Archive for Pledge Drive

Help from Hypocritical Harold

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , on November 11, 2018 by timtrue

Mark 12:38-44

1.

Jesus plays with a stereotype today. For the sake of illustration, let’s call him Hypocritical Harold.

Now, not all the scribes were this way; but enough were that Jesus’ words painted a familiar picture in the minds of the people he spoke to.

We do the same thing today: paint stereotypes with descriptions. We describe someone, for instance, as an ambulance-chasing lawyer.

Not all lawyers, we know, are ambulance chasers. In fact, I know many lawyers who entered the profession precisely because they wanted to make a positive difference for the betterment of society, the common good.

Nevertheless, the ambulance-chasing lawyer is common enough in our day that it has become a stereotype. A picture of someone like Saul Goodman comes to mind. Better call Saul!

So it was in Jesus’ day with scribes; and thus Hypocritical Harold, a familiar picture in the minds of the people Jesus addresses today in the temple.

Harold walks around in clothes that are definitive of his office, something like me wearing my collar in public. But his clothes are not just a basic uniform; they’re also showy. He’s got a different set of robes for every day of the week—two for Shabbat!

Next, probably somewhat as a natural outcome of his showy clothes, people compliment him and greet him with feigned respect everywhere he goes.

His is an office of privilege, after all. He’s had to fight his way, long and hard, to get there. He deserves respect, the best seats in both the synagogue and the social scene. That’s not vanity! Or ego! Is it?

Of course, as a byproduct of his office, Hypocritical Harold will be asked to pray from time to time—especially from his seats of honor in the synagogue and at those all-important dinner parties. But what better opportunity to show off his knowledge and general worthiness!

So the prayers he makes are long, filled with sophisticated theological words that require years of academy training just to get their pronunciation correct, let alone what they actually mean.

And those who hear his prayers are left in a state of awe. I could never pray like that, they think; I hope the host never calls on me to say the blessing.

Maybe there is some vanity involved here; maybe some ego. But more importantly to Jesus is the effect that Hypocritical Harold causes.

“They devour widows’ houses,” he says; and thus, “They will receive the greater condemnation.”

What does Jesus mean?

2.

For the answer, we simply read on.

Next, then, Jesus leaves the temple, where he was teaching, and takes a seat opposite the treasury; that is, the place where devout Jews deposit their monetary offerings. And he watches.

Some wealthy people come by—maybe there’s a scribe like Hypocritical Harold among them—and, Jesus observes, these wealthy people put a lot of money into the treasury.

That’s good for them; and good for their religious institution!

By the way, we should take note, especially during our annual pledge drive: the people who are well off here are giving a lot.

But, you know, the impression is that, even though they are giving a lot, after they leave their offerings behind, they’re still well off. These offerings, we get the impression, are not all that inhibiting. The wealthy people still leave in the same fancy cars in which they arrived.

In other words, as Jesus soon says to his disciples, the wealthy people here are giving out of abundance. God has blessed them with wealth. And, as an expression of gratitude for God’s blessing, they give back to God out of God’s abundance.

There’s nothing wrong with this, by the way.

We often read this Gospel passage and think it’s a moral lesson teacher; that when a wealthy scribe is contrasted to a poor widow, we are supposed to be unlike the vain, egotistical character and like the noble character.

But that’s just not the point Jesus is making today. There’s nothing wrong with the scribe or anyone else giving out of his or her abundance. In fact, that’s what the annual pledge drive asks for: give to God out of God’s abundance.

But back to the Gospel!

Next—and here is where the door-hinge swings; where the surprise comes—a widow arrives on the scene; and she puts two coins into the treasury. It’s all she has to live on, Jesus says.

This poor widow puts in far more than everyone else. She does not contribute to the religious institution out of her abundance; for she has no abundance. Rather, she gives everything she has.

3.

Which leads me to wonder: Is this maybe what Jesus was getting at when he said that Hypocritical Harold devours widows’ homes?

