I Am Being Poured Out

I like old photographs. All of them have a story to tell, even our old family snapshots where everyone is frowning into the sun. I like them because all of them reveal something of the lives of people now long gone. With people who are unknown to me, or who lived long enough ago, I often wonder what their lives were like. What did they eat, how did they normally dress, what were their houses like? What kind of work did they do? What did they think about their lives? Did they wonder what future generations might think about them? I like old letters too, and they often provoke the same questions. Did you ever come across a cache of letters from distant relatives and find yourself wondering about their lives? If the letters date from the earlier part of their lives, you might get a sense of their first deep feelings for a life partner or their hopes and dreams for themselves or their children. If the letters are from a later period of their life, you may get a sense of the hard times they went through, the conflicts and illnesses they endured. Perhaps they were able to look back on their lives with a sense of satisfaction, knowing that they were leaving a legacy for the next generation.

Reading the second letter of Paul to Timothy is a little like finding a letter from a long gone relative or family friend. Scholars believe that the letter we’ve been hearing the last several weeks was written early in the second century. Most probably it was not written by Paul himself, but rather by a disciple of Paul writing in Paul’s name. As you’ve been hearing, the letter is addressed to a young pastor, Timothy, a third-generation Christian who is part of a community of disciples that included his grandmother and mother. Paul – let’s say Paul for convenience – is in prison, most probably in Rome. He has been deserted by his friends and now waits for what most certainly will be execution in the persecution of Christians instigated by Nero. Alone, languishing in prison, as he comes to the end of the letter, in the piece of it we heard today, he contemplates the meaning of his life, most especially the meaning of his allegiance to Jesus. His tone is passionate, and his words are bittersweet. What do we hear?

To begin with, we hear Paul’s sense of joy in having persevered and endured, often in the face of great obstacles. We know from the Book of Acts and from other letters that Paul was dragged before magistrates, imprisoned, and beaten. He had narrow escapes from dodgy places, covered long distances in his travels, and worked at a trade while preaching the gospel. From every perspective it was a hard life. Yet, using images of athletic competition, Paul can say confidently and joyfully, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” I have held fast to the community of followers of Jesus, and I have done my best to spread the good news about Jesus. More important, like a successful competitor, he feels sure of the laurel wreath, a “crown of righteousness,” that will be awarded not only to him but to all who have held fast to their allegiance to Jesus.

Second, Paul reminds Timothy that, although friends have deserted him, and he is now alone in prison, in truth he has never been alone. In all his struggles, especially his struggles to spread the good news, he has had a deep and abiding sense of Jesus’ presence: “the Lord stood by me and gave me strength.” And more: the Lord rescued him from all those who would do him harm. Even in his present dire straits, Paul is confident that he will meet Jesus who will “save me for his heavenly kingdom.”

Finally, Paul demonstrates a powerful sense of his ministry as a giving of self. He uses the metaphor of “libation.” “Libation” has a special meaning. Libation was the pouring out of wine or oil as a gift to a god. The amount poured out was finite, whatever the vessel containing the wine or oil could hold. Eventually it was all poured out. Paul has come to that point. Yet, he understands that his life has been an offering that has benefited others. Just as Jesus’ life was a precious self-offering that was of infinite benefit to humanity, so Paul is confident that he has given his life in a sacrifice that has enriched the lives of those to whom he has ministered. Concluding his letter, he urges the young pastor Timothy to regard his own ministry as a self-giving, as a sacrifice that will benefit those to whom he ministers.

Down through the centuries, many of those who followed Paul into ministry, who willingly adopted a life centered on spreading the good news of God’s reign, would also know that they had followed in Jesus’ footsteps and had given their own lives as sacrifice to God. One of those whose names might be familiar to us is C.S. Lewis. Clive Staples Lewis was born on November 29, 1898. He died on November 22, 1963, the day President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. For that reason, his death went largely unnoticed in the U.S.

