Most of us don’t like to be told that our heart is in the right place.
We don’t like to be told it, and we hope folks aren’t saying it about us,
because there’s always a clause – before or after – that’s not flattering.
“Her heart’s in the right place, but boy, did she mess up!”
“Yes, he’s incompetent – but his heart’s in the right place.”
“Her heart’s in the right place, but she just doesn’t get it.”
“I know he doesn’t do anything, but his heart’s in the right place.”
In other words, when someone’s heart is in the right place, something else
about them isn’t. There’s a gap: between their intentions and their
actions, their feeling and their understanding, or their desire and their
ability. Usually, we’re trying to be nice when we say someone’s heart is
in the right place. We may be enjoying a sense of superiority, but we’re
also giving them an out. They didn’t do what was promised or needed but
they meant well, they care, so it’s OK. In fact, we’re usually ready –
even quick – to give such an out. For we know about that gap. That gap
between our heart and everything else. That gap between our sympathy or
compassion for people who are hungry, or homeless, or living with AIDS
and our actions to help. That gap between our desire to be with friends
and family and the actual time in their presence. That gap between our
wish for peace in the Middle East and our understanding of the situation.
That gap between our desire to be faithful Christians and our Sunday
worship attendance. (I just thought I’d throw that out there!)
Jesus knew about that gap, too. Being the Son of God, he didn’t
himself experience it, but he saw it in the behavior of everyone around
him. He saw it in certain Pharisees who tithed mint and rue and all
kinds of herbs but neglected justice. He saw it in the in the rich young
ruler who longed for eternal life but couldn’t bring himself to sell his
possessions. He saw it in the behavior of his disciples, who went with
him to Gethsemene but fell asleep. He saw it in Peter, who swore he’d go
with Jesus to prison and to death, but who denied him three times. He
saw it in the crowds, the crowds that came to hear him speak the very
words we just heard, and who – Luke tells us – trampled each other in
the process.
But, at least in this speech, Jesus didn’t comfort them by saying
their hearts were in the right place. He didn’t give them an out. He
had sterner, but also more hopeful and loving words. Jesus had every
confidence that the disciples – and the listening crowd – could be like
those faithful slaves waiting for their master. Now, I know there are
problems with these stories about slaves and masters that Jesus likes
so much. We – quite rightly – have trouble getting past the evil of
the slavery to hear any Word that may be there for us. But for now,
let’s just note those things about the slaves that Jesus wants us to
see. Their lamps are lit. Lamps that require constant tending.
They’re dressed for action – not for bed. And they’re awake. Awake
and alert, even in the middle of the night or near dawn. They didn’t
tell themselves they’d hear the knock if they drifted off to sleep.
They didn’t decide to let one of the other slaves answer the door this
time. They didn’t wish they could be ready when their master came but
then decide it was getting awfully late after all . . . they were
ready. They were ready, and when their master came they were blessed.
“You, also, must be ready,” says Jesus, “for the Son of Man is coming
at an unexpected hour.”
“You, also, must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an
unexpected hour.” For those of us who have trouble wrapping our head
around the Second Coming, these can be hard words. Even for those of
us who have no doubt about the advent of Christ, this can be difficult
instruction. What does it mean to be ready for the coming of the Son
of Man, for the coming of the Kingdom? What does it mean, exactly,
in 2004, to be like those faithful slaves? It’s a question for a
lifetime of thinking and preaching and praying, but you know, sometimes
Jesus gives concrete, practical suggestions even to big and profound
questions. And I’ll tell you where that concrete, practical suggestion
is in our passage today: verse 33a. “Sell your possessions, and give
alms.”
“Sell your possessions, and give alms.” I don’t know about you,
but I must say there’s quite a big gap between this command of Jesus
and my obedience. I’d like to say that there’s also a gap between my
heart and my actions; my heart yearns to sell my possessions and give
money to the poor, but for various reasons my actions are lagging
behind. But in truth, both my heart and my actions are far from the
words of Jesus. My heart is in my apartment full of furniture – and
my bank account – and I’m not embarrassed to admit it because I know
I’m not alone. Oh, I’m willing to give a carefully calculated part
of my salary for benevolence, thank goodness for calculators, but to
sell my possessions? My heart is in the wrong place.
Well, Jesus didn’t give excuses for people whose hearts were in
the right place, and he doesn’t give excuses when our hearts are in
the wrong place either. Do it, he says, and your heart will follow.
For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. If you
put more of your treasure in the basket for the Broadway Community,
you’ll care more about our neighbors that are hungry. If you give
to the Equal Commitment Opportunity for vulnerable children in Africa,
maybe you’ll think and learn more about them. Make purses for yourself
that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven. Don’t complain
that your heart’s not in it, for where your treasure goes, your heart
will follow. Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit.
I know it’s a hot, humid day in August, and I intended to preach
a short, simple sermon about how much Jesus loves us. And Jesus does
love us. God loves us, and before Jesus tells the disciples to sell
their possessions, he assures them that God remembers every sparrow
that is sold in the marketplace and that they are of more value than
many sparrows. He reminds them that God feeds the ravens and clothes
the lilies of the field and that God will do them same for them. He
tells them not to worry or be afraid – several times. But then he
tells them to sell their possessions. We can argue about whether
Jesus, today, expects us to actually sell our furniture, but there’s
no denying it: Jesus calls for more. More generosity. More
solidarity with the poor. More of our heart and our treasure where
they belong.
The call to which we are called is a demanding one, that we have
our hearts in the right place, but not only our hearts: our silver
and our gold, our intellects and wills, our feet and our hands, our
lips and our voices, our lives in all our moments and our days. Of
course Jesus knows that we will stumble and fall and never reach
perfection – he spent time with those disciples. But he also assures
us we can be like those faithful servants: our lamps lit, awake and
alert. Our hearts in the right place, alongside our treasure. Ready
for the many blessings of a life in the right place.