Hypocritical Harold was a stereotype: “a widely held but fixed and oversimplified image . . . of a particular type of person” (Google Dictionary).

Hypocritical Harold was an oversimplification, sure. But he was already in people’s minds for good reason. Hypocritical Harold, the scribe, portrayed a symptomatic picture of a larger problem.

Well, what was the problem?

The word scribe comes from the Latin verb scribere, to write. Scribes, as the Latin suggests, wrote things down. They were literate, educated, bookish people.

We first hear about scribes in Israel’s history during the time of the kings and prophets, writing down the words spoken in official meetings.

In the OT books of 2 Kings, Jeremiah, and Isaiah, scribes are described as secular officials with responsibilities over financial and political documents.

Later in Israel’s history, over in Ezra and Daniel, scribes are celebrated for their righteousness and wisdom.

By the time of Jesus, scribes were additionally known as teachers and interpreters of God’s Law.[i]

Scribes were intelligent; and trustworthy.

But . . . by the time Jesus provided today’s stereotype, scribes had become a distinguished class of members in the Jewish religious institution. Hypocritical Harold, with his flowing robes, long prayers, and ego, was a widely held picture, a representative of the present-day religious system.

Far and above today’s passage being a moral story about right and wrong attitudes for giving, today’s Gospel is about a human system that was appropriating the property of the poor—a widow—for the benefit of the elite—a scribe.

And, amazingly, Jesus preached this in the temple—the spiritual focal point of the very religious institution he was criticizing!

Gutsy, eh?

4.

So, one more thing to point out about stereotypes: We usually don’t want to admit it when they fit us.

Surely, not all the scribes in Jesus’ time fit the Hypocritical Harold stereotype; surely, many scribes were doing their work out of a desire to serve and honor and glorify God.

Nevertheless, Hypocritical Harold was a widely held picture, symptomatic of larger inconvenient truths about the religious system of the day.

So, how many scribes, do you think, would have heard Jesus’ words and thought, “Yep, that’s me all right!”?

Instead, when we hear a stereotype about us, don’t we tend to think, “Well, I can see how someone would say that; but that doesn’t apply to me!”?

Our default is to deny. That’s how we’re wired. We exempt ourselves.

But what if a stereotype we hear today does apply to us? Is constructive criticism—criticism from which we can learn—contained within?—just as Jesus offered constructive criticism to the religious system of his day?

Well, what do we hear today?

How about:

  • TEC appeals only to the white, wealthy, and educated.
  • There are no young people in TEC.
  • TEC is too privileged to be aware of the needs of the world outside.
  • TEC is liberal.
  • TEC is just a big country club.

It’s easy to brush these aside, isn’t it? The temptation is to say these stereotypes might be true of some Episcopal congregations out there, sure, but not ours!

Instead of brushing them aside, however, let us learn from Hypocritical Harold.

In general, when we look around us at the world in which we live, where do we find human systems appropriating the property of the poor for the benefit of the wealthy? Or oppressing the weak for the benefit of the strong? Or excluding the marginalized so that they don’t interrupt the status quo?

Then, more particularly, where do we find such human systems in our own church—whether in this local body or the wider church? Where have we been complicit; and how can we stop our complicity?

That’s what Jesus calls us to ask and do in today’s Gospel.

Whenever and wherever we find human systems that oppress, it is our responsibility in Christ to stop them; lest we become Hypocritical Harold.

[i] I am grateful here to Robert Bryant’s helpful insights. See Feasting on the Word, Year B, Volume 4, p.287.

Imaging Love

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 19, 2017 by timtrue

plato-300x254

Matthew 25:14-30

1.

It’s not lost on me that today’s Gospel falls on our Ingathering Sunday.

This parable involves talents. Talents are money. Lots of money!