What many people also don’t know about Lewis is that, like St. Paul, he wholeheartedly embraced Christian faith only as an adult. Although he had been raised in a church-going family in Ireland, at the age of fifteen he declared himself to be an atheist. He started his adult work as a scholar of English literature at Oxford. Slowly he came under the influence of George MacDonald, G.K. Chesterton, J.R.R. Tolkien, and other professed Christians. Yet, again like St. Paul, he fought against faith. He felt as if he came into Christianity like a prodigal, "kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance to escape." He described his last struggle in his book, Surprised by Joy:

You must picture me alone in that room in Magdalen, night after night, feeling, whenever my mind lifted even for a second from my work, the steady, unrelenting approach of Him whom I so earnestly desired not to meet. That which I greatly feared had at last come upon me. In the Trinity Term of 1929 I gave in, and admitted that God was God, and knelt and prayed: perhaps, that night, the most dejected and reluctant convert in all England.

After his conversion, Lewis continued his scholarly work on English literature. But he also became a towering figure in Christian apologetics. Perhaps you or your children have read The Chronicles of Narnia, seven fantasy novels that appeal to children but also contain profound theological lessons for adults. Some of you might have read The Screwtape Letters, pungent letters from a senior demon to his nephew Wormwood that deftly skewer many of our human pretensions. Perhaps you’ve enjoyed his “space trilogy:” Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. Some of you might have read his poignant account of the death of his wife Joy Davidman in A Grief Observed. For many of us, Lewis’s Mere Christianity helped to make Christian faith more comprehensible and convincing. It is still regarded as one of the best books on Christianity of the twentieth century. Though his health began to fail in 1960, with his legacy of scholarly works, novels, memoirs, and apologetics, Lewis too could have said with confidence and conviction, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” Lewis too had poured himself out as gift to God and had known Jesus’ continuing companionship in his life.

And what of us? Some of us are closer to the end of our lives than others. But all of us will die. God may not ask us to die as Jesus and Paul did, violent and unjust deaths. But all of us will eventually pour out the cup of life. Have we planned for that day? In practical terms, have you made a will? Have you provided for your dependents, and for the charities close to your heart? If not, why not? Do you have advanced directives? Have you appointed a healthcare power of attorney, and do your loved ones know what your wishes are for end-of-life care when you are no longer able to articulate them?

Most important, does your life have a purpose. Can you share Paul’s joy at having persevered in following God’s call? Are you living your life in the knowledge of Christ’s continuing presence? Do you take the time to acknowledge that God is with you, whatever the hurdles, troubles, persecutions, and setbacks? Are you using your resources or some part of your life to spread the good news and to partner with God in bringing God’s reign closer? When the end comes, will you be confident that you too have poured out your life in God’s service? Will you too be able to say, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith?”

All Scripture is God-Breathed

A priest asked a children’s Sunday school class, “Who broke down the wall of Jericho?”1 A boy responded, “It wasn’t me!” The priest was aghast. He turned to the teacher and said, “Can you believe this?” The teacher answered, “Father, the boy is trustworthy and honest. If he said he didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it.” The priest was shocked. He went to the chair of the Sunday school committee. The chair listened carefully. Then she said consolingly, “I’ve known the boy and his teacher for a number of years. I just don’t see either one involved with the incident.” In disbelief, the priest sought out the senior warden. The senior warden tried to do damage control. “Look, Father,” he said, “let’s not make a mountain out of a molehill. Let’s just pay for the damages to the wall and charge it to the maintenance budget.”

It’s a joke, right? Or is it? A Methodist pastor’s wife was preparing a Bible trivia program for the parish. She asked the chair of the parish council – a lifelong Methodist – to name a book in the Bible that tells of the birth of Jesus. He answered, “Uh, you better ask my wife that one. She’s the one who knows that kind of stuff.”

Is this the kind of knowledge of Scripture that the writer of the second letter to Timothy had in mind? Here is what he says to Timothy in The Message, a contemporary translation: “There’s nothing like the written Word of God for showing you the way to salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. Every part of Scripture is God-breathed and useful one way or another—showing us truth, exposing our rebellion, correcting our mistakes, training us to live God’s way. Through the Word we are put together and shaped up for the tasks God has for us.”

