Sermon of Octover 19, 2008

                                  DON’T LET THE ECONOMY KILL YOU        

                                                       Matthew 20:1-16

                                       Sermon presented on October 19, 2008

 

 

The title for this sermon, “Don’t Let the Economy Kill You,” was borrowed – well, stolen, actually (since I don’t plan to return it) – from an article in last Monday’s USA Today (10/13/08, p.11A).   In that column, Dr. Marc Siegel, a public health specialist who teaches at NYU School of Medicine, reviewed some of the research concerning the effects of stress on health and well-being.   Although tales of traders throwing themselves out of windows on Wall Street at the time of the 1929 crash are largely myths, yet public health records do show that millions at that time turned to excessive drinking, smoking and other self-damaging behaviors.  In the 1980s concerns about the failing economy after the 1987 crash led to so much stress that urgent care centers sprang up around centers of financial activity.  With the economic rebound of the 1990s many of these centers closed, but there’s talk now of re-opening them.  A recent study by the American Psychological Association revealed that financial concerns “topped the list of stressors for at least 80% of those surveyed,” with more than half reporting heightened feelings of anger and fatigue, along with an inability to sleep and overeating.  Calls to suicide hotlines are reported to be up by as much as 75% this year in many cities, and nationwide hospital admissions for psychiatric services are up 10% this year over last year.  Siegel observes:  “Our collective national health could just follow our economy into the depths.”   He summarizes his diagnosis this way:  that due to economic stresses, people are living “increasingly unstable lives.” 

 

Now, it seems to me that although this new reality clearly has implications for public health, yet at the root it does not represent a medical malaise, but a spiritual one.  The founder of modern stress research, Dr. Hans Selye, wrote, many decades ago:  “It’s not stress that kills you.  It is our reaction to it.”

 

I’m not immune to the stress of money-worry myself, by the way.  Like many of you, I suppose, I’ve watched my savings, so called, fade away.  I too am inclined to feel demoralized by the daily barrage of gloomy reports about the financial calamity engulfing the planet.  I know I can (and should) just turn the TV off, but it’s like a toothache, I keep putting my tongue on it even though it hurts.  I feel disheartened by bad news about matters I don’t even understand, no less have any power to change.  And I find myself wondering if my Grandpa Raum may have been right, after all: that the primary instruments of the devil are alcohol, the New York Yankees, and easy credit. 

 

            Even in terms of the church, there’s cause for concern, if we choose to be concerned.  This has been a pretty good year for Forest Hills Presbyterian Church, financially.  Giving has been steady, and up from last year, modestly, anyway.  On behalf of session, thank you for that!  And we’ve implemented a number of expenditure control strategies, which have helped, as well.  But it’s worrisome looking toward 2009.  Although it’s not quite stewardship time, and this is not quite a stewardship sermon – all that will be rolled-out in a couple weeks – yet looking ahead, I see it as a great challenge to put before you the wants and needs of the church, in a way that doesn’t add to the stress and anxiety you may already be feeling, because I know it’s a tough time right now money-wise for some of you, many of you. 

 

So, as I said, this is “not quite a stewardship sermon.”  That starts on November 2, officially.  But unofficially, this sermon is about stewardship, kinda’.  For I invite you to join me today in looking at some aspects of the spiritual side of money, and its role and place in our lives. 

 

French Christian philosopher Jacques Ellul – (and few Christians surpass Ellul in wisdom about the relationship between faith and money) – Ellul wrote:

            The power of money is always actively tempting us.  This

temptation involves a decision to love either God or money . . .

This always involves the whole person and binds the whole

person without distinction . . . Ultimately we follow what we

have loved most intensely, either into eternity or hell . . .

Our attachment to money pushes us headlong into nothingness.

 

 From time-to-time I want to say in a sermon, “if you remember little else of what I say today, please remember this.”  Now is one of those times.  For Ellul’s comment is breathtaking, I think, in its powerfully simple statement of a basic Biblical truth:  “Our attachment to money pushes us headlong into nothingness.”

