Mark 10:46-52 "Reflections on our Blessings"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         This morning, we are going to make a scene.  Now, I know that might be a scary thought because when we usually think of making a scene, it is a negative thing. 

         You know, you are in the checkout line of the grocery store, and your young child has taken that little bag of skittles off the shelf three times, and you have put it back three times.  Now, she is scrunching up that angelic little face of hers into a look that forebodes only one thing.  And before the major temper tantrum has a chance to begin, you lean over, smiling but with clenched teeth, and say, “Shh!  Don’t make a scene.”

         Or you are with your friend who has had a bit too much to drink.  He has been getting progressively louder and more boisterous.  Just before he puts the lampshade on this head, you put a gentle hand on his shoulder and whisper, “Don’t make a scene.”

         However, when Methodist pastor and seminary professor of preaching Alyce MacKenzie talks about “making a scene,” it is a good thing.  Alyce MacKenzie presented the annual Beecher lectures on preaching at Yale Divinity School, where I was this past week to enjoy both the convocation as well as a class reunion.  Alyce’s focus was on “making a scene” in the pulpit. 

         And so I invite all of you into this first scene that I am about to make.  The scene is set on the dry and dusty road just outside of Jericho, where Jesus and his followers are trudging toward Jerusalem.  

         Jesus’s mind was spinning nearly out-of-control by this time, and pulsing bursts of thoughts were spitting out in a million different directions.  The little group of rabbi and disciples was only a stones’ throw from the Holy City now – for Jesus, the final destination.  That much he was sure of.

         So many questions, so many loose ends to untangle and tie up!  What would happen when he entered the Holy City?  And even before that - what was the best way to enter – a parade maybe – a counter parade to the Governor’s planned entrance through the royal gates which were at the other side of the city?   

         And what would happen when he got inside the city walls?  Would anyone – anyone at all – welcome him and listen to what he had to say about God, about the Kingdom of God, about poverty and justice and taking care of one another?  About love? 

And how would his message stand up against that of the Pharisees with their unbending interpretation of the law? And what about the power of Rome itself?  Surely that alone was a force to be reckoned with.

         And what about his followers?  Did James and John and Peter and the others understand anything at all?  He had tried to tell them what he was in for.  Three times, in fact, he had tried to frame the story for them.  But he was not at all sure they had really heard what he had to say about life and death, about dying and rising, about love. 

         And what about the other people he knew – his Mother, Mary Magdalene, Martha, Lazarus?  What would happen to them?

         So many thoughts and fragments of thoughts swirled in his head.  So much to do; so little time:  Focus, Jesus.  Focus on what is coming up.  Surely that is the most important thing now.

         And then that piteous cry – more of a bellow really – broke into his whirling, swirling, chaotic ruminations.  “Jesus, Son of David!  Have mercy on me!”

         Focus, Jesus, focus on what is coming up.  Surely that is the most important thing now.  You have put yourself out to the masses enough.  There is a time and a place for everything, and now surely time itself is of the essence.  Focus, Jesus, focus on what is coming up.  Surely that is the most important thing now.

Even his followers for once correctly sensed the urgency in his step and his demeanor.  And perhaps that is why they tried to shut the blind beggar up.  Bartimaeus was his name, and he had sat by the side of the road for years now – in his filthy, needing-to-be-laundered rags, his tin cup rattling, his sightless eyes looking upward at whomever might pass him by.   

God had not showered many blessings on him.  That much was for certain. Let’s call a spade a spade.  He was part of the ever-increasing impoverished and marginalized lot in the Greater Jerusalem area.

CUT

         I am going to cut this scene right here for the moment – now that we know a bit about Bartimaeus.  We know what he had and what he lacked because we have entered into this scene. 

         Now, because we have been talking about gratitude lately, I would like each one of us to reflect for a moment on our own blessings – what we have to be thankful for. 

So – compare yourself now with Bartimaues – think about what he did not have that you have and what he had that you have as well.  In short, what are you thankful for in your life?  Now write down three of your many blessings on the leaf that each of you has.  In a moment, our deacon will collect these leaves.  Please write legibly as what you say will be our prayer for the morning.

DEACONS WILL COLLECT LEAVES

         Now, back to our scene…..

