Abundance, rev. 2
I'm trying to get caught up on posting my manuscript sermons. This one is from, oh heck, August perhaps?
Abundance
Exodus 34:1-7
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
(note: children's sermon on things which don't get used up when we offer them, like music, love, etc.)
That morning Jesus had been teaching and healing inside someone's house. There was a press of people in the house all trying to get into the room where Jesus was, trying to get close enough to him to hear him and see him, longing to fill whatever gaping need they were feeling in their souls. The room was full and the house was full and the disciples came awfully close to playing the role of bouncers, like the big guys at the door of an exclusive club, keeping people out, ushering a select few through the crowd to Jesus to be healed. (Eventually, there was such a mob that even Jesus' own family couldn't get through it to speak to Jesus.)
For a moment, it seemed like Jesus himself was a limited commodity: there was only one of him, and there was only so much room in the house, and those who'd made it in were grateful, if a bit crowded, and those still outside were excluded.
So Jesus left the house.
He walked down to the Sea of Galilee and stood at the shore, where there was more room, and where there was no longer an inside and an outside to divide those who were included from those who were excluded. Yet even on the beach the people pressed in, hungry for what Jesus might offer them, and so with his back to the lake and the crowd radiating out around him, the ones in front blocking the view of the ones behind, Jesus moved one more time: he took yet another step back, and placed himself on the water. He seated himself in a boat, so that the whole congregation assembled along the shoreline could see and hear him, and so that all would be included.
And he told them many things in parables.
"The kingdom of heaven is like this: A man takes a mustard seed and sows it in his field."
"The kingdom of heaven is like this: A woman takes some yeast and mixes it with a bushel of flour."
The people have come to him hungry and yearning, and Jesus offers them images of themselves doing everyday things, farming and baking and fishing. The kingdom of heaven is not like an exclusive club with a bouncer guarding the door; the kingdom of heaven is not like a throne room into which only jewel-encrusted courtiers are admitted. Rather, the kingdom is as accessible as a field, as open as the sea, as available as the plants of the earth.
‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.
Like all of the parables, this one has many layers. Parables challenge the listener to engage with them, to figure them out, to puzzle through them and ponder how they apply. (How is the kingdom like a man who sows a mustard seed? How is the kingdom like a woman who mixes yeast into flour?) I believe one reason Jesus offers us parables rather than laws is because he wants us to engage in his word, to be involved with it, to actively imagine ourselves included in the kingdom. This is why the characters who people his parables are so accessible, every day people just like the men and women pressing in by the lakeshore. The characters and the situations of the parables are as accessible as God's kingdom which surrounds us, as available to the people as Jesus himself -- and Jesus worked very hard to make himself available.
‘Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing.
On first reading, I think most of us probably try to figure out which of the four sorts of soil we are. We ferverently hope that we are good soil which will yield good fruit, and not rocky soil or thorny soil or hard pathway. But I know that distractions grow up in my life like thorny weeds which prick at me and take up my air and water and sunshine -- does this mean I am the thorny soil? At times I have certainly felt discouraged, even depressed, at a distance from the joy of God's promise. Does this mean I am the rocky soil in which the Word has no root? I am not only one of these things; I carry all of them within me. I want the Word to take root in me; I want the kingdom to take root in me and yield fruit. Does the parable mean that I should cultivate my spiritual garden? Can I possibly weed out all my distractions? Can I possibly cling only to joy, and never feel discouraged?
....
We're living in a culture and in an economy in which many things seem scarce. Jobs seem scarce, and good jobs are even rarer. Money seems limited, and time, and energy. When there's not enough to go around -- and it seems clear to us that there are never enough resources to go around -- we are prone as a society to enter into a cultural discussion about worthiness: we debate who is to be included and who is to be excluded, who should receive and who is to be turned away, because we are afraid that if we do not claim what power we can and draw the lines ourselves that in the end we will be the ones who are excluded when it turns out there is not enough.
God does not behave this way.
And if we are to behave as God would have us behave, we must stop looking at the world as our culture would have us look, but rather we must see as God sees.
There's a praise song by Casting Crowns, If We Are the Body, which was running through my head as I was preparing this sermon, and they word it this way: "Jesus paid much too high a price for us to pick and choose who should come."
God does not exclude the unworthy from His good blessings. Who are we to do so?
