Archives for 2012

The Widows and Us

November 11, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon on 1 Kings 17:8-16 and Mark 12:38-44 for the 32nd Sunday of Ordinary Time
preached on November 11, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

There are lots of ways to look at stewardship season. We can talk about things from a purely financial perspective, noting that we need a certain number of dollars to meet our budget and other financial commitments. We can take a biblical perspective and look at texts from the Old Testament that instruct us to give ten percent of everything we have to God. Or we can look wonder how to implement the New Testament’s description of the early Christian community where “those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.” We can focus on our humanity and encourage everyone to give according to their ability—“not equal gifts, but equal sacrifice,” as one church I know once described it. Or we can talk about how all things that we have come from God, and so our giving to the church is an expression of our gratitude for all that we have received. All of these approaches have their merits from practical and biblical standpoints, but our texts today suggest something different.

These two texts from 1 Kings and Mark tell us of two widows who are commended for their faithful stewardship of what God has given them. In biblical times, widows were among the most vulnerable people in society. Women of any sort had few rights, and they generally depended on their husbands and male relatives to care of them. Most widows, then, were left without anyone to stand up for their best interests, and in those days before a governmental safety net in Social Security or Medicare, they were often left to fend for themselves. Yet these two stories show us a dramatic portrait of generosity and hospitality—first of a widow who finds that her small supply of meal and oil is not depleted even when she adds a hungry prophet to her household, then of a woman who offers a gift to God even when it puts her own survival at risk.

These two women are certainly wonderful models for our own lives of generosity. We would be deeply blessed as individuals and as a community if we all took their example seriously and gave so deeply out of what we have. However, I don’t think that these texts are telling us that we are simply supposed to be like them. More importantly, I think they are offering an antidote to a more dangerous and all too common perspective on our world.

These two generous widows stand in stark contrast to seemingly righteous people around them who claim to be faithful but who are unable or unwilling to put their money where their mouth is. The religious leaders of Elijah’s time refused to provide any support to the prophet who was questioning their way of life that had little concern for the poor and powerless. The scribes of Jesus’ time liked to put on a show of their holiness and righteousness, but they could clearly care less about others along the way—instead they themselves bore the full benefit of their good deeds and obedience to the law.

While the specific actions of these religious leaders and scribes aren’t quite as common around us, I have to wonder how often we fall into similar traps. How often do we become so focused on taking care of ourselves that we miss the care and concern that we need to be showing to others? How often do we quiet those voices we don’t like by taking away their support network and dismissing or destroying their humanity? How often do we do the right thing not because we really want to but because we want to be seen and noticed by someone along the way? How often do we convince ourselves that our priorities are in order when the only possible result is one that places our own needs and desires above the good of the community? The kind of good stewardship we consider today, then, is not simply endless generosity but also attention to the needs of the whole of the community and especially the least of these among us.

So then, as we think about our stewardship commitment for the coming year today, we who have so much must think about more than imitating these widows who gave out of their limited resources—we must remember that we are responsible for the well-being of the communities entrusted to us. Good stewardship is not just about meeting the budget of the church or giving some percentage of our income—it is about offering ourselves to meet the needs of the community and caring for those around us

This year, as our stewardship task force looked at the needs of our community of faith and out beyond into the community around us, we saw that money wasn’t so much our problem. With the sale of the manse, our cash flow issues have eased substantially, and we are on target to meet our budgeted income and expense for this year and next as we plan to spend down a reasonable and measured amount from the proceeds of the manse sale. However, even though our finances look pretty good, the broader stewardship of our community is much more troubling. When we look at the various tasks that must be done for us to be church together, we see the same faces doing the same things they have done year after year. We look around on a Sunday morning and see fewer people in the pews, even as we know that we haven’t really lost all that many members lately. People who are asked to help out with projects or to serve in leadership roles often come back with reasonable excuses that nonetheless leave us with great needs for our life together. And even our best moments and most effective programs and projects are in jeopardy because we don’t have anyone to be a backup for the very effective but nonetheless limited leaders that we have. We can’t look beyond our doors to meet these needs. While we always must be living out the gospel of Jesus Christ in such a way that we hope that others will consider joining our community, we cannot depend on people who are not currently connected to us to meet these very practical needs. If we can’t do it ourselves, how can we ask people we don’t know to do it for us?