         Bartimaeus was the last thing Jesus needed right now – another roadside beggar to heal, another piece of Holy City trash bellowing for compassion.  Jesus had healed his share of the down-and-out in the past three or so years of his ministry.  Come to think of it:  Compassion had been his calling card.  Focus, Jesus, focus on what is coming up.  Surely that is the most important thing now.

         But Jesus did not.  He did not focus on Jerusalem.  He did not focus on his own impending death and on this last ditch effort in the Holy City to proclaim the Kingdom of God.  No – Jesus chose to focus on old blind Bartimaeus.  In the end, once again, Jesus chose love.  And so he asked the seedy beggar what it was he wanted. 

         “I want to see again,” was the beggar’s swift reply.  And so it was – one last healing, one last miracle of love.  And Bartimaeus followed Jesus into Jerusalem to witness first hand all that was to come.

         That chance encounter with Jesus, of course, changed Bartimaeus’ life forever.  I mean, what if Jesus had not come through Jericho on his way to Jerusalem?  What if Jesus had focused on what by all rights he should have been focusing on?  What if Jesus had figured he had already healed enough of the blind and the deaf and had shown more than enough compassion toward the halt and the lame?  What if Jesus had not stopped and Bartimaeus had not encountered Jesus?  What would have happened to the blind man who got his life back when he got his sight back?  Surely the love of Jesus changed Bartimaeus’ life forever.

         Jesus is a lot like the church, you know, at least the church at its best.  However, I guess you would expect that to be in the case.  After all, the church is often referred to as the Bride of Christ, and we, when we are gathered as one faithful community, carry with us the label of the Body of Christ. 

         And because Jesus is a lot like the church at its best, I think a similar set of questions can – and should – be asked about the church – our church – the Raymond Village Community Church, United Church of Christ. 

What if our church did not exist?  What if our church simply closed its doors one day and ceased to be?  How would our lives be changed?  How would the Town of Raymond be changed?  What impact does our church have not only on our own lives, but on life in Raymond – and even beyond – as well?

Now it is your turn to make a scene.  You see, this is not going to be a sermon where I speak and you listen.  This is a sermon in which you as the congregation of our church are invited to participate.  You are the scene-makers.

Here is a poem by Ted Kooser entitled “The Red Wing Church” to set the framework of your scene:

There’s a tractor in the doorway of a church
in Red Wing, Nebraska, in a coat of mud
and straw that drags the floor.

A broken plow
sprawls beggar-like behind it on some planks
that make a sort of roadway up the steps.


The steeple’s gone. A black tar-paper scar
that lightning might have made replaces it.


They’ve taken it down to change the house of God
to Homer Johnson’s barn, but it’s still a church,
with clumps of tiger lilies in the grass
and one of those boxlike, glassed-in signs
that give the sermon’s topic (reading now
a bird’ s nest and a little broken glass).


The good works of the Lord are all around:
the steeple top is standing in a garden
just up the alley; it’s a hen house now:
fat leghorns gossip at its crowded door.


Pews stretch on porches up and down the street,
the stained-glass windows style the mayor’s house,
and the bell’s atop the firehouse in the square.


The cross is only God knows where.

Now, please turn to those around you and form small groups – maybe three or four people – more than just the person you might have come with today. 

I am going to give each group a sheet of paper with some of the sorts of questions I just asked about the church, our church, and what it would be like if our church did not exist.

That is the scene that you are making.  What would it be like if our church did not exist? 

 As a group, please take some time to talk quietly about this church – what it has given you, the role it plays or has played in your life, what it has given the Town of Raymond, what would be missing if it was not here.  Just as Jesus changed Bartimaeus’ life forever, let’s think about how the church has impacted your life and the lives of those in this town – and the beyond.

DEACONS WILL COLLECT GROUP RESPONSES

        

Mark 10:35-45 "Service and Generosity"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

         There is a pattern developing here in the Gospel of Mark.  It is quite a simple one too:  Jesus talks to the disciples about his impending death, and they ignore the plain language of what he is saying, seeming not to have a clue about where they are ultimately headed with him. 

         Three times it has happened!  The first time Jesus =mentioned dying, Peter jumped all over him for his doom-and-gloom mentality, and Jesus in turn rebuked Peter for his insolence and deep misreading of the situation – “Get you behind me, Satan!” 

