Tag: greed

Radical Welcome. Revolutionary Love.

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

Luke 17:11-19

I want to begin this sermon talking a little bit about preaching.

There are basically two kinds of sermons you’ll hear in churches today. One starts with a thought the preacher has. They then hunt through the Bible to find a verse or two to back up that thought.

The second kind starts, not with the preacher’s idea, but with the scripture itself. Preachers who follow this path use a tool called the lectionary, a three-year cycle of readings first shaped by the early church in the fourth century and rooted in the reading traditions of Jewish synagogues. The lectionary keeps preachers from preaching their own pet ideas, and since it always includes a gospel lesson, the preacher is encouraged to interpret each reading through the life and love of Jesus.

That’s the kind of preaching I believe in.

And it’s probably why, in my previous congregations, I’ve been criticized for preaching too many sermons about the poor and marginalized. Because here’s the reality: Besides the truth that Jesus said his very purpose was to proclaim good news to the poor and liberation to the oppressed, there are over two thousand scriptures instructing people of faith how to treat the poor. As Bishop William Barber says, “If you cut all those verses out of the Bible, the whole book would fall apart. There’d be nothing left.”

So yes, I plead guilty—for preaching the Bible in the light of Jesus. And every week, the scriptures amaze me. For they never seem to read like old stories but read more as a mirror to the present. This is why I was taught in seminary to prepare for a sermon with the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other, as I would always be able to find a relevant word of challenge and hope.

Today, Luke’s gospel brings us face to face with Jesus on the border, where he once again encounters the marginalized poor who are crying out for mercy.

It’s a beautiful story about healing and gratitude, but when we look closer, we see that it is about so much more than that. It’s about who gets welcomed and affirmed and what kind of love has the power to change the world.

And that’s why it’s the perfect reading to launch our stewardship season with the theme: “Radical Welcome. Revolutionary Love.”

Luke tells us that Jesus is walking along the border between Galilee and Samaria. In 2025, there’s no way we can rush pass that detail. Jesus is on the border—that place where boundaries get policed, where soldiers get sent, where dreams are crushed, and walls get built. It’s the place where the desperate gather, immigrants are scapegoated, and the poor are told to go back to where they came from.

It is there that Jesus meets ten people with leprosy—ten people who know exactly what it means to be told they don’t belong. They’ve each heard the words of Leviticus cherry-picked and used like weapons against them, if you can imagine such a thing:

The person who has the leprous disease shall wear torn clothes and let the hair of his head be disheveled; and he shall cover his upper lip and cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean.’ … He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp. (Leviticus 13:45–46)

That’s what marginalization looks like in scripture form, an ancient version of “You’re poisoning the blood of our country.”

So, the outsiders keep their distance while they cry out: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”

And isn’t that the same cry echoing all around us today?

It’s the cry of immigrants and of all who are excluded from the opportunities enjoyed by the privileged.

It’s the cry of anyone denied due process under the law or denied representation in gerrymandered voting districts.

It’s the cry of LGBTQ people shut out and abused by the church.

It’s the cry of women who are denied access to reproductive care.

It’s the cry of every Black and Brown neighbor who drives past a Confederate flag waving in the wind—a painful reminder of the systemic racism they are forced to endure.

They all cry out: “Lord, have mercy!”

And what does Jesus do? He doesn’t ignore their cries. And he doesn’t ask for credentials or proof of worthiness. Without asking whether they’re citizens of Galilee or Samaria, he opens a free clinic right there at the border.

But notice something else: Jesus doesn’t just give them free healthcare and send them on their way. He wants to make sure they’re restored back into community. That’s why he says, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” Because according to the Mosaic Law, only a priest could officially declare them “clean” allowing them to re-enter society.

Because Jesus is never satisfied with individual healing. Jesus wants liberation. Jesus wants justice. He wants inclusion. He wants acceptance, belonging, and abundant life for all.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Out of the ten who are healed, only one turns back to say thank you—and Luke wants to make sure we know that the hero of the story was a Samaritan, the foreigner in the group. The outsider of outsiders. The religious heretic. The one the establishment called impure, illegal, and alien. And when this outsidiest of all the outsiders turns back to Jesus, “Jesus doesn’t say, “Sorry, you’re not one of us.” “Sorry, you don’t sing in our language.” “Sorry, your faith and traditions are different from ours.” He says, “Your faith has made you well.”