 

The Gospel Reading before us today is the passage commonly known as the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard.  You know the story.  A landowner hires day-laborers to work the harvest.  The first group, who signed-on first thing in the morning, negotiated with him a day’s wage satisfactory to all.  As the day unfolded more labor was required.  The landowner signed-on additional workers — at mid-morning, midday, mid-afternoon, and then again in late afternoon.  He didn’t negotiate terms with any of these later hires.  Apparently they were pleased just be working, and don’t figure again in the story.  But those who were hired first thing in the morning do re-appear, when at the end of the day the landowner paid those hired last the same wage as those hired first.  The early hires “grumbled against the landlord” – I’ll return shortly to this detail of them “grumbling” – and protested forcefully this violation of all that’s fair.

 

This parable is not meant to be a practical guide for how to run a vineyard, or any business, and it’s not a model for effective management-labor relations.  The first thing we have to do in studying any parable is to resist the temptation to make it say more than Jesus intended it to say.  The Parable of the Prodigal Son, for example, is not meant as godly counsel concerning estate planning, nor the Parable of the Good Samaritan as godly counsel concerning the appropriate public provision of first-responder emergency services.  Generally speaking a parable has one simple point, or perhaps two.  Narrative details provide context and color for the purpose of making that point (or two), but are not important in themselves.

 

So, where might we locate the key point in this parable?  Dr. Karen LeBacqz, who teaches Biblical ethics at the Pacific School of Religion, in Berkeley, California, insists that what’s most important to think about in this passage is the grumbling of those who were hired first.  She writes:

            As [the story] is told, the focus is not on the generous

            act of the landowner, but on the grumbling of those who

            were hired first.  All interpretations that ignore the

            grumbling of those who were hired first ignore the

            focus of the story as it emerges out of the narrative structure.

 

Here’s the thing:  these grumblers are letting the economy kill them.  They’ve decided to let financial decisions over which they have no control take-over their thoughts and master their moods.   Their specific grievances may strike us as legitimate, of course.  Naturally work and wages must be kept in just and fair relationship.  But this parable isn’t about corporate practice or public policy.  It’s about the dismal effects on the soul of grumbling and grouching about money, of comparing your situation-in-life  with that of someone else and re-inventing yourself as a victim, and of permitting excessive concerns about wealth and possessions to drive a wedge between you and other people, between you and God, and between you and your own well-being.  It’ll just kill you.

 

Rather than letting the economy dominate and control us, let’s consider a better way.   I’d like to lift-up three Biblical ways of thinking about faith and wealth, each way suggested by a word:  idolatry, simplicity and solidarity.

 

“Idolatry” is what happens when we ascribe to something in creation ultimacy that’s rightly ascribed only to the Creator.  Idolatry is an exchange.  We worship an idol instead of worshiping God.  We may make an idol of anything.  Pleasure.  Success.  Power.  Prestige.  Beauty.  Popularity.  Intelligence.  Another person.  Nation.  In a strange sort of ironic way, even religion can become an idol that gets in the way of our worshiping and honoring God.  Any one of a whole range of cultural activities can become idolatrous, if something other than God gains our ultimate allegiance.  But perhaps the most tantalizing and dangerous idol of all is the love of money.  In the verse from Colossians read today (Chapter 3, verse 5), it is written:  “Put to death whatever in you is earthly:  fornication, impurity, passion, evil desire, and greed (which is idolatry).”   In this list of evil attitudes, notice the one that’s specifically designated as idolatrous:  greed.  Love of money is the single greatest threat to love of God.  John Calvin states the reason, simply; he wrote:  “The person who sets heart and mind on material things forgets God.”  The moment money and possessions really begin to attract or demand more of our attention and affection than warranted, it’s time for radical spiritual scrutiny and transformation.  So, idolatry’s the first word to keep in mind in the interest of not letting the economy kill you.

 

The second word is “simplicity.”    Over-concern with money always complicates life.   Think of the workers in the parable, the ones hired first.  Their situation was simple, or ought to have been.  They agreed to work for certain terms.  At day’s end the landowner paid them the agreed-upon wages.  What’s simpler than that?  But these workers change their minds. It’s not enough for them to receive what they’d agreed-upon and expected.  They start comparing themselves with others.  Jealousy and bitterness overtake their thinking.   They now want an adjustable rate, instead, based on changing economic circumstances.  Even though we may appreciate their situation, yet we may also see in their example how money complicates life and entangles the soul.    