         The second time Jesus does one of his death predictions, the disciples get into a big “hush hush” discussion about which one of them is the greatest.  However, Jesus could not help but overhear their conversation and takes them to task, explaining in no uncertain terms what really constitutes greatness. 

         Today, in the verses preceding our Gospel reading, Jesus tries a third time to bring his followers up to speed.  “Listen to me carefully (he says).  We’re on our way up to Jerusalem. When we get there, the Son of Man will be betrayed to the religious leaders and scholars. They will sentence him to death. Then they will hand him over to the Romans, who will mock and spit on him, give him the third degree, and kill him. After three days he will rise alive.”

         And for the third time, his haunting words simply fly right over the heads of the Twelve.  We call them “disciples,” but perhaps, as Methodist preacher Alyce MacKenzie said tongue-in-cheek, it would be more accurate to call the “duh-ciples” in light of all the stupid ways they react to the most profound things that Jesus says. 

         This time, James and John (You might remember them as two of the first disciples Jesus chose – “come with me, and I will make you fish for people” – and so they should have known better.) came to Jesus and made what was a pretty stupid and irrelevant request under the circumstances:  “Teacher (they asked), we have something we want you to do for us.”

         Jesus, always open to possibilities, answered, “What is it? I’ll see what I can do.”

         “O goody!” they must have thought.  “This could be better than a genie giving us three wishes! We had best ask away before he changes his mind.” 

         So the conversation continued.  “Arrange it,” they demanded, “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.”

         Or - “Yo, Jesus.  “We have this blank check . . . would you mind just signing your name right here so we can cash it in?” 

         James and John are bold and brash – and maybe shrewd and crafty to boot.  Maybe they want a shortcut. Maybe, as religious blogger Carson Witnauer speculates: “Their message is, ‘Hey Jesus, you know how we’ve been helping you out here in your ministry? Well, how about a little favor in return – give us whatever we ask for.’’’

         Or maybe they are insecure.  Perhaps for once they had heard and understood exactly what Jesus had said about his impending death.  In their anxiety, they just wanted to be sure they were taken care of in the aftermath. 

         Or then again, maybe they are deeply faithful. That is what Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor speculates as she “acknowledges the possibility of their ‘gross ambition,’ but their question may also illustrate their profound confidence in Jesus and his final triumph.

No matter how bad things may look or sound, James and John ‘are so sure of Jesus' final victory that they sign up to go with him.’” (Kate Huey)  

         Craftiness?  Anxiety?  Stupidity?  Faithfulness?  We do not know for sure what motivates these two. However, if nothing else, you have got to admire the two disciples for their honesty. 

         Surely, however, Jesus must have thought they were a tad on the audacious side.  Maybe that is why he quickly responded, “You have no idea what you’re asking. Are you capable of drinking the cup I drink, of being baptized in the baptism I’m about to be plunged into?”

         Not intuiting what lay behind those words of impending anguish, James and John blithely responded, “Sure, why not?”

         They did not get it; they just did not get it.  So Jesus ended the conversation by remarking that he did not have the final say over who would sit where when the kingdom finally was established.  God is responsible for the seating chart. 

        Interesting!  You know, I cannot help but wonder if Jesus’ words came back to haunt James and John when, from a distance, some months in the future, they saw our rabbi hanging from a cross, the only smacking of a kingdom being the crown of thorns that cut into his forehead, a petty thief similarly crucified to his right, and another nameless criminal in agony on his left.  “Can you drink the cup of suffering that I must drink?”

         It was about this time that the other ten disciples got wind of James and John carrying on their power brokering and jockeying for position in the kingdom to come.  The others were miffed, to put it bluntly.  And can you really blame them?  Surely they too had many of the same questions, if not the presumption that sacrificing everything to follow this man Jesus should merit some sort of reward Perhaps they merely lacked the hutzpah of the two erstwhile fishermen. 

         Jesus, however, used this situation that bordered on anger and was rooted in a basic misunderstanding of his mission to make a point – a point he had made many times before in parable and sermon and evening conversation, a point about the Kingdom he so desperately was attempting to usher in, a point about God and what was important to God, a point about what it means to be made in God’s image, to be sons and daughters of the Holy One, a point about the world they knew and the world as it was meant to be, a point about power, real power, the power of love, the power of generosity of spirit. 