This is what radical welcome looks like in a world obsessed with borders—literal and figurative. Who’s in, who’s out. Who’s legal, who’s illegal. Who’s acceptable, who’s disqualified. This is the world Jesus dares to say: “All belong. All are worthy. All can be healed, and liberty and justice can be for all.”

This is the radical welcome we’re called to embody as a church. To be people who don’t just tolerate diversity but celebrate it. To be a community where God’s wide, universal, unconditional embrace is visible, tangible, and undeniable, where every person hears the gospel loud and clear: “You belong here!”

And this welcome is not only radical. It’s revolutionary.

Because this kind of love doesn’t just heal individuals; it transforms systems. It disrupts the status quo. It flips tables. It tears down walls. It not only welcomes—it honors. It not only includes—it affirms.

And because of this, revolutionary love is always costly. It cost Jesus his reputation. It cost him his safety. It eventually cost him his life. But he showed us that the only love worth living for is the kind of love worth dying for.

This is the kind of love we are called to practice. A love that refuses to let anyone stand outside the circle, and keeps widening that circle again and again, no matter the cost. A love that refuses to stay silent in the face of injustice and is always willing to risk comfort for the sake of compassion, willing to be called an “insurrectionist,” to even get shot in the face with a chemical weapon like the Presbyterian Minister in Chicago this week.

So, you may ask, “What does this have to do with stewardship?” The answer is “everything.”

Because stewardship is not about maintaining a building or keeping the lights on. Stewardship is about resourcing the ministry of radical welcome and revolutionary love.

When we give, we’re not paying dues to an institution; we’re investing in liberation.

We’re not buying comfort; we’re building community.

We’re not keeping the lights on; we’re keeping hope alive.

We’re not feeding our souls.

But every dollar we give is bread for the hungry, balm for the wounded, space for the excluded, and hope for the desperate. Every pledge we make is a declaration: “We refuse to be a church of scarcity, fear, or maintenance, but choose to be a church of abundance, courage, and mission!”

Giving to our church is much different than giving to a charity. It’s resistance to the forces of greed and self-interest. It’s protest against a world that says money is for hoarding, power is for the few, people should be divided, and love is conditional.

Giving to our church proclaims: God’s economy is different. In God’s economy, generosity multiplies. In God’s economy, love grows stronger the more it is shared, and our lives become fuller the more we give them away.

It’s the Samaritan who shows us that gratitude itself can be revolutionary. When he turns back to give thanks, he refuses to be silent. He refuses to treat his healing as a private, personal blessing and interrupts our gospel lesson with praise, teaching us that gratitude interrupts despair and fuels generosity.

That’s what this year’s stewardship season is about. It’s an invitation to practice gratitude like that Samaritan. To turn back to Jesus. To say, “thank you.” To recognize that every good gift comes from God, and that the only faithful response is to give back.

So, here’s our call this stewardship season:

To give back by walking the borderlands with Jesus, refusing to let anyone be cast aside.

To practice welcome so radical that people say, “I never knew church could look like this.”

To embody love so revolutionary that systems tremble, powers take notice, and hope is rekindled.

To give with such joy and generosity that the world knows: this is a congregation that truly takes Bible seriously while living in this world as disciples of Christ.

And no, it’s not easy. It takes faith. It takes sacrifice. It takes courage. People will laugh at us, dismiss us, and even attack us. But here’s the good news: the same Jesus who healed the ten and honored the Samaritan is still walking with us. The same Spirit that moved then is moving now.

The lepers cried out for mercy, and Jesus answered. The Samaritan turned back to give thanks, and Jesus affirmed his faith. Today, we stand in that same story. We are the ones who have been welcomed. We are the ones who have been loved. We are the ones who have been healed.

And now it’s our turn. It’s our turn to welcome, to heal, to affirm, to love, to give.

So, let’s stand up with gratitude.

Let’s step out in faith.

Let’s lean forward in love.

Because the world is waiting for a church like this—a church that practices radical welcome and revolutionary love!”