The stewardship we need in these days is not so much bottomless pockets or new people but a deeper commitment to our life together and to God’s work in the world like that demonstrated by these two widows. They show us both financial generosity and deep commitment, recognizing that they have something however small to offer that others deeply need. They show us that we can give amazing gifts even when our first assessment of our situation might suggest that we have nothing to share. And they help us to see that even the least of these among us can contribute something very meaningful and important to our life together.

So in this stewardship season, as you know, we are looking both for a financial commitment and something more, for a faithful and joyous response to the amazing grace that God has shared with us, showing both financial support and a commitment of time and talent to our life together. We desperately need this renewed and deepened commitment to the life we share in this place, a new recognition that we all must step up to offer something more if our community is going to thrive as it can, a more complete embodiment of our joyous and heartfelt response to the deep grace of God that we see at work in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

So as we bring our expressions of stewardship commitment today, in the coming weeks, and over the next year, may God’s grace be abundant among us, and may our response be filled with joy and hope for the life of this community and the remaking of our world until all things are made new in Jesus Christ our Lord.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

Waiting for God

November 4, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon on Revelation 21:1-6a and Isaiah 25:6-9 for All Saints’ Sunday
preached on November 4, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

We’ve spent so much of this past week waiting: waiting for the storm to come, waiting for the winds to die down, waiting for the waters to recede, waiting for the lights to come back on, waiting for the bus and subway to start up again, waiting for heat, waiting for food, waiting for water, waiting for gas, waiting for word from our friends and family, waiting to get word to our friends and family, waiting for some sense of normal to return, waiting and waiting and waiting some more. In the midst of all that we have experienced this week, we’ve all spent some time waiting. To someone immersed in the life of the church like me, this is not the right time to wait—Advent, the season of waiting, is still a month away! But here we have it—Sandy made us wait, and we still have more waiting to do.

Then our texts today, two of the texts appointed in the lectionary for All Saints’ Day, also confront us with the challenge of waiting. All Saints’ Day this year comes at a perfect time—amidst everything that we’ve seen this week, a remembrance of the faithful who have died seems so very appropriate. But these texts don’t point us to a remembrance of the dead—rather, they talk about the things ahead for all of us, about the things we are all really waiting for.

They tell us of a new heaven and a new earth—not the reconstruction of a familiar place to its former glory, not the rebuilding of a flood-torn and fire-touched land, not the rebirth of a water-scarred world—but a new and different way of life and living, a changed world where God’s presence never goes away, where sorrow and pain are changed forever, where God steps in to wipe away all the tears from our eyes, where all things are made new. Our texts today tell us of a world where all people have everything that they need, where a great feast fills every emptiness, where the weariness of death and destruction itself will be destroyed, where all disgrace will be removed and every place will be made new.

But at the core of all these new things is what we have seen so well in our own world of late: waiting. There is no promise here that these things will come immediately, no guarantee that they will emerge on our timetable, no insistence that the pain at dusk today will be eased by dawn tomorrow. Instead, the promise is that the waiting will give God all the more glory!

It will be said on that day,
Lo, this is our God,
we have waited for him, so that he might save us.
This is the Lord for whom we have waited;
let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.

But on this All Saints’ Sunday, on this Sunday after Superstorm Sandy, we have the right to be ready to be done with our waiting. We’ve waited more than enough this past week, and we shouldn’t have to wait anymore. Those without power shouldn’t have to wait any more to get lights and heat and refrigerators and phone and television and internet. Those who haven’t been able to get to work because the trains weren’t running or work wasn’t open shouldn’t have to wait any more. Those who can’t yet get back home to see the damage and destruction of their neighborhoods shouldn’t have to wait any more. Those who don’t yet know if their friends and family survived the storm shouldn’t have to wait any more.

And yet we must wait. There’s nothing we can do at this point to get our lights on or the trains running or the islands made safe. So much of what must be done in these days is best left to those with the training, skills, and gifts to do it safely and efficiently. But even as we wait, there is something incredible going on. People are stepping up and saying that they want to help. Neighbors are stepping in to care for those in need, carrying water and fuel up many flights of stairs, opening their homes to those who have none, shouldering a bit of the burden in the midst of the storm. Women and men around the world are moved by what they have seen and want to respond—and by doing more than giving money to relief efforts. I suspect that one of the biggest unanticipated challenges for our civic leadership amidst this unprecedented disaster has been what to do with all those who are wanting to step in and help now, and I hope and pray that this spirit isn’t quashed by the necessary professional work of these days or the bureaucracy inherent in dealing with anything on a New York City scale!