         “You’ve observed how godless rulers throw their weight around,” Jesus said, “and when people get a little power how quickly it goes to their heads. It’s not going to be that way with you. Whoever wants to be great must become a servant, and if any one of you wants to be first, he must be the slave of all.”

         Real power, Jesus seems to say, lies not in the wealth we accumulate, in the spacious homes we own, in the cars we drive.  Real power lies not in insulating ourselves from the daily lives of others in our world, but real power is the courage to leave this building behind – this sanctuary, this place of holy safe keeping - and be of service - washing feet, feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, rising up in righteous anger about income inequality.

         Real power means letting go of that which makes us so secure in our lives.  Theologian Marcus Borg highlights two images in the passage we read – the image of the “cup of suffering” and that of “baptism.”  He writes that those are traditional metaphors of death – and so Jesus is asking James and John if they are up to dying with him – a question he also asks of us because such dying lies at the core of our Christian faith. 

         Borg goes on to say that he means "a dying of the self as the center of its own concern" and "a dying to the world as the center of security and identity." 
That kind of dying, Borg says, leads to transformation: "a change so sharp that it can be described as dying to an old life and being born into a new life."

         Real power then means allowing ourselves to be transformed from slaves to our culture to servants for all the world.  It means recognizing that the Kingdom, which we say we so desire, is predicated not on the values of our culture (achievement, whoever dies with the most toys wins) but on our ability to give and to serve.  The kingdom is predicated on our ability to love and to be generous in all we do. Thus, for Christians, generous serving – loving ministry - is not optional, something to be tacked onto our schedules if we can spare the time.  Service is the heart of the Christian life.

         You know, we come to church for a variety of complicated reasons, a strange mix of spirituality and social contacts.  We come for support and for community and because our kids are acting up.  As Methodist pastor Dale Miller notes, “People come to church with their consumer hats on, asking, ‘What will I get for the investment of my time at church? What services can I expect to get for my pledge dollar?’”

         Oh, sure, church is a place for getting – getting support, getting community, getting our kids straightened out, getting a good pot roast dinner every now and then.  However, if we take Jesus’ words to his disciples to heart, at its most vital, church is less a place of getting and more a place for giving.  Church is a place where generosity of time and resources is highly valued – in fact, is essential to the church’s survival.   Church at its best and most vital is a place where serving is a reality.  It is a place where service - this heart of the Christian life – is boldly exposed and explored and, above all, affirmed.  And maybe in the giving, we get what it is that we are really seeking – a closer relationship with God and with the loving community surrounding us.

         The power of a church – like the power of the disciples - lies in its ability to serve – not in its building or in its accumulated wealth – but in its ability to serve.  The power of the church then lies in its congregation – in their willingness both to serve and to generously support those ministries of service.

         This church that you call your spiritual home needs your generosity if it is to be powerful, if it is to survive.  It needs the generosity of each one of you, and no one is exempt from that need.  This church needs your time – as a Sunday School teacher for our children, as a deacon, as a trustee.  This church needs your financial support on an ongoing pledged basis.

         It we want this church to be great, it will need to be first in the many and varied ways we serve others.  If we want this church to be a place where even Jesus would feel at home, we – all of us – have a responsibility to fashion it into a place filled with opportunities to be of service.

Is that you, Lord,
changing the diaper in the nursing home,
holding the spoon for the woman in her wheelchair,
wiping down the toilet and the floor;

is that you
serving the dinner at the homeless shelter,
sorting the cans at the food bank,
mowing the aged neighbour’s lawn;

is that you, Lord,
bandaging the wounds of the bomb victim,
erecting the tent for the refugees,
handing out the water and the food;

is that you
driving the patient to the treatment center,
sitting through the night with the family,
making the call to the forgotten friend;

is that you, Lord,
lighting the candle in the darkness,
keeping vigil for compassion and justice,
loving in us and through us and with us

until the world that you love has been changed?