 

Here are some of the complications we may see in our time.   There are couples desiring, and actually achieving, a lifestyle that’s then so demanding and exhausting to maintain that what’s required erodes their relationship and undermines the well-being of the family.   There are people who aspire to an increase in wealth, and attain it, yet are never satisfied, but keep craving more, so that even those now prosperous beyond anything they ever hoped-for or imagined, yet remain strangely unfulfilled by it.  There are people who spend lavishly in good times, then when times change are too embarrassed to downscale, so live a lie, instead.  There are people who, facing constant choices, choose to buy extravagances for self rather than choose to see money as a tool to advance God’s kingdom.  And so on. 

 

How easily money can complicate life and entangle the soul . . . easily, and slyly, too, so we don’t even know it’s happening, until one day we look at our lives with the light of scripture, and think:  “my God, what have I become?”  “It began with me spending money, but now money is spending me.”  Nothing is simpler than scripture’s call to simplicity.

 

The final word to keep in mind as we think about these things is “solidarity.”  Idolatry.  Simplicity.  And, solidarity.  By which I mean:  the workers who grumbled saw the other workers as adversaries, or at least as those whose good fortune is a thing to be resented rather than celebrated.

 

In the capitalist system by which we are privileged to live, competition is a key component.  Competition arouses innovation, creates wealth and drives civilization forward.  At the same time, though, it also has a dark side, in that it may give rise to classism, prejudice and mistrust.  And from the spiritual side of things, it may also contribute to a sense of entitlement, the idea that we deserve success or prosperity or good fortune.  The grumbling workers weren’t grumbling because something bad happened to them.  They grumbled because something good happened for someone else.  What kind of way is this to be?   It’s not God’s way, that’s for sure.  The parable declares that God’s generous wisdom and loving-kindness know no boundaries, and surpass all human logic and understanding.   All we enjoy in this world comes from God’s grace.  The parable’s pitting of one group against another, for silly and unwarranted reasons, suggests the inevitable sad result which a sense of entitlement brings.  Tough economic times may provoke this kind of rivalry and ill-will.  What’s needed is a renewed awareness of solidarity, that we all stand together beneath the wondrous grace of God in Jesus Christ.

 

Patrick Rooney, director of the Center on Philanthropy at Indiana University, spoke recently about how difficult it will be for churches and charities to raise money this season.  A significant decline already has taken place in the first half of 2008.  Rooney offered an explanation.  He said:  “Uncertainty is the enemy of philanthropy.”  That makes sense.  No one wants to make a financial commitment that he/she’s uncertain about fulfilling.  And these are uncertain days, financially.  But in the larger spiritual terms by which we ought to entrust our lives, there is no uncertainty.  God is faithful and just.  His promises are reliable and sure.  Our days are in his hands.  These things are certain.  So let no reversal of circumstance, no worry or fear, nor anything else the world metes-out, kill our joy in living, damage our spirit, or darken the hope that is in us through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Sermon from October 12, 2008

THINGS CHANGE.  I FEEL VERY BAD.

                        Psalm 98                      2Timothy 1:8-14                   Luke 9:57-62

     Sermon presented on October 12, 2008

 

It’s an interesting story.  Most of us can relate to it, I think.  A businessman owns a building in the heart of a great American city.  Even in these days of declining real estate values, this property is worth a lot.  Rents in the neighborhood go for over $100 a square foot.  A dance company has been renting the second floor for many years.   The company not only provides instruction to young dancers, but also offers community outreach programs for inner city children and youth.   The businessman hasn’t charged the dance company anything close to the market value.   In fact, he hasn’t raised the rent in five years.   But recently he’s been receiving offers that are, well, too good to turn down.  He’d decided to raise the rent to what the market will bear.  The dance company can’t possibly afford it, so must leave.  The businessman is not a bad guy.  This is not a story about an unscrupulous landlord.  The owner of the dance company admits that the owner of the building has been exceedingly generous over the years.  He regrets but understands the situation.  As for the businessman/owner, he says simply this:  “Things change.  I feel very bad.”  (New York Times, 10/7/08, p. C1)

 

            I suggested that most of us can relate to this story, and here’s why:  we know that things change, and we know that sometimes we feel very bad about it.