But amidst the promises of something new and glorious ahead and the necessary pain and suffering of waiting, what are we to do? I think the waiting of these days calls us to do two things. First, we are called to put our trust in God, who waits with us. Not only is God preparing the new thing that is coming, God is waiting for it with us now. God is waiting with us in the presence of friends and family who listen to our complaints and hear our cries and remind us that we are not alone. God is waiting with us in neighbors who open their homes and clear the debris and share their tools and bear our burdens. God is waiting with us in strangers who show up in unexpected moments to offer us even a brief vision of grace. God is waiting with us in those who are working tirelessly to restore the networks of support that keep our community and our world running. God is waiting with us in the women and men who have gone before us and beside us and still bear witness to the way of life in faith. God is waiting with us in the communities that know us and love us and share the feast of faith with us. And so we have waited for God, with God, so that God might save us.

But also in the midst of our waiting, we are called to step up and act, to be the presence of God for others in the face of crisis, to journey with those who are also waiting, to support those who have the gifts and talents to step in all the more, to contribute to the well-being of all people who wait for the things of these days and more. The necessity of waiting, you see, is no excuse for inaction or complacency, for letting those who struggle every day struggle all the more, for allowing the usual order of things that prefers the powerful to go unquestioned, for suggesting that we can only help those who are able to help themselves.

I am glad to say that we as the church have already done some things to step up in the waiting of these days. Our church building was open this past week during the day for those who did not have power to have a warm place to sit and talk or work, charge their phones, and just get out of the house. But even before the storm, our annual offerings to the One Great Hour of Sharing collection helped pave the way for the very current response of Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, who are on the ground in New York and New Jersey right now assessing the damage and planning their next steps over the long term recovery. And every Sunday this month, we’ll be receiving a special collection to assist with this important work of meeting the needs of those in greatest need and who have the most to wait for.

So in these days of waiting, may we ourselves embody the witness of the saints, trusting that God is waiting with us, giving thanks for the faithful presence of brave and heroic friends, neighbors, family, civic leaders, police officers, firefighters, paramedics, nurses, doctors, transit workers, ConEd line workers, and countless others, even as we ourselves offer the presence of God in the midst of the waiting of this recovery and the hope and promise that all things will be made new, once and for all.

May we know God’s presence in the midst of all our waiting until we share the great feast of heaven and earth with all people everywhere and the day of peace that now shines so dimly shines brightly everywhere forevermore. Lord, come quickly! Amen.

Looking for Jesus, Looking for Healing

October 28, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon on Mark 10:46-52 for Ordinary 30B
preached on October 28, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Bartimaeus knew all about Jesus. He had been on the scene for quite a while around Galilee, at first just another in the long line of teachers and wise men, yet eventually everyone, including Bartimaeus, had heard of him because of his surprising words, his confrontation of the authorities of the day, and his amazing healings all around Palestine.

But he had been around just long enough that some people had already stopped following him and moved on to some other teaching and teacher, for Jesus’ words were not easy for anyone. While his small group of loyal disciples did not abandon him, almost no one really understood what he was all about, and many people had started to give up on him.

But when Jesus came to Jericho Bartimaeus was still looking for Jesus. Even though Jesus hadn’t healed anyone in quite a while and wouldn’t heal anyone else, at least according to Mark’s gospel, this blind beggar heard that Jesus was in town and began to shift from his usual cries for assistance to something more specific. He knew that there was something special about Jesus that gave him a unique chance to be healed, and so he began to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Everyone journeying with Jesus told him to be quiet, assuming that Jesus wanted nothing to do with him, ignoring him like they so often did so many others who cried out as he did. But Bartimaeus would not be silent. He was looking for Jesus, and even though he could not see the object of his cries, he would not be satisfied until he was certain that Jesus had heard his plea for mercy.