....
As adults we know perfectly well there is enough love to go around, and enough hope, and enough music. Even the kids know this: by engaging in music or love or hope we do not lose them, spend them, or use them up.
But in the parable the farmer scatters not music but seeds, and in the days before genetically-modified fertilizer-intensive high-yield crops, seeds were the primary expense of farming. (Fertilizer in those days was entirely natural and available for free if one owned animals, pesticides were non-existant, and farm labour was incredibly cheap.) But the farmer is wildly extravagant with his precious seed, not sowing it only in carefully-prepared soil, but raining it on all the earth, receptive or rocky or thorny. God is likewise not moderate or restricted, but lavish, raining his blessings and grace all of us, even when we're distracted or disgruntled or distant or otherwise broken. There is nothing moderate or restrained about Christianity, which teaches that God so loved the world that he gave his only son for us all.
....
‘The Lord, the Lord,
a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation,
forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin,
yet by no means clearing the guilty,
but visiting the iniquity of the parents
upon the children
and the children’s children,
to the third and the fourth generation.’
There are real consequences to sin. Worse, our sins affect not only ourselves, but those around us. The sins of one generation really do affect the next generation: adults who viewed domestic violence in the home as children have a greater difficulty holding jobs and maintaining relationships. Our greed for oil in this generation and our willingness to risk the environment so we can have it as cheaply as possible harms not only today's world but the world our children and grandchildren will inherit from us. As we love each other and we love our children, there are good reasons to address our brokenness, to weed out our thorns and open ourselves to the Spirit; to reflect God's love and bear good fruit on this earth.
There are real consequences to sin: the effects of our sins extend to the thirds and the fourths, Exodus tells us. God's love and truth, however, extend not to the thirds, not to the fourths, but to the thousandths. The Lord, the Lord, merciful and gracious God, slow to anger, and abounding in loving-kindness and truth, keeping loving-kindness to the thousandths. (tr. mine)
God's love more than covers the consequences of our sins. It excludes no-one. It extends to the thousandths. It extends to you and to me, even though we are sinners, even when we are broken. It is extravagant and inclusive and abundant. Thanks be to God.
Abundance
Exodus 34:1-7
Matthew 13:1-9, 18-23
(note: children's sermon on things which don't get used up when we offer them, like music, love, etc.)
That morning Jesus had been teaching and healing inside someone's house. There was a press of people in the house all trying to get into the room where Jesus was, trying to get close enough to him to hear him and see him, longing to fill whatever gaping need they were feeling in their souls. The room was full and the house was full and the disciples came awfully close to playing the role of bouncers, like the big guys at the door of an exclusive club, keeping people out, ushering a select few through the crowd to Jesus to be healed. (Eventually, there was such a mob that even Jesus' own family couldn't get through it to speak to Jesus.)
For a moment, it seemed like Jesus himself was a limited commodity: there was only one of him, and there was only so much room in the house, and those who'd made it in were grateful, if a bit crowded, and those still outside were excluded.
So Jesus left the house.
He walked down to the Sea of Galilee and stood at the shore, where there was more room, and where there was no longer an inside and an outside to divide those who were included from those who were excluded. Yet even on the beach the people pressed in, hungry for what Jesus might offer them, and so with his back to the lake and the crowd radiating out around him, the ones in front blocking the view of the ones behind, Jesus moved one more time: he took yet another step back, and placed himself on the water. He seated himself in a boat, so that the whole congregation assembled along the shoreline could see and hear him, and so that all would be included.
And he told them many things in parables.
"The kingdom of heaven is like this: A man takes a mustard seed and sows it in his field."
"The kingdom of heaven is like this: A woman takes some yeast and mixes it with a bushel of flour."
The people have come to him hungry and yearning, and Jesus offers them images of themselves doing everyday things, farming and baking and fishing. The kingdom of heaven is not like an exclusive club with a bouncer guarding the door; the kingdom of heaven is not like a throne room into which only jewel-encrusted courtiers are admitted. Rather, the kingdom is as accessible as a field, as open as the sea, as available as the plants of the earth.
‘Listen! A sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil. But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them.