         “Whoever wants to be great must become a servant, and if any one of you wants to be first, he must be the slave of all.”  Let’s all of us – all of us – make our church great – not because we have to or because we should, but because the church is who we are – loving children of God.  As eighteenth-century Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Secker said, “God has three sorts of servants in the world: some are slaves, and serve (God) from fear; others are hirelings, and serve for wages; and the last are sons [and daughters], who serve because they love.”  And when we serve generously in love, we receive back more than we could ever imagine.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine

Mark 10:17-31 "Wealth and Generosity"

You are welcome to use parts of this sermon, but if you do, please attribute them properly!

        I heard a story about a preacher who got a Monday morning phone call from someone in his congregation.  It seems that the man was in a bit of a panic because his daughter had just decided to drop out of graduate school.  

         It was odd, her father thought.  She had come home for the weekend and had even been in church that Sunday.  Everyone in the family was shocked by her decision, and so he was asking the preacher to give the young woman a call and “talk some sense into her.”

         So the preacher did. He reminded her how hard she had worked to get into graduate school and how she should not just throw it all away.

         ”What inspired this decision anyway?” he asked.

         “Well, it was your sermon,” she replied.

         Then she told him how she had realized that she was only in graduate school to meet her own selfish needs and her parents’ expectations.  She told him that the sermon he had preached on how God is calling everyone to do something important in this life had shaken something loose in her.

         She told him how she had remembered feeling so enriched and worthwhile during the mission trip the youth group had gone on a couple of summers ago – how close she had felt to God then and how she intuitively knew that she was making a difference in the world.  She told him that she wanted to feel that way all the time and had concluded – right there in the middle of the sermon - that she would not find what she was looking for in graduate school or in the profession her degree would lead to.

         The preacher listened intently and then said to the young woman gently and most paternally, “I am flattered, my dear, that you took my words so seriously, but remember…it was just a sermon…”

         “Go and sell all of your things and give them to the poor,” Jesus had said.  Were those shocking words of Jesus “just a sermon” too?

         That would be convenient now, wouldn’t it?  Seriously though:  if we are honest with ourselves, we have got to admit that we are always tempted to monkey around with these verses, working overtime to convince ourselves that they do not really mean what they say. “Go and sell all of your things and give them to the poor”:  It is just a sermon, right?

         It is almost irresistible not to soften the demands that Jesus’ words place upon us, and that tendency has been around for a long, long time.  For instance, a ninth-century Biblical interpreter fabricated the idea of a low gate into Jerusalem called "the eye of the needle." It was so low, he conjectured, that camels could pass through it only if they stooped and were not laden down with baggage.  For that particular Biblical scholar, it was an easy segue into the presumption Jesus was criticizing only the proud rich (those too proud to stoop), or only the rich who were not motivated enough to enter the kingdom.  Interesting slant to the story!  Unfortunately, no archeological evidence for such a gate exists.

         Then there are the preachers who have told us that, as seminary professor Matt Skinner noted, Jesus did something akin to looking into a crystal ball and seeing that “wealth was this particular man's special ‘weak spot,’ zeroing in on it only to expose the man's distinctive shortcoming, thereby giving us permission to assume that Jesus would not ask us to part with our possessions, just those things that we really do not want to give up--only our aggressive driving or fried foods, for example.” 

Or there are the preachers who assert that Jesus’ is merely testing the man, preaching a guilt-inducing sermon, but just a sermon none-the-less.

         However, as Skinner goes on to say, “Jesus' explanation is rather clear: just as large animals simply do not fit through tiny openings, so the wealthy do not fit in the kingdom of God. Even a rich man who has successfully kept all the (commandments) governing social responsibilities, as this devout man has, cannot fit.” 

         In the end, it is not rocket science.  Even a camel could figure it out.  A preoccupation with financial resources and the Kingdom of which Jesus preached and sought to usher in – have nothing – nothing in common.

         What are we to do?  We who are poised at the corner of grateful and generous, what we are we to do?  We who are Americans with income levels – both collectively and individually – that surpass the rest of the world – and if you do not think that applies to you, check out www.globalrichlist.com and see where you stand – we who are Americans, what are we to do?

         Surely Jesus would know better than to set the bar that high.  Surely he would understand the ramifications of connecting the kingdom we all so desire with our willingness to part with our possessions.  That would not be very user-friendly of him and, besides, if he wanted us to take his words that seriously, why, he would need to realize that his church would be empty overnight.  It is just a sermon, right?