These days, it doesn’t feel like all that many people are looking for Jesus at all, let alone with Bartimaeus’ excitement and fervor. The church seems to be more empty than ever, and polls back it up—a recent survey suggests that some twenty percent of Americans identify with no religious group whatsoever. At one level this is quite surprising news—in a day and age where it seems that more and more people are reflecting about spiritual things, it seems a bit strange that some twenty percent of our population would find no connection to religious practice.

But at another level, this should be no surprise to us. It has been a long time since new residents (in this part of the country at least) made the search for a house of worship a regular part of moving to a new neighborhood. And even many of the children that we have lovingly raised and encouraged in their exploration of faith have not maintained their connection to our community. The church just doesn’t seem to be offering what people are looking for. Are people these days looking for the trappings of religion and church? Do they want another meeting to go to after a long day of work and meetings in an office? Are they seeking a simple, one-size-fits-all solution to all their problems? Or are they maybe more like Bartimaeus, looking for the kind of experience that they have only heard about, seeking something that they can’t see until they actually find it? Are they looking for institutions like we see all around us or for something new and different, for love that reaches out beyond all boundaries, community that embodies that love, and transformation that comes when you least expect it?

The transformation that Bartimaeus wanted so desperately came right when he thought it was most unlikely. After the crowd kept silencing him and he kept crying out more and more loudly, Jesus finally heard him and stopped. Jesus asked Bartimaeus to come to him, so he sprang up from where he was and left everything behind and hurried over to Jesus. He even left his cloak behind—no small matter in that day, for his cloak would have been his most valuable possession and his best protection from anything that might harm him. When Bartimaeus got over to Jesus, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” Bartimaeus responded simply: “My teacher, let me see again.” With no further ado, with no touch on his eyes or his head, with no special medicine, with no magical prayer, Bartimaeus was healed. Jesus said it, and it was so:

Go; your faith has made you well.

But then comes perhaps the most surprising moment the story. Unlike everyone else Jesus had healed in Mark’s gospel, Bartimaeus did not go away on his own—instead, he joined the band of disciples journeying with Jesus along the way.

Just as we join Bartimaeus in looking for Jesus along the way, I think we join Bartimaeus in looking for healing. These days, everyone seems to have some sort of illness that needs healing of one sort or another, whether it be something as manageable as high blood pressure or high cholesterol or something as life-threatening as cancer or dementia. Then there are all the other areas of our lives that can so often use healing—the grief and pain of death, the challenge of broken relationships, the depression and anxiety of the modern age—all that things that keep us apart from one another and from God. It seems almost certain that everyone has something for which they cry out to God for healing.

Even in these days, when we know a lot more about the pathways of healing and can point to so many chemical and physical prescriptions for what ails us, we still turn to God in hope and prayer that God will work in these and other ways to heal us and make us whole. In this time when we increasingly understand that disease and illness do not come from a lack of faith or an imbalance of humors, we can nonetheless have faith to look to God to restore us to fullness of life. In our modern world where we can learn the science of how hurricanes and illness come into being, we can turn to God to get us through these difficult moments.

Today we embody this expectation and this prayer as we gather after worship for a service of healing and wholeness. In this strange but wonderful service, we acknowledge that healing is not just physical wellness accomplished through medical practices but emerges also through the pathway to wholeness that can only come from God. When we surround those who step into the circle to seek for touch of healing, we embody the presence of God surrounding us and transforming us. And when we pray to God for healing of whatever kind, whether in this circle or in some other place, we can trust that God will give us healing, maybe not in the ways we most expect it, but certainly in whatever way we most need it.

Unfortunately, we may not always find healing here. The change that comes about may not look like we want it to. The transformation may not come on the timetable we desire. It may even seem that our prayers aren’t being heard. And death still remains a part of our human experience of life and living. But the promise of God is not for healing on our timetable or on our terms or even in the way that we expect—no, God’s healing always comes in God’s own time and often in ways beyond our understanding because it is not just healing but wholeness too.

God’s healing is not just a solution to our physical ailments but an openness to a new and different way of life, not just a transformation of disease but a transformation of our very hearts. This healing and wholeness from God is so deep and so real that it brings a joyous response. Just as Bartimaeus rose with his sight and followed Jesus, so those of us who know this healing are also called to walk in a new and different way, to embody the love that reaches out beyond all boundaries, the community that emerges from that love, and transformation that comes when you least expect it.

