be lifted up in its simple beauty and goodness.
Nouwen’s words remind us that we generally assume increasing material wealth will bring with it new possibilities for our lives. But when that pursuit of wealth becomes our god, the very opposite is true. Instead of expanding our world, it restricts our world. The passion for more and more consumes us, so much so that we see little else. Our hearts and minds and imaginations are closed to fresh insights and possibilities for our lives. So preoccupied are we with the pursuit of more and more that we become blinded to the simple beauties of life.
In his commentary on this passage from Luke Tom Wright suggests that the implications of this story go well beyond one individual’s pursuit of material abundance. Much more, Jesus targets his message at Israel as a whole, Israel as a community that understands itself to be the people of God. Problem is, Israel has become self-absorbed, no longer embracing its calling to be the light of the world. Instead of seeing itself as a servant people, Israel has chosen to view its calling as God’s chosen people as a matter of privilege—as somehow placing them above all other peoples. Like the rich fool who thought of nothing beyond his own pleasure and of no one beyond himself, so Israel had turned in upon itself.
But the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ is that it calls us to an alternative way of thinking and acting in the world around us. And not only does the gospel call us, but even more, it empowers us to move beyond self-preoccupation, to question how it is that we might deepen the quality of life for our neighbor. Still, putting on this new way of living is seldom easy; we need the support and encouragement of one another as we seek to faithfully pursue God’s vision. Retreat leader Jeanie Miley in her book Creative Silence asserts that
To live counter to the culture; to give when the world says hoard; to love and trust when the world says fear, hate, and be suspicious; to forgive when the world says get even is to set one’s self up for difficulty…. The body life of the church equips its members to do the work of Christ on earth and to be the incarnate word in contemporary society.
From our beginnings the Church of the Brethren has taken seriously the gospel’s call to live counter to the prevailing culture. We have encouraged one another to count the cost of discipleship, to proclaim peace in a world of violence and warfare, to embrace simplicity in a sea of mindless materialism, to live compassionately and openly even when the world around us creates barriers of division. But we frequently feel like isolated voices crying in the wilderness. Nevertheless, is this not what it means to be a faith community seeking to embody—to incarnate—the values and teachings of Jesus? Is this not what it means to do the work of Christ?
Washington Post columnist Colman McCarthy, back in the days of the first Gulf War, wrote an editorial entitled “The Church’s ‘Just War” is a Lie.” McCarthy had just attended a convention of the National Religious Broadcasters, and was taken aback by the intensity of that group’s fervor for the war. Many pronounced the bombing of Iraq a noble and godly cause, even as, argues McCarthy, war is tragically inconsistent with the spirit of Christ. While McCarthy laments the complicity of the church in war, he points to the example of the peace churches—the Mennonites, Quakers, and Church of the Brethren—and asserts,
These churches, small in number and operating on bake-sale budgets, are resilient in one strength: a faithfulness to the teachings and practices of the early church, which was pacifist and three centuries away from Augustine and his nailing non-violence to the cross with his just-war deceits.
McCarthy then quotes from a Church of the Brethren statement asserting, “We declare again that our members should neither participate in war nor learn the art of war.”
Only a few short years later we find ourselves once again embroiled in conflict in Iraq, and still many churches ignore the gospel’s call to make peace. Much like ancient Israel, the church all too frequently overlooks God’s call to serve as light for the nations, to embody the good news of justice and mercy and compassion and peace, to heed God’s call to live as a colony of heaven modeling a clear alternative to the world’s ways of warfare and violence, injustice and division. But these are not days for Christians to remain silent, idly standing on the sidelines. As Desmond Tutu reminds us, “If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has his foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.”
This morning’s Gospel lesson serves as a powerful reminder that, even now, Christ challenges us to embrace a new way of living, to trust—even when all appearances are to the contrary—that God’s way of goodness and justice and love will triumph in the end. In the midst of an anxious and materialistic world, Christ continues to call you and me to ask the right questions, the kind of questions that lead to deeper connectedness with our God and that guide us along paths of faithfulness.
God of healing and wholeness, God of peace and light, we come before you, praying that you would grant us wisdom and strength and courage for living faithfully in these troubled times. You call us to be peacemakers in a world of violence and fear; to be servants in a world far more familiar with the ways of oppression; to be messengers of gracious love in a world of brokenness and division. Help us, holy God, to walk in paths of discipleship, to follow in the footsteps of Jesus. O God, we would join with you in bringing forth the kingdom of mercy, peace, and loving-kindness.
Compassionate God, forgive us when our fears and anxieties get in the way of our discipleship. Calm our unwise confusion; fill us instead with a love that is patient and kind, a love that rejoices in the right and the true. Renew our troubled hearts and restore our parched spirits, even as you pour your healing waters upon all creation.
Lord God, hear us now as we remember those in special need of your healing touch. We pray for…. And hear us, God, as we remember those who are in the midst of change, those who are experiencing uncertainty, even as they anticipate new opportunities in life.
Thanks be to you, O God, for the gifts of life and love, for the wonders of the created world, and for the challenges of living as your people. In the name and spirit of Christ our Lord, we pray. Amen.