         And yet, and yet…. “Wealth and generosity; money and abundant sharing; riches and giving it away: The combination of these concepts lies at the very heart of Jesus’ teaching. (He tells us over and over again that) the richest person in the world is the person who gives it away. Jesus teaches us to give away love. To give away time. To give away (one’s) self. St. Francis, in the spirit of Jesus, said it well when he wrote: ‘for it is in giving that we receive. It is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born again to Eternal Life.’   (Edward Markquart)

         Once upon a time, there was a young man.  His name was not Bill Gates of Microsoft or Mark Zuckerberg of Facebook or Travis Kalinick of Uber.  He did not live in Silicon Valley.  He did not develop an ap and sell it to Google for a million dollars. 

         He was a teacher – or a plumber – or a data entry operator – or a med tech here in the USA.  He was religious too – in the sense that he went to church sometimes – but more than that he cared about the world.  He recycled, and he planned to have solar collectors on the roof of the home he someday hoped to own.  He had gone to Safe Passage once and worked with Guatemalan children living in the City dump.  He did not cheat on his taxes and would never have stooped so low as to leer at the blonde in the cubicle next to his – lovely though she was.

         One day, as our young man was jogging down the city streets where he lived with his dog, he met Jesus, certainly not someone he was expecting to meet, and even before he caught his breath, he found himself kneeling, kneeling like every other person in need of healing had once knelt before Jesus, kneeling like the lepers and the blind beggars and sick and the halt and the lame had once kneeled. 

      

         And kneeling, he asked a question that had long been on his mind.  He cut to the chase because his heart was so in need of healing.  He grabbed at the opportunity because, really, how often do you meet Jesus when you are out for your morning run? 

         “Yo, Jesus.  I am in a sort of holding pattern here.  I get up each day, go for my morning run, go to work, come home, enter the day’s expenditures in my new budget software, watch a movie on Netflix, and go to bed.  It is not that I am bored, but I am just wondering what comes next?  How do I move to the next level?  What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

         Though the question was thoughtful and heartfelt, Jesus responded with a disappointingly stock answer:  “Keep the commandments.  No murdering, stealing.  No adultery or cheating of any sort.  No false accusations – you know, pointing the finger and laying the blame on someone else.  And be respectful, especially of your Mom and Dad.”  And with that, Jesus started to step around our young man and headed toward the bagel shop on the next block. 

         However, like I said, how often do you meet Jesus on your morning run?  No wonder the rich man would not let him go that easily.  “Seriously, Jesus?  I have done all these things.  Are you saying that I am a cinch for heaven?”

         And Jesus stopped then in his tracks and turned to face the young man.  “You lack one thing,” he said. 

         “Lack?” he thought.  “What do I lack?  I have a flat screen TV.  I have money to pay my bills – most of the time.  I conscientiously budget.”

         What did our young man lack?  The capacity to appreciate his own abundance?  A consciousness of others’ scarcity?

         “You lack one thing, “Jesus said as he looked at him with love – because Jesus always looks with love at anyone who is trying so hard to follow in his way. 

         But alas! Love does not always point to the easy way.  Sometimes love is hard.  Sometimes love is tough.  Sometimes what is said in love is the most difficult medicine to swallow. 

         Go, sell, give, follow:  In a nutshell, that was both Jesus’ advice and his admonition. 

         “Seriously, Jesus?  This is just a sermon, right?”

         Go, sell, give, follow.  If it is a sermon, it is a sermon less about money and more about discipleship.  If it is a sermon, it is a sermon less about what we think we do not have and more about how grateful and generous we will choose to be with what we do have. If it is a sermon, it is a sermon about what needs to happen to us before we can really follow the Way Jesus sets out for us. 

If it is a sermon, it is a sermon about building up the human community through abundant sharing, about riches and giving them away, about gratefulness and generosity. 