So as we journey into this place and time of healing and into the uncertainty of the coming days, may we know God’s presence with us as we watch and wait for the possibilities of transformation, as we hope and pray for the fullness of life to be ours, and as we look for the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord to heal all our brokenness and make all things new. Amen.

Will It Sink In?

October 21, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon on Mark 10:32-45 for the 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time
preached on October 21, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

As a child, how many times did your mother or father have to tell you something before it made sense and really sunk in? Or as a parent, how many times did you have to tell your child not to do something before he or she would actually stop doing it? I don’t think any of us can actually count the times for either of those questions! It’s not just children who have a hard time getting things into our heads—it seems to be a pretty human thing. So often we tend to be stubborn folks, slow to learn the lessons we are taught but frustrated when others don’t figure things out as fast as we’d like, impatient for others to change but deeply resistant to change ourselves, ready for something to shift and move but afraid of the uncertainty that movement can bring.

Our reading today from Mark offers us a moment when Jesus and his disciples experienced just this sort of thing. It opens with Jesus telling his disciples for a third time about his coming death and resurrection. Every time this comes up, they can’t quite process it. Even though they have been journeying together for several years, they haven’t quite gotten it into their heads that this journey might not end with glory and honor for Jesus and for them. They just don’t seem to realize how many people are threatened by Jesus’ message that challenges the power structures and demands a new and different way for everyone. So even when he told them again that they were on the way to Jerusalem where he would be condemned and killed, they were amazed and afraid.

Then the brothers James and John approached him with a request. “Arrange it,” they said, “so that we will be awarded the highest places of honor in your glory—one of us at your right, the other at your left.” (Mark 10:37, The Message)

As usual, Jesus was surprised—they still didn’t get what he was up to and what was ahead for him. “You have no idea what you’re asking,” he replied. “Are you really up for this? Are you really sure that you can drink the cup I am about to drink and be baptized with the baptism that I am about to receive?”

“Of course!” they replied. They would do anything to be near Jesus, anything to share the glory that they were sure he would have, anything to continue the wonderful experiences that had defined their world for the last several years as they journeyed with Jesus, anything to preserve for all time the way things had been over the last couple years.

But then Jesus burst their bubble a bit. “Yes, you can drink the cup that I will drink and share the baptism that is ahead for me, but I can’t guarantee anything about glory. That’s not mine to promise, and it is for those for whom it has already been prepared.”

The other disciples got wind of all this and got angry. How could James and John be so interested in status and power, trying to take something for themselves that they all ought to be sharing? The other disciples wanted their fair share of status and power too! But Jesus would have none of it from any of them. He made it clear that status and titles should mean nothing to them—they should be more concerned with how they are serving God, one another and the world.

Whoever wants to be great among you will be your servant. Whoever wants to be first among you will be the slave of all. The [Son of Man] didn’t come to be served but rather to serve and to give his life to liberate many people. (Mark 10:43b-45, CEB)

This text is so rich with meaning and possibility, which probably explains why I’ve now preached on it every time it has come up in the lectionary! The disciples are so incredibly naïve here—somehow they just don’t get what Jesus is up to in his life and ministry, even though he has told them everything they need to know several times before. Jesus is so direct and so honest with them here—he doesn’t shy away from explaining what he’s really up to even when he knows that it is not the best news for the disciples. And in the midst of a power play from James and John, all the disciples show their true colors here—they want in on the action too! But the repeated questions of the disciples also remind us of children who are struggling to find their way in the world—of anyone who is confused and afraid of a new and uncertain thing.

The text reminds us too: “Those who followed were afraid.” Maybe James’ and John’s request to Jesus was less about grabbing power and more about fear that the good thing that they shared with Jesus was really going to come to an end. Maybe the disciples’ reactions here were less about gaining eternal life and more about holding on to things as they were in the moment. Maybe it was finally starting to sink in that they would be facing the same way of condemnation and death that Jesus had ahead, that they actually would have to take up their cross and follow in his footsteps. The disciples’ uncertainty and confusion was clearly shifting into fear, and they wanted to do everything possible to hold on to things as they were.