It’s not just a theme or a slogan.

It’s not just the idea of a preacher with some cherry-picked verses to back it up.

It’s the gospel.

It’s the good news.

And it’s our calling.

It’s our witness to the world!

Amen.

Christmas in the Boondocks

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Advent and Christmas, Sermons Year C1 Comment

Luke 3:7-18 NRSV

As a preacher, I often wonder about this thing we call a sermon. Like, why do we do it? Why do preachers prepare and deliver them, and why do you sit and listen to it?

I tend to believe that you are here for the sermon because need a little encouragement. In a world that can be dark and despairing, you need to hear a word of light and hope. In a world that can be sad and chaotic, you need to hear a word of joy and peace.

On top of all the problems in the world, war in Ukraine and in the Middle East, the acceptance of fascism throughout the world, including in our own country, you have all kinds of stress in your life. Some of your children are not doing as well as you would like. Some of you are having a difficult time taking care of aging parents. And some of you have your own health worries. Some of you are still dealing with grief over the loss of a loved one. And you are still struggling with forgiving that friend who let you down or loving a neighbor who betrayed you. So, you come to this place every to sit in a pew to get a little inspiration, to find a little peace.

So, I, along with hundreds of other moderate, educated, mainline preachers in our pretty, city pulpits, seek to give you a dose of what we think you want on Sunday mornings. Instead of saying anything that might add to the stress in your life, we try to say something to fill you with such peace, that when the time in the service comes when we pass the peace, you actually have something to pass. During the sermon, we seek to metaphorically pat you on the back on Sunday mornings assuring you that everything is going to be alright.

I am very tempted this morning to talk about my new granddaughter and how the birth of a little baby can change our world; then somehow compare that to the birth of Jesus peaching a soft, sweet, sentimental sermon of comfort and peace.

But then I encounter a text like this morning’s gospel lesson and read the account of a preacher who doesn’t remind us of any grandfather we know whose heart has been softened by the birth of a baby. His name is John, and he’s also a far cry any educated, moderate, mainline preacher in a pretty, city pulpit. He’s a harsh man with a harsh voice crying out in the boondocks far from the lights of the city.

No one ever called John “moderate.” And no one ever called him “mainline.” And there was seemingly nothing peaceful, about his message of hell, fire, brimstone, and impending judgment.

When John stood in the mud of the Jordan River and looked out in the congregation, he didn’t seem to see what I see when I look out on Sunday mornings. I see mostly good people who truly want to be better. John saw a snake pit. He preached: “You bunch of poisonous snakes! There’s a bunch of dead stones in this muddy river, but God is able to raise up a family out of these stones. There’s a heap of dry chaff, mixed all up in with the wheat, and you know what God’s going to do? God’s coming with fire to burn off the chaff. I wash you with water; and if this water is too cold for you… there is one who’s coming right behind me who is going to scorch you with fire!”

“You better get washed. You better get clean!  If you haven’t treated someone right, go make it right. If you have something you can give to those who have nothing to give, give it. If you have any prejudice in your heart, you better get rid of it. This may be your last warning. Today is the day. Now is the hour, for the ax and the fire are surely coming!”

Now I think, who wants to listen to a sermon like that? As it turns out, lots of people. Luke says: “multitudes” came out to hear him. And genteel, educated preachers in our nice city pulpits everywhere, scratch our heads and ask: “why?”

Perhaps you don’t come to church to listen to a sermon solely to be encouraged. Perhaps you also come to hear the truth.

Multitudes travelled way out into the boonies because that redneck preacher who looked like he could handle a snake or two named John was telling people the truth.

And perhaps that is why we are all here this morning. In a world where we are bombarded with lies…in a world in which we are overwhelmed with deceit, disinformation, propaganda, gaslighting and indoctrination… in a world where people make up stories to control us, using us for their selfish and greedy purposes…in a world where the rich and powerful control the media and malign the media they don’t control…and in a world where money is always the objective, we need to hear someone who will unashamedly speak to us, honestly and truthfully. We come here out of a deep yearning to hear a word of truth from God, because we know deep in our hearts that it is only that truth that will set us free and give us the peace we all desire.