And it’s Ingathering Sunday, the day where we collect all our pledge cards and offer them up to God in hopes that we will be blessed in the coming year. And by “we will be blessed,” you and I both know what I mean: that the church will make ends meet and then some!

Oh, the temptation!

“Don’t be like that third slave,” I could preach, “for he took his talent and suppressed it. He buried it in the dirt; and ended up in that dark place where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. We don’t want to be like him, do we? Well, here’s your chance. Pledge!”

Or, I could exhort, “Be like the first and second slaves. They took huge economic risks with their master’s money. And these risks paid off! Don’t you see? God wants you to take huge economic risks in what you pledge this year. Do it! And God will reward you.”

I could preach these kinds of things, sure. And, sad to say, many preachers will in fact expound along these lines today.

But—at the risk of losing a sales-pitch opportunity—my conscience steers me in another direction. I don’t think that this parable is telling you and me to empty our pockets for Jesus (though, if you want to interpret it this way, I won’t stand in the way!).

2.

Rather, the point of today’s parable is about how we understand—how we image—God.

We touched on this a few weeks back. The religious leaders that Jesus confronted had imaged God as a king, largely removed from the lives of his people. God is often likened to a king in the scriptures, after all.

But there are many other words, other images, associated with God in the Bible: father; mother hen; fire; wind; word; lover; friend; etc.

Do you image God as king? as father? as fire?

Or how about harsh taskmaster? For you, does God reap where he doesn’t sow? Does God gather where he did not spread seed? Are you afraid of God?

That’s how the third slave saw his master.

And, after all, he’s the focal point of today’s parable.

The first and second slaves do what is right: they’re the ones who take their master’s resources and double them, riskily living out their calling, as Jesus teaches his disciples to do.

But the first and second slaves are nearly identical. Other than the difference in amounts of resources, both go out and double what they were given; both do it in the same way; and both are welcomed and received by their master with the same words.

These first two slaves, much as they might teach us about stewardship, are merely setting the stage for what is to follow.

And what does follow is a sharp contrast:

in the way the third slave stewards;

and, especially, in the way he views, or images, his master.

“I knew you were a harsh man,” he says, “reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not scatter seed; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground.”

Unlike the first and second slaves, who feel absolute liberty in using their master’s resources, and are themselves received with similar liberty, the third slave is afraid, constrained by his image of his master.

It’s not that the master is harsh at all. Rather, everything about his actions demonstrates generosity. It’s all in how the third slave views his master.

This third slave is like the religious leaders Jesus has been confronting since he arrived in Jerusalem some days ago. Long had they imaged God as a distant, aloof king who rules by law and judgment, a deity to be feared. And thus, in accordance with their image of God, they had established a religious system that held its people under a cloud of fear.

3.

Which brings up a good point: a good way to discern how we image God is to examine our own behavior. Whether we realize it or not, we act like the God we image.

So, for instance, how do we address God in prayer?

As a church, we say the Lord’s Prayer together weekly: here we address God, “Our Father in heaven.”

Also, I thumbed through fifty-one pages of collects in our BCP (pp. 211-61) and found these addresses:

Almighty God; Merciful God; Lord; God; Eternal Father; Father in heaven; Almighty and everlasting God; Most loving Father; Gracious Father; Almighty and everliving God; Lord God; Almighty Father; King of glory; Almighty and merciful God; Lord of all power and might; Blessed Lord; Everliving God; Lord of glory; Lord God Almighty; Gracious God; Almighty and gracious Father; Eternal Lord God; and Merciful Creator.

Rich and varied as these addresses are, most of them suggest distance, as if God is away from us, in heaven, ruling and reigning from on high—from somewhere else. A few, like “God” and “Gracious God,” are ambiguous: distance is neither suggested nor not suggested. But none of them addresses a God who is already present.

These are our collects. These are the prayers we say as the liturgy begins. The implication is that God is far off in a heavenly throne room somewhere until I, the ordained celebrant, summon God to be present with all of us.