 

            Things change all the time.  The world changes.  Circumstances change.  Other people change.  We change.  We do things for a while, perhaps for a long while, so people come to depend on us, but the day comes when we cannot or will not do it anymore.  We agree to something, but circumstances evolve or new realities impose themselves, and we change our minds.  New occasions bring forth new duties.  We learn new things.  We acquire new interests.  We respond to new experiences and expectations.  Things that once engaged us no longer do.  People we once partnered with prove unreliable.  Promises, though earnestly pledged, are broken.  Emerson said:  “All promise outruns performance.”  We know the truth of what the businessman said.  Things change.

 

            But we also know the truth of what he said next.  We feel bad about it.  Sometimes we feel very bad.   We feel bad when we make changes that we know will force other people to make changes, as well, because though change may be necessary and good for us, it may come as something unwelcome to the others.

 

            I drove up to church one morning in early September, around 9 o’clock, and there were several young women outside, one in her car, others standing on the sidewalk, crying.  I panicked at first.  “What on earth happened?  Was there an explosion?  A fire?  What?”  I clicked into crisis management mode.  But there was no crisis, not for me, anyway.  These were Moms seeing their children off to school for the first time, our church pre-school.  Now, that’s an important change, and a worthy one.  No one would want to prevent that from happening.  But one can still feel bad.

 

            Our feeling bad, or at least having mixed feelings, about change is natural.   We know the truth of the old saying, that “change is the only constant in life”; or, as Benjamin Franklin put it, “When you’re finished changing, you’re finished.”  But we also know that change can be difficult and complicated, and so we may resist more than embrace it.  Bible characters come to mind.  Think of the exodus-people, enthused at first about following Moses out of Egypt, but who, as soon as problems arose in the wilderness, began complaining and recollecting the “good old days” in slavery.  Or think of the rich young man, prepared to turn his life over wholly to Christ, but who, when he realizes the cost of discipleship, turns and walks away sad rather than take-on the changes required. 

 

            Now, there’s one thing to be said about all this that’s very, very good; and a couple things to be said that are good, as well, but also cautionary and challenging.

 

            Here’s the thing that’s very, very good:  God promises to be with us through all the changes of life.   The Word of God declares it.  “The Lord will watch over your life/the Lord will watch your coming and going/both now and forevermore,” pledges Psalm 121 (vs. 7b,8).  Scripture also presents instance-after-instance of God’s promise fulfilled.  The Apostle Paul proclaims:  “I know what it is to be in need/and I know what it is to have plenty/I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation/I can do all things through him who gives me strength” (Phil 4:12,13).  The Word of God declares it.

 

            And experience confirms it.  In this very room are people who have known and gone through extraordinary changes.  Think back for a moment on what your life was like, once-upon-a-time, and what it’s like now; what you were like, once-upon-a-time, and what you’re like now.  There’s been continuity, for sure.  And just as surely, there’s been change.  Through it all, God has been present.  That doesn’t mean all the ways we’ve changed have been God-honoring and good, of course.  We may choose to change for the worse.  Sometimes, if we feel bad about changes, that’s a totally appropriate way to feel.  You should feel bad!  It’s a constant challenge, day-by-day — moment-to-moment even — to decide to change our lives for Christ or against him.  But in Christ there is mercy that outdistances our sin.  And of such ordinary decisions the story of one’s life is told.  By grace you may look back and exclaim:  what an incredible ride this life has been!  And who knows, or can even imagine, what wonders still lie ahead?  All thanks be to God, “who makes known to me the path of life,” declares Psalm 16, v. 11. 

 

            That’s the good news Scripture declares, exceedingly good news.  Having been privileged to put this exceedingly good news before you, perhaps I should sit down now.  But what I’ve said thus far, as wonderful as it is, doesn’t represent the full counsel of God’s Word.  For with this good news come words of caution, as well, pointing to responsibilities we have to live-up to God’s sovereign love.  We need to know what to hold onto, and when to let go of.

 

            We need to know what to hold on to; that is, in a world of constant change, and where one’s willingness to embrace change is lifted-up as the key to happiness and success, we must be clear about what does not change, and hold fast to that, no matter what.   Here is an all-important constant in this world of constant change:  that the grace of God was “revealed through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel” (2 Timothy 1:10).  These are words of the Apostle Paul, writing to young Timothy, giving him counsel concerning his work as leader of the early church. 