That is why more people went out to hear John preach in the boondocks than have ever come here to hear me preach in the comfortable city sanctuaries where I have preached. Multitudes trudged through the briars and dust and went to hear a fire-breathing preacher who stood, not in a beautifully crafted and decorated pulpit, but in the muddy Jordan River, and spoke of axes, judgment, and fire. They went to hear the truth, even though they knew that truth was going to hurt. Because they somehow instinctively knew that it was the truth and only the truth that was going to set them free and give them a lasting peace.

If John was here today, I believe he would tell you that preachers like me often sell you short. And maybe he would be right.

For I have noticed, when every now and again, I unintentionally slip up and step on a few toes, a lot harder than I would ever intend to, inferring that some of you are not right…That some of you could do a little better…That some of you need a bath…That some part of you needs to be cut off, removed; something in you needs to be burned away…When I challenge you by saying something like: peace is only going to come on earth if you do something, that justice is only going to be done, if you use your privilege and power and act…When I explain how, even now, we are participants in the systems of oppression we deplore… you know what happens? Why, people line up after the service to say, “Thank you preacher. I really needed to hear that!” “You really got on top of my feet today! Thanks for being honest.”

I wonder what would happen if preachers all over the world had the gall to discuss all the lies and disinformation in our world today that is behind the growing popularity of fascism. What if we inferred that all of us could do more to stop it, that we could be more vocal in our condemnation of it, that our silence today only helps to normalize it, and such normalization is actually part of the historical playbook of fascism?

 What do we think our congregants would do if we challenged them— telling them the truth that when they hear their neighbors, co-workers and family members say things like: “People are just over-reacting;” “Things will not get that bad!” “The people in power? Why, they’re only talking. They don’t really mean what they say.” Our system of democracy is not fragile”—when they hear that, and then they say nothing, they only help to normalize fascism.

What would happen if preachers made a historical comparison between our silence today and the silence of those in 1860 when their friends defended slavery, saying things like: “We are actually doing them a favor!” What would happen if preachers compared our silence to those in 1930’s Germany when their friends defended concentration camps, saying something like: “Oh, they are just work camps. They are only helping people learn the value of labor and hard work!” What would happen if we compared our silence with those who said nothing when everyone around them was calling Martin Luther King Jr. “a troublemaker?”

Yeah, saying those things will certainly make some people mad. Some may not turn in their pledge cards. It may cause them to leave and never come back. But I have a feeling they’ll be many people lined up in narthexes everywhere to thank us, because people know the truth that before something can be born anew, something old must die. Before love can win, someone must be willing to pick up and carry a cross. Before justice can be done, work must be done. Before peace can happen, sacrifices must be made. Before Christmas can be celebrated, gifts must be given.

That is why people came to hear John preach. They came for the candor, for the honesty, and for the truth. From his prolific sermon illustrations (the fire, the ax, and chaff), we know that what John was preaching was the death of something old and the birth of something new.

This is why the multitudes traveled out into the boonies to hear John preach. Because when John told the people what they needed to change, what they needed to prune, cut off and burn up, the wilderness began to look something like the Garden of Eden. The muddy Jordan became the River of Life. Out of the dry dust, a flower began to bloom. Peace on earth became a little bit more of a reality.

This was the message of John the Baptist. People flocked to hear John, and I believe come to worship every Sunday so they can hear the truth: that none of us are who we ought to be. All of us could do better. We could be better.

We come here to ask God to hold up a mirror in front of us so we can see our complacency and our complicity. We ask God to search us and know our hearts; to test us and know our thoughts, to see if there is any wicked way in us and lead us the way that is everlasting. And having accepted the truth, we come to drop to our knees and ask God to take an ax and cut us down, or kindle a fire and purge us, so we can be reborn, so we can be cleansed and changed, so we can then do all that we can do to change the world. John preached the possibility of such a transformation.

And he’s still preaching it today. We can’t get to Christmas without first meeting him out in the boondocks. Multitudes have. By God’s grace, so will we.[i]

[i] Inspired from a sermon entitled Here Comes the Judge by William Willimon.

Saying “Yes” to Jesus

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year BLeave a comment

Mark 10:17-31 NRSV

I have some good news to share this morning!