But in the face of their fear of the unknown, Jesus made it clear that they would not walk this way alone. First, he was going ahead of them. He would be the first one to face these things, and they would be all the stronger for their own trials and tribulations because they could look to his example along the way. But that was not all of it. His cup that they would share, his baptism that they would share—these are nothing less than the things that have sustained the followers of Jesus for two millennia. This was a promise to them that something will change, that they too will one day share a new and different way with him. My preaching professor Chuck Campbell paraphrases Jesus’s words here like this:

You will not always be driven by your fears and your need for security. Rather, you will be empowered to take up your cross and follow me. You will be faithful disciples even to the end. (Feasting on the Word Year B Volume 4, p. 193)

For us today as we celebrate our 141st anniversary, as we remember the faithfulness of our members who have been among us for a milestone of years, as we commemorate the 30th anniversary of the merger with the Epworth United Methodist Church that continues to shape the life of this place even today, Jesus’ words can continue to speak their challenge and their promise to us. We as individuals and as a congregation must walk with him along the difficult road. We must seek to live together in all our celebration and all our sighing and all our pain. And we must not be afraid to face the end of the way things have been so that we can embrace the new thing that God promises is surely ahead.

So just as Jesus promised this way for his disciples, so his promise comes to us, too. We share the cup that he has drunk so that we might know the fullness of his death and his resurrection. We share the baptism that he has already known so that we might die and rise anew with him. Chuck Campbell again offers words of comfort and hope to us:

We need not always live in fear; we need not continually seek our own security. Rather, we have Jesus’ promise that we can and will live as faithful disciples as we seek to follow him. (Feasting on the Word Year B Volume 4, p. 193)

By this gift from Jesus Christ himself, we are freed from all that brings us fear, all that keeps us apart from God, and all that prevents us from being the kind of servant to others that Christ was to us. By this gift, we are freed to serve God and neighbor, to set aside our ways of seeking status and stability and security, to take up the way of service to those in greatest need modeled by none less than Christ himself.

And so today, as we begin our 142nd year together, may Jesus’ words be our challenge and our hope. Yes, the path before us is marked by death and resurrection—but it is a path that Jesus has gone before us, a path that so many others have known in this place before us and with us, a path whose signposts of comfort along the way are nothing less than the cup of his salvation and the baptism of his new life. So may God give us the strength we need for the journey that is before us, that we might share Jesus’ promise of new life in this place and everywhere and be his servants now and always until he comes again.

Lord, come quickly! Amen.

An Eternity of Difference

October 14, 2012 By Andy James

a sermon on Mark 10:17-31
preached on October 14, 2012, at the First Presbyterian Church of Whitestone

Growing up in Mississippi, even as a Presbyterian, I heard more than my fair share of “altar calls.” For those who are not familiar with this tradition, an altar call is a moment in a worship service, brief talk, or even at a concert when the speaker invites the audience to make a commitment to Jesus, usually with a time of prayer where the leader guides those who wish to participate to offer a prayer in their hearts to admit their sins and commit themselves to Christ. Now let me be clear: there is absolutely a time and a place for these sorts of moments where we commit or recommit our lives to the journey of faith— our Presbyterian Book of Order even has a special section in its instructions for worship that outlines the purpose and structure of these services! But too often these altar calls made the Christian life seem so simple and easy. As a child, it seemed to me that all that was really required to be faithful was praying this brief prayer just once. After someone prayed it, God would almost magically rescue the pray-er from eternal damnation. You could go forward—the “altar” part of this “altar call”—but that was optional, really. The rest of the Christian life seemed to just happen and flow from that moment of decision, and all the specifics of what needed to follow did not really need to factor into that decision. I suspect that my memories now of those moments then are colored much by what I have experienced and learned and discovered about my faith in the years since, but as an impressionable boy, all I saw demanded of me in those moments was a brief moment of prayer to make an eternity of difference.

Our story from Mark’s gospel this morning paints a far more demanding picture of the Christian life. Another impressionable man approaches Jesus with a very specific question:

Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?

Jesus doesn’t give him a prayer to pray but instead asks him about his obedience to the commandments.

Have you loved your parents?
Have you treated everyone fairly?
Have you borne false witness?

The man responds well:

Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.

Then Jesus looked him over, through and through, and spoke to him with the deepest honesty and love:

You lack one thing: go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.