 

The First Century, in which Paul and Timothy lived, was very much like our own.  It was a time of ferment and change.  The old order was collapsing.  Traditional convictions were dying; replaced by an assortment of new spiritual notions and practices cobbled together from the remnants of the old.  People no longer felt tied to established religions, but free to innovate, and to make-up new beliefs that suited them.  Historian Scott Sunquist characterizes First Century culture with three words:  pagan (meaning people rejected religious authority and tradition), hedonistic (meaning that pleasure was considered the highest good and the source of moral values), and pluralistic (meaning that all ideas were considered equally valid, and it was counted as rude to propose that any one idea is more valid than another).   In all these important ways, Sunquist asserts, the First Century was very much like our own, for this present culture in which we live may also be characterized as pagan, hedonistic and pluralistic.  So the word of counsel to Timothy back then comes with relevance and power to us today:  “Hold to the standard of sound teaching . . . in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus,” it is written.  Whatever other changes you make in faith and life, don’t change that!  “Hold to the standard.”  And, the passage goes on:  “Guard the good treasure entrusted to you.”  The Gospel of Jesus Christ is not merely one set of ideas among many, spread on the buffet of religions.  It is a treasure entrusted to the church.  “Guard this good treasure entrusted to you.”  And do not be ashamed of it.

 

That’s the first cautionary note.  We need to know what to hold on to

 

And here’s a second:  we need to know what to let-go-of.

 

Betty and I once were at a performance by jazz saxophonist Stan Getz.  It was a small, informal venue.  He was playing new music, innovative and edgy, and in some ways inaccessible, as jazz can be.  Now, years earlier Getz had enjoyed a burst of widespread popularity, backing Brazilian singer Astrud Gilberto, on the song, “Girl from Ipanema.”  But by time we saw him, Getz had long since moved out of his bossa nova phase, and was doing other intricate things.  At a break between numbers, someone shouted from the audience:  “Play ‘Girl from Ipanema’.”  “Yeah,” someone else yelled, “play the old stuff, Stan.”  Stan Getz looked-up, sighed, and said:  “Life goes on, man.  Life goes on.”  Now, I think you can make the case that a musician owes it to those who helped made him/her rich and famous to play, if only briefly and reluctantly, some of the old stuff.  But at the same time, his response rings true, doesn’t it?  Life goes on, man.  Life goes on.  Things change.  And we need to change with it.

 

The Bible declares over-and-over again, “sing to the Lord a new song!”  The metaphor of new songs represents our joyful openness to growth and change, and to imagining new ways of experiencing and serving Christ in the world.

 

I’d like to suggest that you consider making three resolves at the start of each day.  

 

First:  resolve to recognize the presence of God in some new way today, a way that has never occurred to you before.  It may come in or through another person or a relationship, an opportunity, a joy or concern, a moment of unexpected insight, strength or beauty, something in creation that catches your eye, or in some other form.  But make a promise to yourself to recognize and celebrate the presence of God in some new way, everyday.

 

Second:  resolve to know God in some new way today, by way of scripture.  This doesn’t necessarily require more, or more comprehensive, Bible study (although that’s always a good thing!).  It may mean simply reflecting all day on one verse, keeping that verse before you, thinking and praying about it, until the Spirit discloses new truths, or helps you to grasp old truths in new ways.  But make a promise to yourself to be renewed by scripture daily.

 

Third:  resolve to act for God in some new way today.  Everyday do something in Jesus’ name and for his glory that you’ve never done before.   This may be the toughest of the three suggestions to put into practice.  We recognize our resistance in today’s Gospel lesson.  Here we see three people, each of whom says he wants to follow Jesus. But before they take a step in that new direction, fear of change overtakes them.  They hesitate.  Each comes-up with a reason to put it off.  Their reasons sound pretty good to us.  They usually do, our excuses for avoiding the change Christ wants to work in us.  But if you make a promise to yourself to act for God in some new way, everyday, and keep that promise, then your life itself will sing to the Lord a new song!

 

Things change.  But the very centerpiece of Christian faith is the confidence that God is in the rapids as well as on the rocks, that God doesn’t provide protection from the world but transmits wisdom and courage for faithful living in the world.  I encourage you, when you feel bad about change, or sad, or scared, to take hold of the first principles of faith, for these are unchanged and unchanging, but then to take a chance on the new, the unfamiliar and the uncertain.  For “eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor the human heart conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him” (I Cor. 2:9).