Most of us have Bibles in our homes. Every Sunday we hear four selections from the Bible. But do we really know what the Bible says? Do we know anything about the chapters and books that never come up in the Revised Common Lectionary? More to the point, do we allow ourselves to be shaped and transformed by what Scripture has to teach us?

And most difficult question perhaps of all, how should we regard Scripture? As most of you know, in both of my ordinations, I had to publicly sign a document stating that I believe “the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testament to be the Word of God and to contain all things necessary to salvation….” What does that mean for us in the 21st century? To begin with, we do not believe that an angel perched on someone’s shoulder and dictated the Scriptures, or that God spoke directly into someone’s ear, as if into a tape recorder. That is close to what Muslims believe about the Qur’an, which is why they insist that the Qur’an must be read in Arabic, its original language. We also do not believe that the Bible is a rule book, a constitution, or a law book – although the Torah laid out many laws for the ancient Jews. Nor do we believe that we can wrench sentences of the Bible out of context and use them as battering rams against each other in argument.

Anglicans, along with Catholics and many Protestants, understand that the sixty-six books of the Bible were written and edited over a period of about eight hundred years. The earliest Hebrew Scriptures date from the 8th century BC. The Hebrew Scriptures were edited and regrouped after the Exile, in the 5th century BC, and then again in the 1st century AD. The books that we now call the New Testament were written between about 49 and 110 AD. Other gospels and letters were also written. Did you know that there was a gospel attributed to Peter, a gospel of Thomas, and also many other letters? Actually, it wasn’t until the Council of Carthage in 397 AD that church leaders reached consensus on what constituted the Christian Scriptures.

All this is by way of saying that Anglicans recognize that Scripture was written by faithful communities that struggled to understand their relationship with God and God’s aims for the world. They especially struggled to understand who Jesus was and what his life, death, and resurrection meant for them. We believe that Scripture is “God-breathed,” or inspired, in that we believe that the Holy Spirit continually guided these communities of faithful Jews and followers of Jesus, helping them to articulate what they were experiencing of God’s work in them. We also believe that Scripture had power – and has power – to transform lives, to enable us to partner with God in bringing in God’s reign, and to help us to hold fast to a vision of God’s promised future.

Scripture is thus an important beacon in our lives, a beacon to which most of us should pay much closer attention. Yet Anglicans also put forth one caveat: we do not hold, as do many Lutherans, to sola scriptura, Scripture alone. Anglicans understand that people will differ in their understanding of Scripture, however faithful they may be. And so for Anglicans, Scripture is one of three foundations for our faith. The other two are tradition and reason. We understand that God also speaks to us both through the ways in which the Holy Spirit inspired us in the past to fashion our lives as Christians and through our God-given reason. Most important, perhaps, for Anglicans, it is a community of the faithful, using all three elements of faith, Scripture, tradition, and reason, in which we may discern God’s leading.

All of that sounds pretty heady, Mo. Leslie, you may be thinking. So how should we as 21st century Christians in the Anglican tradition engage Scripture? How can we know who broke down the wall of Jericho, or which books in the Bible tell of Jesus’ birth? To begin with, we might actually read the Bible. Do you read novels or magazines? How about reading the Bible as you would a novel? Truth be told, much of the Hebrew Bible is racier than many novels! There are good modern translations. The Message is very contemporary. Not sure what all those laws in Leviticus refer to, or where all those places are? Try a study Bible that amplifies the difficult parts of the text. Go for a commentary – there are lots of them available in hard copy or on line that are inexpensive and accessible, and that will enable you to understand the historical contexts of the various books. And ideally, we should be engaging in this kind of reading of the Bible together, so that we can learn from each other as a community of faith, not as solitary individuals.