But, first, let me give you the bad news—for that is the order that it comes to us through this morning’s gospel lesson. The very first line of our text sets an ominous tone: “As he was setting out on a journey…”  For we all know where that journey takes Jesus—the betrayal, the denials, the abandonment, the condemnation, the mocking, and the crowds cheering it on, the crucifixion, death.

The bad news is that the journey we are on as followers of Jesus leads us to the cross. It leads us to places that we would rather not go. It leads us to sacrifice and self-expenditure. It leads us down a confusing, challenging road. To be first, we are challenged to be last. To be great, we are challenged to be a servant. To save our lives, we are challenged to lose our lives. To live, we challenged to die.

Furthermore, our gospel lesson teaches that saying “yes” to this journey is difficult for many people. The road to the life God has created us to live is truly narrow, and there are few who find it.

We read that a man runs up to Jesus, kneels before him and asks him a very good question: “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”  It is the question of every person: “What must I do to have a life that is full, purposeful and meaningful?”

Jesus replies:

You know the commandments: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.

“But teacher, I have kept all of these since my youth.”

In other words, “Jesus, I have been going to Sabbath School since I was a little boy!”

Mark says that Jesus then looked at the man, (I like this next line) and “loved the man,” and said,

But you lack one thing. Go and sell everything you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.

When the man heard this, he was shocked. And he went way grieving, for he had many possessions.

This is bad news because, here we have a very good person, a law-abiding person, a frequent synagogue goer, a religious person, a sincere seeker, someone raised in the faith, who is unable to say “yes” to the call of Jesus to become one of his disciples.

And here is the really bad news for us. The reason the call of Jesus is rejected is because of something that we, living in our capitalistic society, have a great affinity toward: money. This one is unable to follow Jesus, unable to experience, life, full, meaningful, abundant, and eternal, because he loves his bank account more than he loves poor people.

This is a discouraging teaching for those who live in a culture that believes wealth is the answer to all of life’s problems.

It is no secret that the voters of this country have a history of electing their leaders based on what? The leader’s psychological fitness to lead? Nope. The leader’s moral values and ethical character? Oh, heck no! The leader’s sense of compassion and empathy for others? Ha! The leader’s anti-racist, anti-sexist, pro-LGBTQ sentiments? Lord, have mercy!

It was the campaign strategist of Bill Clinton’s successful 1992 presidential campaign James Carville who answered that question most clearly when he said, “It’s the economy stupid.”

Because what our culture values most is wealth. And we seem to be willing to sacrifice everything that is good and decent and holy to create it and hold on to it. People will vote for someone who uses the same lying, hateful, racist, authoritarian language of Adolph Hitler, if they believe doing so might lower their taxes or assure them that none of their tax dollars will be used to help people of another race, ethnicity, or sexuality.

The spirit of greed and selfishness that possesses our society and drives our economy is bad news when we realize that people with wealth do not fair very well in the Bible. Jesus said it is as harder for a wealthy person to do the right thing than it is to get a camel through an eye of a needle.

That’s the bad news. Now, are you ready for the good news? The good news is that this is not the end of this morning’s gospel lesson.

Jesus responded, ‘For mortals it is impossible [for wealthy people] to receive eternal life, but not for God; for God all things are possible.’

Peter says: ‘Look, we have left everything and followed you.’

And Jesus responds:

Truly I tell you, here is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields, for my sake and for the sake of the good news, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this age—houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions—and in the age to come eternal life.

The good news is that this is one of the few times in the gospel story that ol’ Peter opens his big mouth and blurts out something without getting pulled aside and rebuked by Jesus.

Peter says: “Lord, we have left everything—homes, family, friends, jobs—and we have followed you!”

Peter is saying: “Look, Jesus, we are not like the one who came inquiring about eternal life, only to be shocked and grieved by your strange answer. Although you turned our world upside down, although you said things to us like the first shall be last and the last shall be first, and to be the greatest we must be a servant, to save ourselves we must lose ourselves, to live we must die, when you called us, we dropped everything.”

“We let go of a lot to follow you.  And although we do not understand half, a third, ok Jesus, one fourth of the things you teach us, although you scare us to death when you talk about being arrested, tried, and crucified, we’re still here. We didn’t walk away. We’ve stayed the course, and we’ve kept the faith. We may not understand everything, but we do listen! Well, every now and again we might fall asleep, but sometimes we even take notes.”

