Again we find ourselves listening to parts of the Bible and reflecting on their connection or disconnection with our life as Christians in 2007. The verses from Luke's Gospel show us a man coming to Jesus and asking him to settle a family dispute over inheritance. Apparently the aggrieved man had not received the full share due him. Jesus refused the role of arbiter and cautioned the man against covetousness or greed. Jesus then utters a great one-liner, a memorable truth: People's lives do not consist in the abundance of their possessions. In other words, it isn't true that the person having the most toys at the end of life is the big winner. Sad news for people whose names we all know well.
As I thought about that during this past week, I found myself remembering just how counter-cultural the Christian gospel is. If we come to the stories of Jesus and expect to have our unexamined values blessed, our media-influenced ambitions affirmed, we will be disappointed. So much of what Jesus said and did can be summed up in the word reversal. He was direct about that: He said very clearly, "The first shall be last and the last shall be first." "To be great is to be one who serves." He made friends with the underclass of his time and place. He sat at the dinner table with people the religious leaders labeled undesirable. He made no effort to attract the rich and powerful to his following. The reversal of conventional values.
His message was and is disturbing, and it also was and is deeply comforting. It disturbs us because it causes us to confront what our North American culture proclaims to be true: that a person's worth is measured in money, that being obsessively busy is a sign of importance, that having your face recognized by thousands or millions of people means you matter, really matter. Jesus' message is deeply comforting because it tells us that after we've tried our culture's way of feeling worthwhile and finding it to be a fraud, we can rest in the assurance that we matter as people because of who we are and not because of what we have or what we do. God loves us no matter what. God loves us because we exist.
The first sentence in our Gospel reading that invites attention is the one that says, "A person's worth does not consist in the abundance of that person's possessions." After saying that, Jesus went on to tell a story about a farmer who was so successful he didn't have enough storage space for his abundant crops. The farmer had a conversation with himself and came to the conclusion that he would tear down his barns and build bigger ones, and then enjoy his prosperity for many years.
In Jesus' story the man is confronted with his mortality; his death is imminent. What will become of his accumulated wealth? And Jesus gives us more words to ponder: he asks us to look at the farmer who laid up treasure for himself but was not rich toward God. A lot to think about in a culture where we regularly read lists of the world's wealthiest people, or the highest paid television stars, or the richest professional athletes.
In a culture obsessed with consumerism, it would be easy to feel we need the biggest and best of everything in order to live a full life. But if we take Jesus seriously, we understand that satisfaction doesn't come from what we possess, because possessions have a strange way of possessing us after a while. In certain stages of life it is appropriate and meaningful to establish ourselves, to create homes, families, bank accounts, reputations, retirement funds, networks of friends and colleagues. But as we progress along this journey called life, we learn how important it is to keep such things in perspective. We understand what Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince learned in his conversation with the fox.
The fox said, "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye."
"What is essential is invisible to the eye," the little prince repeated, so that he would be sure to remember.
Our Epistle lesson points to some invisible realities that are part of a full life: compassion, kindness, patience, forgiveness—and above all, love, love reflective of God's unconditional love for us. God self-disclosed in Jesus, through whom we know God loves and cares for us. Just as our culture's consumerism is a distortion of a genuine need to own life's essentials, like food, clothing, and shelter, so is our society's obsession with celebrities a distortion of the basic human need for recognition and affirmation. We need to know we matter to someone else. We need to know someone else knows us and cares about us. Fullness of life means entering into relationships in which we receive and give recognition.
Last Monday I rented a car and brought some things into the city that are too bulky for the train and subway. I tuned the car radio to 101.5, a station that gives traffic reports every fifteen minutes. It also carries a phone-in program hosted by two men whose views on most things are the opposite of mine. They were mentioned in the newspapers at the time Don Imus lost his job in broadcasting.
When I listened to them six days ago, one of them was talking about choking up emotionally when something moving happens on television. He said if he thinks he's going to get teary, he goes to the kitchen so his wife won't see him. He went on to say that he learned that behavior from his father, whom he has seen shed tears only once, at the funeral of his father's mother. He acknowledged that his father's emotional restraint was painful for him, especially since his father has never said "I love you" to him—this son who hosts the radio program.
It's likely the host of a popular radio program makes a pretty good salary. But I found the word impoverished entering my mind as I listened to him talk about himself. It wasn't a matter of judging him, more a feeling of sadness for him.
Many people of my generation had parents who couldn't say the words we wanted to hear: I love you. I never heard those words from either of my parents, although I knew they loved me and expressed their love as well as they could. With the help of a good therapist and a strong recovery program, I learned I didn't need to feel emotionally impoverished because of what I didn't get from my parents. I have made strong connections with people who can and do say they love me and who are happy to hear me say those words to them.
I suspect that has a lot to do with being rich toward God—feeling good about yourself, owning the ground you walk on, and being able to care deeply for other people without giving yourself entirely away and feeling resentful.
I know in Luke's version of Jesus' story, God says to the farmer who was about to build bigger barns, "You fool." I like to think he said it not so much in anger but more with the sadness of a disappointed parent or lover. "O you are so foolish. You don't know what you're missing by focusing so much on material wealth and so little on the invisible realities that make for a rich life." (The farmer talked only to himself about his plans. There is nothing in the story about talking things over with anyone else, and he said nothing about sharing his bounty with neighbors in need.)
When we come to the end of our time on this planet—like the farmer in our story, it won't matter at all whether we have been on any list of very wealthy people. But it will matter very much that we know we are loved and that we have loved wisely and well.
Thanks be to God.