We can do more than simply acquaint ourselves with the historical contexts of our Scriptures. The Bible is still very much a live document. It is a two-edged sword that will cut us to the quick if we take it seriously. One way to deepen your understanding of the Bible is to pray with Scripture. We have already experienced lectio divina here, i.e., reading, meditating, praying, and contemplating a word or phrase in a Scripture passage. At our last quiet day, we practiced a method of prayerfully reading Scripture developed by Ignatius of Loyola that involves imaginatively putting yourself into the text. For example, what would it feel like to actually be the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4 and encounter Jesus, or to be Martha or Mary in Luke’s story? What do you think Peter felt when he recognized Jesus as God’s anointed one – and then when he betrayed Jesus? What is God saying to you through these stories? If you keep a spiritual journal, which I highly recommend, you can journal your reflections.

Similarly, we can let Scripture guide our actions in the social and political spheres. Those of you who are reading On God’s Side with me know that Jim Wallis’s understanding of the pursuit of the common good is deeply rooted in Scripture. Wallis argues that how we view Jesus profoundly colors our social and political views. He describes how the story of the Sheep and the Goats in Matthew 25 led to his conversion from an individualistic, pietistic faith to one concerned with justice for the poor and marginalized. By the same token, Wallis suggests that the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke’s gospel helped him to understand that in today’s world there are no “non-neighbors,” and that human trafficking and the supply chains for our consumer goods are issues with which earnest followers of Jesus must grapple. And you? What parts of Scripture influence you? Have you been transformed by any book or books of Scripture? In what way is Jesus a model for you and for how you want to live your life?

Scripture does not provide easy, one-size-fits-all answers to the many questions with which we struggle, or the decisions we face in our lives. Yet, Scripture is indeed God-breathed and still has the power to show us truth, expose our rebellion, correct our mistakes, and train us to live God’s way.

Praise we God, who hath inspired those whose wisdom still directs us; praise him for the Word made flesh, for the Spirit which protects us. Light of knowledge ever burning, shed on us thy deathless learning.

1. Based on Gregory L. Tolle, Lectionary Tales for the Pulpit (Lima, OH, 2006), 156-7.

Faith to Transplant Mulberries

Stephen Paget was a well-known specialist in breast cancer treatment in the latter years of the nineteenth and early years of the twentieth centuries. He was also a man of profound faith. He expressed his faith in several pamphlets that he wrote for Christian Scientists. In one of them, he used an intriguing image for faith. Imagine, he said, that you have reached a point in your life when you are playing a game of cards against Faith.1 You and she sit facing each other across the table. You must go first. You would love to know what cards she holds. But you hold a strong hand: you have the hurricanes, tsunamis, tornadoes, and ice storms, all the chaotic destruction of nature; you hold the murderers, the rapists, the abusers of children, the human traffickers, the destroyers of the environment, the multitude of sinful human beings; you have drug addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, homelessness, disease, unemployment, all the misery of human existence.

The game begins. You play card after card, thinking to weaken or breach her defenses. Faith remains calm and undisturbed. You play the tsunami in Indonesia, the earthquake in Haiti, Hurricane Sandy. She doesn’t blink. You play the lives lost on September 11th, the deaths of civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan, the BP oil spill, the sinking of the Costa Concordia. She is unflappable. Your hand thins out. She has a hand too, and it’s stronger than yours. In fact, she has cards you will never beat. And she is a more seasoned and skillful player than you. Be careful to keep your temper, Paget warns. And remember that you’re not playing for money, you’re playing for love.

An unusual way of thinking about faith? Perhaps. But Paget’s image rings true, in that it reminds us that faith, and for us, faith in God’s promises, outplays any human disaster. What’s more important, faith can strengthen us wherever we are and whatever happens to us. All we need do is accept the companionship, guidance, and encouragement of faith.

Is that what the disciples needed? They were frazzled. They had been trotting after Jesus on his long, slow way to Jerusalem. He had told them stories about what to do with their wealth. What wealth? Hadn’t they given up everything to follow him? He had told them they needed to be accountable for what they were doing. He had thundered at them, “It would be better for you if a millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea than for you to cause one of these little ones to stumble.” He had warned them that they needed to rebuke and forgive each other as often as necessary. They were overwhelmed.