The good news is that our lesson this morning does not end with the rejection of one greedy man. It ends with a promise from Jesus:

I promise you, for everything you have given up, I will give you much more. For everything you have turned your back upon, I will give you a hundred times more.

Now, are you ready for some more good news?

None of you in this room is like this one who came inquiring about eternal life, only to be shocked and grieved by Jesus’ strange answers. Although Jesus turned your world upside down, although he said things to you like the first shall be last and the last shall be first and to be the greatest you must be a servant, to live you must die, when Jesus called you, you said “yes” to that call.  Some of you let go of a lot to follow him.  And although you do not understand half, a third, ok, one fourth of the things Jesus teaches you, although you don’t even remember last week’s sermon, although Jesus scares you to death when you read of him talking about being arrested, tried and crucified, you’re still here. You’ve not walked away. You’ve stayed the course. You’ve kept the faith.  You may not understand everything you hear, yet you come to this place week after week after week and you listen. Yes, sometimes you fall asleep.  But sometimes, some of you even take some notes!

Although every muscle in your body aches and your knees and hips are worn out, and it hurts to walk and it hurts to sit, and it hurts to stand, you somehow make it to this place every Sunday you can. When you wanted to pull the covers up over your heads and sleep in on this cool Sunday morning, you got up. You got yourself ready and you came. You are here.

And not only are you here to listen to these strange teachings of Jesus, you’ve decided to follow him on a journey that leads to the cross.  You have decided to follow Jesus on a journey that leads to sacrifice and self-expenditure.

Some of you have given up wealth by turning down more lucrative careers in order make a difference in the world by working for a non-profit or as a public servant, by teaching children or caring for senior adults.

Although you don’t have to, and really don’t want to, many of you frequently volunteer as selfless servants in this community— volunteering at the hospital or the Free Clinic, delivering meals on wheels, helping neighbors with their groceries at Park View Mission, advocating for someone with special needs or serving on the board of a non-profit. You freely share your wealth donating to charity and investing in the community.

Many of you have said yes to be a deacon, an elder, a Sunday School teacher or a board member—to work with our children and youth, to sing in the choir, to give to a hurricane relief fund or to purchase diapers or baby formula to deliver to strangers in need, to do whatever you can, with whatever it takes, whatever the cost, wherever you are, to make this world a better place.

And although the way is sometimes difficult, as few follow and many reject this way, you welcome the opportunity to get into some good trouble, some necessary trouble. You are willing to speak out before the town council or the school board, and you are willing to pay the price for doing so.

Although it has made you the black sheep of your own family, you do not hesitate to defend those who are marginalized by sick religion. Your stand for social justice has caused some of your friends to alienate you or to even unfriend you but you keep standing!

Living in a part of the world where it is most unpopular to do so, where the majority of church people have rejected the way of Jesus, you have fully embraced this narrow way that Jesus taught and modeled as you empathetically stand with immigrants and minorities who are being scapegoated, with women whose rights have been taken away, and with the poor who are being crushed by policies of greed.

And you are standing firm in this election season against Christian Nationalism and White Supremacy, the very Spirit of the anti-Christ that is possessing many in the church today.

You speak up for both Jews and Palestinians. You defend the freedom of people of all religions, and you defend people’s right to be free from religion. You decry all war, violence, hate and bigotry.

You deny yourself, love your enemies, forgive seventy times seven, offer the shirt off your back, and you are willing to go the extra mile to heal the hurting, welcome the excluded, and free the oppressed.

When people say that we should only help those who help themselves, you quote Jesus saying: “We are to love our neighbors as we love ourselves!”

When people scream, “America first!” you quote Jesus saying: “for God so loves the whole world!”

When people chant, “Send them back!” You model Jesus by finding those who are being scapegoated, and you invite them to join you at a table.

And when people say they love the sinner, but hate the sin, you remind them that Jesus never once followed the word “love” in a sentence with the word “but!”