         Go: Go from this place, from the safety of these four walls.  Go from this sanctuary, from this place of hiding or at least of safekeeping.  Go through those doors with your eyes wide open.  Go and look into the faces of those who panhandle on the street corners in Portland. They all have a story, you know.  Go and see what happens to the toilet paper and canned goods you leave in the Vestry for the food pantry.  Real people come in and shop for them, you know.  Go and seek out the world you do not want to see – the world where children hold out empty bowls, where refugees are crammed into leaking ferry boats, where young girls are married off while still in the single digits.  Go….

         Sell:  Get rid of everything that shuts off a living, breathing relationship with God.  Unencumber yourself from all that attaches you to the distorted views of your culture and detaches you from God.  Let go of that which blinds you to the way of Jesus, for you are surely at a fork in the road.  And, above all, do not say that you have nothing to sell – that everything you have is a necessity.  After all, you are an American.  Not that Jesus called you to a life of poverty, but he did call you to a live of discipleship, and how can you be a follower if you do not leave some of it behind you – if, for no other reason, than to know viscerally what it is like to not have everything you may want.  You have more than enough!  Really.  Sell….

         Give:  Jesus did not say to burn the stuff you do not need – or throw it away in the closest dumpster.  He said to give it away – to the poor.  And when you speak in those terms, it really does come down to money, so listen to what theologian Frederick Buechner had to say about it:  “MONEY - The more you think about it, the less you understand it.  The paper it's printed on isn't worth a red cent. There was a time you could take it to the bank and get gold or silver for it, but all you'd get now would be a blank stare.

         If the government declared that the leaves of the trees were money so there would be enough for everybody, money would be worthless. It has worth only if there is not enough for everybody. It has worth only because the government declares that it has worth and because people trust the government in that one particular although in every other particular they wouldn't trust it around the corner.

         The value of money (Buechner writes), like stocks and bonds, goes up and down for reasons not even the experts can explain and at moments nobody can predict, so you can be a millionaire one moment and a pauper the next without lifting a finger. Great fortunes can be made and lost completely on paper. There is more concrete reality in a baby's throwing its rattle out of the crib.

         There are people who use up their entire lives making money so they can enjoy the lives they have entirely used up.”  Give….

         Follow:  Only after you have done those things, only then can you follow, really follow – only when you have gone, when you have sold, and when you have given. 

         This is just a sermon, right?

         We all know how the story ends.  Our young man stands back up and shakes his head.  He cannot do it.  He is sorry, but he cannot do it.  After all, his name is not Bill Gates or Mark Zuckerberg or Travis Kalinick.  He does not live in Silicon Valley.  He never did develop an ap and sell it to Google for a million dollars.  He is a teacher – or a plumber – or a data entry operator – or a med tech.  What could he possibly sell – or give?  He needs it all.  So he tugs on the leash and he and his dog continue their run, and Jesus walks into the bagel shop. 

         Theology professor Paul Wadell once wrote an article on this Bible story.  In it, he observed that the young man knows in his heart that Jesus is right, and that knowledge is what makes him sad and grieving as he (goes) back to what he has not found satisfying all along.

         However, Wadell goes on to observe that "Love is a way of seeing, and those who love us best see us best," so "Jesus sees him as he truly is, but in a way that the young man is not yet capable of seeing himself."

         I like to think that in the days that followed, the man rethought his decision to return to his old way of existing and eventually chose instead to go, sell, give, and follow.  And when he did, he found that his life had far more meaning than he could ever have imagined. 

         As Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote, “Our souls are not hungry for fame, comfort, wealth, or power.  Those rewards create almost as many problems as they solve. 

Our souls are hungry for meaning, for the sense that we have figured out how to live so that our lives matter, so that the world will be at least a little bit different for our having passed through."

         Perhaps someday, we too will rethink our decision as well, we who stand at the corner of grateful and generous.  I hope so – because, in the end, going, selling, giving, and following is not just a sermon.  It is not just a way of life even.  It is the only way of life that will ensure that the world is transformed – as God intended it to be.

         In closing now - listen to this prayer by theologian Henri Nouwen:

         Dear God,
I am so afraid to open my clenched fists! Who will I be when I have nothing left to hold on to? Who will I be when I stand before you with empty hands? Please help me to gradually open my hands and to discover that I am not what I own, but what you want to give me. And what you want to give me is love, unconditional, everlasting love. Amen.

by Rev. Nancy Foran, Raymond Village Community Church U.C.C., Raymond, Maine