So the disciples said plaintively to Jesus, “You want us to do all this? Then increase our faith!” And the Lord barked at them, “You don’t have even the tiniest bit of faith. If you did you could move mountains. You’re just a bunch of worthless servants who can barely do what’s expected of them.”

Is that how you hear this story? Jesus putting the disciples – and by extension us – on a guilt trip? Let’s hear the story with different ears.2 Maybe, just maybe, Jesus didn’t bark. Maybe he smiled and said kindly, “Wait a minute. You don’t need more faith. Even this much faith” – and he held his thumb and forefinger almost together – “is enough to do everything I’ve asked you to do. You don’t need any more. Now it’s time to live your faith.”

And what about that story Jesus tells next? Can we hear him exaggerating just a little, as he so often does to make a point? Could it be that Jesus is describing a relationship between master and servant that is marked by mutual accountability and expectation? The master expects the servants to do their jobs, and the servants expect they will be protected, fed, and allowed to rest. If we can hear the story that way, then faith, of whatever quantity, becomes a constant companion in our life. Indeed, faith becomes a way of life, in which we serve God and each other, not out of a sense of duty, but because we know and love God, and because we trust God. Faith is not about believing in God. Faith is about believing God’s promises. Faith is trust in God, being in relationship with God, and seeing God in all the circumstances and people of our lives. Faith is knowing, in the words of Habakkuk, that there is still a vision for the appointed time, and that it will surely come.

So, Jesus tells his frazzled disciples, this life of faith is not about whether you have enough faith or not. Because of what God has done for you, you already have enough. The question is what do we do with our faith? Do we trust God to give us all that we need, and then use God’s gifts for the building up of God’s kingdom? Do we know that have a just and loving God? Do we seek a relationship with that God? Can we let go of our need to be independent and self-reliant? Can we trust that faith can’t be measured but has to be lived out in our daily lives?

Those who can live this way make an exciting discovery. They discover that God’s blessings exceed “all that we can ask or imagine.” They discover that the God who expects much from us also promises much. They discover that the God who has given us all that we need, the rightful master of all of us, also came among us “not to be served but to serve” us (Matt 20:28, Mark 10:45), not to condemn us but to give us “life abundant.”

There was a small congregation in Tennessee that built a new church on a piece of land that had been willed to them by a member who had died. Ten days before the first service, the local building inspector came to tell the pastor that they didn’t have enough parking spaces for the building. If they didn’t double the size of the parking lot, they could not open. Where would they find the land for more parking? The only way was to move the mountain in the backyard of the church. So the pastor announced on Sunday that in the evening he would meet with everyone who had “mountain-moving faith.” They would pray for God to somehow move the mountain and provide enough money to pave a new parking lot before the dedication service the next week. That evening, twenty-four hardy souls showed up, of a congregation of three hundred. They prayed for three hours. Then, at 10 PM, the pastor said “Amen,” and assured them that they would open the following Sunday. “God has never let us down,” he told them, “and God will be faithful this time, too.”

The next morning, the pastor was working in his study. There was a knock on the door. The pastor said, “Come in,” and a rough-looking construction foreman came and stood in front of him. “Excuse me, Pastor,” he said. “I’m from Acme Construction. We’re building that new mall down the road, and we need some more fill dirt. Would you be willing to sell us some of that mountain behind the church? We’ll pay you for all the earth we take, and we’ll pave the exposed area for you for free, if you’ll agree right away. We can’t do anything more on our job until we get the fill dirt in and allow it to settle properly.”

The little church was dedicated the next Sunday. You can bet that more people had “mountain-moving faith” on opening Sunday than had had it the previous week!