As I said last night at our 150-celebration, you have joined members of this historic congregation, and the saints who have gone before us, to do all that you can do to be a kindness-lover, a peace-maker, a foot-washer, a cheek-turner, a justice-doer, and a grace-giver.[i]

The bad news is the story of this one we read about in Mark’s gospel ends with greed, selfishness, grieving and rejection. The good news is that his story is not your story. For even when you were shocked by Jesus’ strange and challenging teaching, you dropped everything and followed him. And because of that, although you suffer persecution from even the people you love, your story ends with a promise from Jesus. Thanks be to God.

[i] Inspired by the words of John Pavlovitz, If God Is Love, Don’t Be a Jerk (Louisville, KY: John Knox Press, 2021), 69.

Perilous Prudence

On By Rev. Dr. Jarrett BanksIn Sermons Year CLeave a comment

greedy fool

Luke 12:13-21 NRSV

In his book entitled, Contending for the Faith: The Church’s Engagement with Culture, Ralph Wood, criticized so-called “seeker-sensitive” or “user-friendly” churches that started springing up all over at the turn of this century. These are churches that try to attract people in today’s culture by adapting to, or even mimicking the culture. The goal is to have people walk into these churches and feel as comfortable as they do walking into a shopping mall, to create an atmosphere that doesn’t feel like church.  The primary goal is to make worshippers feel at home, at ease, as comfortable as they can be.

Wood believes this is the opposite of how we should feel when we come to worship. He contends that there should be a necessary friction between the ways of the church and the ways of the world.

Church historian Robert Wilken agrees.  He says that when a person comes into a Christian church for the first time, he or she should feel “out of place.” Every Sunday morning, at least for one hour, we all ought to be a little uncomfortable.

Why?

Because the way of Jesus is usually not our way.

The truth is that when we read the gospels we discover that Jesus, more often than not, looks at things very differently than we look at things. To our dismay, we open our Bibles on Sunday mornings to learn that Jesus is not a white, conservative, English-speaking, American capitalist who values the things we Americans all hold so dear to our hearts: prudence, productivity, prosperity, not even freedom.

We open our Bibles and hear Jesus say things like, “What does it profit a person to gain the whole world and lose his or her soul.”

This is disconcerting as most of us honor those who “gain the whole world,” or at least a big slice of it.  We honor these people every year in our celebrity magazines with our yearly lists “the most successful” and “the most famous.”

Yet, Jesus calls these successful people, these Forbes 500-type-people, these “winners” in the game of life, well, he calls them “losers.”

Which brings us this morning to the little story of Jesus and the rich farmer.

Here is a prudent, productive, and prosperous man whom we might call a tremendous success.  He is not only a success at farming, but he is also a wise manager of his success. He very astutely builds great, secure barns to hold his grand harvest. We might give him the “Farmer of the Year” award.

And because we don’t like to acknowledge that Jesus’ ways are not our ways, we would like to think that Jesus might praise the man. We would like to read words form Jesus admiring the man for being so capable, resourceful, and prudent.

However, Jesus says to the man, “You fool!”

Nothing “seeker sensitive” or “user-friendly” about that!

That was going to be the title of this sermon this week: “You Greedy Fool!”  But after sleeping on it Monday night, I thought to myself, “I can’t put that in the newsletter. That’s just ugly. That’s going to surely offend someone!  Let me see if I can call this sermon something else, something a little nicer—I got it, “Perilous Prudence.”  There, that sounds better.

But that’s not what Jesus said to this businessman, this capitalist that we might want to praise and even imitate.  He didn’t say, “You know, I like what you did with these barns. I am proud of your ingenuity.  But just make sure you don’t place your entire sense of security in those barns. Your prudence is apt to be a perilous thing.”

No, he didn’t say anything of the sort. In essence, Jesus says to this successful business owener: “You greedy fool.”

Twenty years ago, I attended a Christian ethics meeting in Nashville, Tennessee. During one session of the conference, we had a discussion on marriage equality.  A number of speakers, most of them pastors, defended their opposition to same-sex marriage on the basis of protecting the American family.  “Marriage equality,” they said, “was a grave threat to the American family.” A chorus of “Amens” resounded around the room.