Like all of the parables, this one has many layers. Parables challenge the listener to engage with them, to figure them out, to puzzle through them and ponder how they apply. (How is the kingdom like a man who sows a mustard seed? How is the kingdom like a woman who mixes yeast into flour?) I believe one reason Jesus offers us parables rather than laws is because he wants us to engage in his word, to be involved with it, to actively imagine ourselves included in the kingdom. This is why the characters who people his parables are so accessible, every day people just like the men and women pressing in by the lakeshore. The characters and the situations of the parables are as accessible as God's kingdom which surrounds us, as available to the people as Jesus himself -- and Jesus worked very hard to make himself available.
‘Hear then the parable of the sower. When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing.
On first reading, I think most of us probably try to figure out which of the four sorts of soil we are. We ferverently hope that we are good soil which will yield good fruit, and not rocky soil or thorny soil or hard pathway. But I know that distractions grow up in my life like thorny weeds which prick at me and take up my air and water and sunshine -- does this mean I am the thorny soil? At times I have certainly felt discouraged, even depressed, at a distance from the joy of God's promise. Does this mean I am the rocky soil in which the Word has no root? I am not only one of these things; I carry all of them within me. I want the Word to take root in me; I want the kingdom to take root in me and yield fruit. Does the parable mean that I should cultivate my spiritual garden? Can I possibly weed out all my distractions? Can I possibly cling only to joy, and never feel discouraged?
....
We're living in a culture and in an economy in which many things seem scarce. Jobs seem scarce, and good jobs are even rarer. Money seems limited, and time, and energy. When there's not enough to go around -- and it seems clear to us that there are never enough resources to go around -- we are prone as a society to enter into a cultural discussion about worthiness: we debate who is to be included and who is to be excluded, who should receive and who is to be turned away, because we are afraid that if we do not claim what power we can and draw the lines ourselves that in the end we will be the ones who are excluded when it turns out there is not enough.
God does not behave this way.
And if we are to behave as God would have us behave, we must stop looking at the world as our culture would have us look, but rather we must see as God sees.
There's a praise song by Casting Crowns, If We Are the Body, which was running through my head as I was preparing this sermon, and they word it this way: "Jesus paid much too high a price for us to pick and choose who should come."
God does not exclude the unworthy from His good blessings. Who are we to do so?
....
As adults we know perfectly well there is enough love to go around, and enough hope, and enough music. Even the kids know this: by engaging in music or love or hope we do not lose them, spend them, or use them up.
But in the parable the farmer scatters not music but seeds, and in the days before genetically-modified fertilizer-intensive high-yield crops, seeds were the primary expense of farming. (Fertilizer in those days was entirely natural and available for free if one owned animals, pesticides were non-existant, and farm labour was incredibly cheap.) But the farmer is wildly extravagant with his precious seed, not sowing it only in carefully-prepared soil, but raining it on all the earth, receptive or rocky or thorny. God is likewise not moderate or restricted, but lavish, raining his blessings and grace all of us, even when we're distracted or disgruntled or distant or otherwise broken. There is nothing moderate or restrained about Christianity, which teaches that God so loved the world that he gave his only son for us all.
....
‘The Lord, the Lord,
a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger,
and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness,
keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation,
forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin,
yet by no means clearing the guilty,
but visiting the iniquity of the parents
upon the children
and the children’s children,
to the third and the fourth generation.’
There are real consequences to sin. Worse, our sins affect not only ourselves, but those around us. The sins of one generation really do affect the next generation: adults who viewed domestic violence in the home as children have a greater difficulty holding jobs and maintaining relationships. Our greed for oil in this generation and our willingness to risk the environment so we can have it as cheaply as possible harms not only today's world but the world our children and grandchildren will inherit from us. As we love each other and we love our children, there are good reasons to address our brokenness, to weed out our thorns and open ourselves to the Spirit; to reflect God's love and bear good fruit on this earth.
There are real consequences to sin: the effects of our sins extend to the thirds and the fourths, Exodus tells us. God's love and truth, however, extend not to the thirds, not to the fourths, but to the thousandths. The Lord, the Lord, merciful and gracious God, slow to anger, and abounding in loving-kindness and truth, keeping loving-kindness to the thousandths. (tr. mine)
God's love more than covers the consequences of our sins. It excludes no-one. It extends to the thousandths. It extends to you and to me, even though we are sinners, even when we are broken. It is extravagant and inclusive and abundant. Thanks be to God.