God has given us all the faith we need. A mustard seed is about the smallest thing you can see with the naked eye. What is Jesus telling us? Even a little bit of faith can do great things! The disciples didn’t need more faith. We don’t need more faith. Any faith at all can do great works. All we need to do is stay in relationship with the giver of our faith, with the one who has already planted the fire of faith within us. We don’t need to be heroes. All that we need to do is to trust in God’s promises and, as conscientiously as we can, do the work that God has given us to do. “Transplanting mulberry trees may be a fascinating hobby for the gifted few. Living faithfully is a serious business that is accomplished daily by many in the love of Christ and by the power of the Holy Spirit.”3

1. Suggested by Patricia Sanchez in “Preaching Resources,” Celebration, October 3, 2010, 1.
2. As suggested by Kimberly Bracken Long, “Pastoral Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Year C, Volume 4 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 142ff.
3. Donald S. Armentrout, quoted in Synthesis, October 6, 2013, 4

A Godly Investment Strategy

I hate today’s lections! I don’t want to preach on them! Do you even want to hear their message? As rich Americans, don’t we wish that the Revised Common Lectionary had chosen some other readings for today? Wouldn’t we rather hear about how God loves us, and how we’ll all get to heaven if we just believe the right things?

God loves us, all right, and Jesus has shown us the way to eternal life. Even so, today’s lessons sternly warn us that there is more to following Jesus than reciting the Nicene Creed. Can you hear God addressing you through the words of the prophet Amos? You have to be deaf not to hear Amos’s warning to the indolent superrich of 8th century Israel. It was a time of great prosperity. It was also a time of great income inequality when the lifestyles of the wealthy were in sharp contrast to the lifestyles of the poor. Worse yet, wealthy landowners were able to manipulate the credit system so as to amass great estates at the expense of small farmers. Enter Amos. “You who are at ease in Zion,” he thunders, “you who are sure your wealth will always support you, you who sit around idly, imagining that you are like King David, you will be the first to lose it all. As the music fades away, you will be the first into exile.” The message could not be clearer. The rich of Amos’s time didn’t want to hear it, and neither do we.

Our psalm for the day begins on a joyful note. We hear the psalmist declare, “I will praise the Lord as long as I live.” However, here again we hear the warning: neither politicians nor any “child of earth” can grant us security. The psalmist goes on to declare that the God whom we profess to worship cares for those who are oppressed, or hungry, or blind, or in prison. More to the point, we who profess to love this God, we who would honor God’s covenant with us, must imitate God, indeed must be God’s instruments, in caring for the stranger, the orphan, and the widow.

In the Gospel reading, rather than thundering at his hearers, Jesus tells a harsh story to the “lovers of money” and those who would follow their example. However, just as in Amos’s prophecy, Jesus’ story is filled with contrasts and reversals. The poor man, Lazarus, has a name, while the rich man does not. While the rich man dressed in purple and fine linen, Lazarus has only his rags and his sores. The rich man sits down to a groaning table, while Lazarus would be happy to have the leftovers in the trash. The rich man is buried, no doubt without all ceremonial, while Lazarus is carried away by the angels. However, at the end of the story, Lazarus, safely ensconced in Abraham’s bosom, now looks down on the rich man, who is forced to look up and beg.

What was Jesus telling his hearers in this story? Was Jesus condemning wealth as such? Was the rich man punished for being rich? If the rich man could invoke Abraham, then he was a member of the household of faith. As such, he too knew his Scriptures. He too had heard the prophets and the psalms. He too knew of God’s care for the needy and of his own responsibility to imitate God in caring for those around him. No, the rich man’s sin was ignoring the human need right in front of his eyes, and in failing to address it while he could. He was punished for not connecting the dots, for ignoring the connection between his identity as a child of Abraham and his responsibility to be God’s conduit of blessings to the world.

So what of us? We too sit “at ease in Zion.” We too live in a country – in a county – with deep income inequality. Currently, the richest sections of the US population now concentrate in their hands a greater portion of the national income than at any point in nearly a century, and income inequality is at near record levels. Walk any city in the US, or maybe even any small town, and you will find homeless people sleeping on heating vents and park benches, lines at soup kitchens and free dinners, and shelters full to bursting. Geralyn Wolf, the bishop of Rhode Island, spent a month of her sabbatical living on the streets as a homeless person. In her book, entitled Down and Out in Providence, she reminds us that poor people cannot “pull themselves up by their own boot straps.” Rather, many of the people she met had full or part-time jobs but did not earn enough to rent an apartment or even a room. Others were physically or emotionally handicapped. Some had lost their jobs in the recession. Government was doing little to help the people Bp. Wolf met, and some policies even actively made their situations worse.

