Sermon - The Rev. Elise A. Feyerherm - July 31st, 2022

The gospel reading for today is part of a somewhat longer teaching from Jesus about our relationship with material possessions. In it Jesus is telling those who would listen – telling us – what most of us already know at a deep level but have a hard time living into, that things and money will never make us happy, and that trying to hold on to them will only push us farther and farther away from what is truly worthwhile. There’s nothing new or distinctive about this insight; it is shared by Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus and countless other people from all sorts of religious and philosophical traditions.

We see this insight reflected in all sorts of places and media outlets. There is Marie Kondo and her Kon-Mari method of tidying; the minimalist movement which promotes radical simplicity in one’s clothing and home environment; the “tiny house” trend that highlights people downsizing from large or even “regular” living spaces into 200 square foot cabins or trailers.

All of these tout the joy of unburdening oneself of the things we always thought we had to have and finding freedom in their place. I could be very cynical about all of this and note the commercial aspect of each of these trends. I do wonder how large the bank accounts of these folks are growing, even as their possessions are diminishing. I might also wonder how much of that increasing income is going to help those who could really use it.

But I am not preaching to Marie Kondo, or to the Minimalists, or to the producers of Tiny House Nation. I am preaching to this community. I am preaching, as always, to myself. So I’m not going to worry about their lives; I’m going to think about my own.

I am also keenly aware that within our St. Paul’s community some of us are economically secure and some of us are not. Some of us will live comfortably for the remainder of our lives, and others are struggling. I can’t and won’t preach about minimalism to anyone who is having trouble making ends meet.

That being said, I think every one of us has to reckon somehow with our relationship to material goods, beyond what we need for survival and flourishing. For each and every one of us, material possessions have the potential to capture our souls, bind us in fear and anxiety and false security. They have the potential to cut us off from God and from each other. I know that has been and continues to be true for me.

It will come as no surprise to you that the things I have the most trouble letting go of are my books. Books that I read long ago but haven’t touched since; books given to me by important people in my life; books I have been meaning to read but still have not gotten to, and probably never will; you get the picture.

I have made progress lately in culling my library, because the sheer volume is weighing on my heart and soul, not to mention my arms and legs. I have paid countless dollars moving them from Massachusetts to Illinois to Ohio and back to Massachusetts, and to multiple dwellings within this state. But releasing them is agony, and I keep wondering why.

I think the reason is this, and it is not all that far from what the rich man is thinking when he builds his huge barns to store his crops. It is because I think, somehow, that holding on to these things will keep me from disappearing. Not physically, but existentially, spiritually. If I have these things with me, I will be safe. I will still be me. I will still be the child reading the Chronicles of Narnia. I will still be the college student discovering theology, or the scholar probing the mysteries of medieval English mystics. There is a whole life laid out on my shelves. And if I let those books go, my identity will go with them.

The books have taken the place of God, or at least are getting pretty darn close. Like the rich man and his barns, I imagine that my identity and survival depend on actually possessing the physical objects, when in fact, they possess me.

Several commentators have noted that in the Greek, the line that reads, “This very night your life is being demanded of you” is closer to “This very night they are demanding your life.” It’s not entirely clear who the “they” are, but at least one footnote surmises that it could refer to the man’s possessions. His barns, his piles of grain, are in control of who he is and whose he is. He has forgotten that it is God who sustains his life. He has put his trust in things that are, as the writer of Ecclesiastes says, “vanity.” As ephemeral as breath, or vapor, as chasing after wind. Able to be carried away in an instant, by floods in Kentucky or fires in California.

He is greedy, but underneath it all I think he is afraid. Underneath all greed, all desire to stockpile and hoard is, I think, fear. And Jesus knew that. He follows the story of the rich man with teaching that speaks to our fear – that section has not been included in the lectionary, but I think we need to hear it. Because the part that got left out of the lectionary shows us the real reason we can let go of all that burdens us.

He said to his disciples, ‘Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing. Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds! And can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? If then you are not able to do so small a thing as that, why do you worry about the rest? Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not clothed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not keep striving for what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not keep worrying. For it is the nations of the world that strive after all these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, strive for his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well. (Luke 12:22-31)

Listen to the love and compassion in those words. The message underneath it all is, as we heard from Jeff last week and as we hear in all of scripture, “God loves you. Love God back.” It’s okay.

The final piece of the puzzle is this, I think: these words make no sense at all if we imagine we will be able to live into them as individuals. They make very little sense in our hyper-capitalist society. But they do make sense if we hear them as a community, if we know we can depend on each other. The rich man is greedy, and afraid, because he is very much alone. But we are not. We have each other. We have God, who has come to us in Jesus.

I wonder, in this month before the epic St. Paul’s yard sale, if we could practice trusting God and trusting each other by facing our possessions and taking inventory with this in mind. Look at everything you have with this prayer in your heart: I am not alone. We have each other. We have the love of God in Jesus Christ our Lord.

What might we be able to release? What space in our homes and in our hearts might open up? What needs in the community might we discover we can help to fill? What sweet freedom might we find?