I will never forget an older pastor (had to be in his 90’s), who stood up and said: “I was a pastor for over sixty years, and you know something, I’ve never had a family in any of my congregations destroyed by a gay couple. But I have seen dozens of marriages ruined, and numerous families devastated by nothing more than simple greed—working too many hours, overspending, buying too much, getting too deep in debt.  If we want to save the American family, must must something about our greed.”

You could hear a pin drop.

The farmer was a fool, because as Jesus implies, he thought he could secure his life with stuff.  Perhaps his thinking was that if he just got stuff piled high enough, deep enough, it would somehow be a barrier of protection against any misfortune that might come his way.  The more he accumulated, the more safe and secure he would be from all alarms.

The Apostle Paul calls such thinking in Romans, “serving the creature rather than the creator.”  In Ephesians, he calls it “idolatry.”  And for such thinking (thinking we might call prudent, productive, prosperous), Jesus calls the man a “fool.”

Preacher and author, James Howell, once preached this text in the Chapel of Duke University. In the sermon he said, “This university has all sorts of awards that honor successful alumni who have had success in business, medicine, law, and even the ministry. These are people who have taken what they have learned here and worked that into a successful life. But what I want to see is this university establish an award, not for the person who has achieved success because of his or her Duke education, but for the person who has suffered the most, lost the most, because of what he or she learned here.”

Sounds like a rather foolish suggestion, doesn’t it?

But what do you think Jesus would have called his suggestion?

No, the ways of Jesus are certainly not our ways.

Selfishness, greed and materialism are perhaps the greatest sins of our culture. And according the Bible, greed is not only the biggest danger we face as individuals, it the biggest hindrance to the advancement of the Kingdom of God on this earth.  In fact, one could say that the way most Americans live, the accumulation of goods beyond one’s needs, is a lifestyle in direct contradiction to the word of God. It is a clear violation of the law of Moses, and it is condemned by the prophets.  And Jesus has more to say about this sin than any other sin.

But here we are—embracing and living the American dream.  The reality is that most of us have much more than we need.  And we still want more.  It is our nature as Americans.  We are capitalists.  We are consumers.  The bad news is that Jesus calls us fools.

How did I start this sermon?

If you came here to feel comfortable, at ease, at home, you’ve come to the wrong place. For his ways are not our ways.

His way loves peace. Our way loves guns.

His way welcomes the foreigner. Our way fears them.

His way liberates the oppressed. Our way is apathy.

His way speaks truth to power. Our way is silence.

Our way saves, accumulates, and conserves. His way gives it all away.

Our way disparages the poor. His way blesses them.

Our way honors those who achieve great wealth. His way sends them away empty.

Our way holds grudges and judges. His way forgives and accepts.

Our way values freedom, self-sufficiency and independence above just about anything. His way values total dependence on God over everything.

Our way is one of self-preservation. His way is one that picks up and carries a cross.

But, here’s the irony of the gospel.  The bad news that the ways of Jesus are not our ways is actually very good news.  Let me explain with a story.

An old, holy man once saw a scorpion floating helplessly in the water of the Nile River.  Knowing that the scorpion would surely drown, the old man leaned out over the water, hanging onto some roots, and tried to rescue the scorpion.  As soon as he touched it, the scorpion stung him. Instinctively he withdrew his hand. A few seconds later, having regained his balance, he stretched himself out again.  This time the scorpion stung him so badly that his hand became swollen and bloody. The old man’s face contorted with pain.

Just then, a passerby saw the man stretched out over the river struggling with the scorpion.  He said: “What are you doing? Only a fool would risk his life for the sake of an ugly, evil creature!  Don’t you know you could kill yourself trying to save that ungrateful scorpion?”

The old man turned to the stranger and said calmly, “My friend, just because it is the scorpion’s nature to sting, that does not change my nature to save.”

In the light of our selfishness, greed and pride, thank God, that Jesus’ ways, are not our ways.

Let us pray.

Lord, Jesus. Thank you that it is in your nature to save us. Come and save us.  Come and turn us from our foolish ways and foolhardy lives and draw us into your wisdom. Help us to see all our accumulations as your gracious gifts, given, not to be hoarded, but to be shared with others. Enable us to see our lives as dependent upon you for their significance and sustenance.  Lord Jesus, make us wise.  Amen.