What is our responsibility? Can we do a better job of imitating God than we currently do? The end of the letter to Timothy may provide clues, ways to respond to the prophets’ and Jesus’ warnings. The letter was most likely written by a disciple of Paul to a younger pastor when Christianity was still very much a minority religion. Even so, many of its lessons are still applicable to us. In this part, the writer closes his message by suggesting six virtues that Timothy as a pastor should pursue. The first three are addressed to God: righteousness, i.e., living in right relationship with God, godliness, i.e., choosing a lifestyle acceptable to God, and faith, i.e., trusting and obeying God. The other three deal with conduct towards one’s neighbor: love, i.e., self-giving love of others, endurance, i.e., holding fast to faith, and gentleness, i.e., humility towards others.

The writer then advises Timothy how to behave towards the wealthy. He is to remind of them of the fragility of their wealth, of their need to acknowledge that all they have comes from God, and, most importantly, of their responsibility to generously share their wealth. He is to help them to understand that this is the lifestyle that leads to “life that is really life,” the life that God intends for all of us, rich and poor. So here is our “investment strategy.” Here is the answer to the warnings of Jesus and the prophets: whatever our means, and especially if we are wealthy – and if we have food in the fridge, a roof over our heads, and more than two changes of clothes, then by definition we are wealthy – we are to be unfailingly grateful to God and generous to those in need.

Tom Gordon tells the story of Doug.1 Doug was an avid soccer fan. His team was the United, and he had begun going to matches as a small boy with his father and grandfather, who had both been season-ticket holders. After Doug’s grandfather died, his father kept up the tradition, and game days were always special treats for Doug. Doug looked forward to returning the favor when he was old enough to start earning on his own. He never got the chance: Doug’s dad died when Doug was just seventeen. After that, Doug lost interest in the United soccer matches for some years. Finally, though, he was working and had saved up enough for a season ticket.

The opening game was disappointing. United lost 3-2 on a debatable penalty. Instead of socializing with friends, Doug decided to go straight home. In the bus shelter he saw a poster asking for donations for drought-stricken Burkina Faso. Doug ignored it. Who cared about a tiny West African country? As he opened his newspaper, there was an ad soliciting funds for emergency food aid for Burkina Faso. Doug ignored it. At home, there was Burkina Faso on the evening news. Doug was moved by the pictures of the struggling farmers and dying children, but he didn’t open his checkbook. The next day was Sunday. It was a chance to see his sister’s family, so Doug went to the harvest festival at church. There was Burkina Faso again: 50p a day would provide meals all year for a struggling family, £25 a week would provide food for malnourished children and pregnant mothers, and £270 a month would support an agricultural worker. Was there a message here?

It took two weeks for Doug to decide. In fact, it was right after United won their next home game 2-0. It had been a good day. Doug began to wonder whether the people of Burkina Faso ever had good days. That evening he set up a direct debit to an international relief
organization – for exactly the same amount as the monthly cost of his United season ticket. Doug still enjoys United matches, but now his enjoyment is even greater.

What are riches?
What we have but did not earn …
What we own but did not create …
What we cherish but did not deserve …
What we value but did not achieve …

What is poverty?
What we need but do not find …
What we deserve but do not attain …
What we work for but do not receive …
What we hope for but never fulfill …

What is awareness?
What we see and choose to know …
What we listen to and choose to hear …
What we learn and choose to heed …
What we feel and choose to understand …

What is giving?
What we have and decide to share …
What we own and decide to give away …
What we cherish and decide to let go …
What we value for ourselves and decide to value for others … 2

1. Tom Gordon, “Riches,” in A Blessing to Follow (Glasgow: Wild Goose Publications, 2009), 226-29.

2. Ibid., 229.