Jesus could tell from his dress, his presence, maybe even his speech that this man was not in need of anything, yet he lacked something far greater than a simple prayer or even more complete obedience to the commandments could offer. To make room for what he really wanted in the midst of all the other things of his life, this man had to give up everything that he had. In order to take up a new and different way of life, this rich man had to stop pretending that he could take care of himself and instead focus on taking care of others. To make an eternity of difference, this man had to radically change the course of his life in such a way that would not only deepen the lives of others but more importantly open him to a deeper and fuller trust in God that would come only when he gave up all hopes of saving himself by any action of his own. The man didn’t seem to like Jesus’ words—who would? Who welcomes being told that they need to give up everything that they have worked so hard for in order to get something that really mattered to them? So Mark tells us that he went away grieving.

After the rich man left, Jesus told his disciples that this challenge is the norm for those who are wealthy.

It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.

They were so deeply confused. “Then who can be saved?” they asked. His answer was simple:

For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.

If it wasn’t clear to the disciples by now, Jesus made it clear yet again that following him is not easy. Shortcuts just aren’t gonna cut it. Following Jesus means going all in, offering more than just a little prayer but in fact everything that we have, giving from our great abundance to care for others and to make us more ready to receive the gift that God is offering. There’s no way to argue your way out of this one with Jesus, and the rich man knew it and didn’t even try. Jesus isn’t going to tell us that we aren’t really rich enough to give up everything—he simply reminds us that until we are poor enough to depend only on God, we are still very rich. Jesus isn’t going to say that we can go and make a nice nest egg for ourselves and then start taking care of the poor—he demands that we change our ways now, once and for all. Jesus doesn’t accept our excuses for why we can’t follow him with all our hearts, all our minds, all our strength, and even all our money—he simply reminds us that all things are possible with God, and that our trust and hope should be nowhere else and in no one else other than God, for that is the only way to make an eternity of difference.

This text hits a bit close to home sometimes. As you might know, we as a congregation have come into a bit of cash lately! In selling the manse just some ten days ago, we cashed in an asset that had provided a home for our pastors for about fifteen years in hopes that it would now provide us with a cash reserve to support the ministry of a full-time pastor in this congregation for many years to come. This cash infusion certainly does not make us rich by any standard of this world, and the reality is that we have simply received cash for something that has been ours for a long time. But I wonder how Jesus would respond to us in our thinking about this wealth that is now ours in a new way. The $420,000 or so that we will have remaining after our bills are settled, transitional expenses paid, and obligations met is no small sum for us as a congregation—we could cover our entire budget with no other income for about three years! Comparatively, is it as much as the rich man had? Probably not—but I still think Jesus would challenge us to consider it as great wealth that can get in the way of our trust in God.

I don’t know if Jesus would call us to give it all away right away as he suggested the rich man do, but in light of this story, I must wonder if we are doing the right thing by simply trying to keep up what we’ve been doing and hoping that it might one day bring us the new life we desire. Is our call to discipleship really to preserve the life we have together in this place as long as possible? Does Jesus tell us that we should keep doing everything we’ve always been doing and receive the kind of life we long for? Or does Jesus demand more of us than we are willing to give and challenge us to give up everything that we hold dear so that we can have more than we ever imagined as we look to God alone to give us life?

These words are not easy to proclaim or to hear. As I consider these words for us together, I cannot miss that even my own way of life is challenged by Jesus here. It is tough enough to be good stewards of the wealth that is ours, but then Jesus comes along and demands that we give it all up so that our trust can be in God alone. It is not as easy to follow Jesus as it seemed to be when I first heard those altar calls as a boy. It takes more than praying a little prayer to make Jesus’ way of life our own. It takes more than showing up to a little building with a few other people for an hour on Sunday to be faithful followers of Christ. It takes more than giving up a few pennies a day to make an eternity of difference. Indeed, those who follow Jesus give up everything and so gain everything, by putting our trust not in ourselves or our own abilities but in God alone to transform our world and make us and all things new.

So may the Spirit strengthen us for this way of life in this time and place, to give up what we must so that we can follow Jesus in all that we say and do and to trust that the God who creates us has redeemed us and will sustain us forever as we seek to make an eternity of difference. May it be so for us, now and always. Amen.