Frankly, this is bad theology, a hangover from the medieval image of God as powerful and aloof king. If we say as a church we don’t view God this way—and we do say this: that God is always present with each of us and all of us—perhaps it’s time to revise some, maybe even a lot, of our liturgy.

Or maybe the reality is that we actually image God this way after all without realizing it.

Well, that’s an example from us as a church. What about you personally?

How do you address God in your personal prayers? Is it always, “Almighty God,” or, “Father in heaven”? Have you ever tried addressing God as “Caregiver,” “Friend,” or even “Lover”? What about something like, “Nurturing Mother”?

I’m not saying you should; I’m not saying you shouldn’t. You have liberty. I’m simply trying to make the point that we understand God largely in terms of how we image God; and we subconsciously live out our faith in accordance with this image.

A good dose of self-examination here can do us a lot of good. It might even motivate us to rethink our image of God.

4.

Of course, Jesus gives us an image: Jesus tells us that God is love.

But how do we image love? Love is an action; an ideology. How do we form an image of action or ideology in our mind’s eye?

I don’t know that we can. Love may be simply too abstract.

But what we can do is recall how it looks when played out. What does love look like? It’s a meal given to a hungry person. It’s a quilt received by someone in need of healing. It’s a kind word spoken at the right time.

Really? Is a hot meal an image of God? Is a quilt? What about a word? Jesus himself is called the Word of God.

Perhaps this is what Jesus has been pointing to all along:

  • Seeing God in the smile on your daughter’s face at the dinner table as you crack a silly joke
  • Realizing that God is everywhere around you as you wait in the checkout line at the grocery store
  • Hearing God in a piece of music
  • Observing God’s hand in nature
  • Sensing God’s very presence in the middle of a heated discussion at diocesan convention

Is this what Jesus means when he says, “God is love”?

5.

I am reminded here of a story about Socrates, that great Greek thinker.

His is arguably the second most tragic death in the history of human civilization.

He walked the earth long before Christ, executed in 399 BCE.

Like Christ, he never wrote a word—that we know of anyway. He is remembered through the testimony of others, especially his disciple Plato.

So, the Greek world of Socrates’s day, as you know, imaged God as a pantheon.

Zeus was the father god of the earthly realm; while his brothers Poseidon and Hades ruled the sea and the underworld, respectively.

Of course, there were also Hera, Zeus’s wife; Aphrodite, Zeus’s daughter (born out of his head, by the way); Apollo, Zeus’s son from an adulterous relationship; Ares, Zeus and Hera’s son, whom (according to Homer) they hated; and so on and so forth.

But, as you can surmise already from the little I’ve told you, the popular image of God in Socrates’s day was nothing short of divine dysfunction!

And Socrates knew it!

So, one of his more brilliant ideas was that, yes, there must be some kind of deity, for everyday life has all kinds of pointers shouting out so; but, no, this deity simply could not be—to borrow from The Kinks—a mixed up, funked up, shook up pantheon (except for Lola—or Hera, as it were).

In other words, for Socrates there was in fact a deity, but not as the popular image portrayed it.

Socrates realized that the world around him, wanting to approach the divine, had fashioned for itself concrete images of the divine. These images were the pantheon, a kind of high court of deities, gods that looked, for all intents and purposes, a lot like regular people, with all their warts and weaknesses—not unlike DC Comics’ Justice League.

Still, Socrates knew, there was something of God in each of these images; yet all of God could not be contained by any of them. Concrete images cannot capture the ineffable. By definition, it’s impossible!

Anyway, Socrates’s downfall was teaching the youth to see through—or beyond—these popular images of deity. “God is not a pantheon,” he declared, “but One. God cannot be contained by images.”

And for this—for leading Athens’ youth astray into what his opponents called atheism(!)—Socrates was tried, found guilty, and made to drink the poisonous hemlock.

Tragedy came upon the world because one man dared to challenge its popular images of God.

Jesus challenged a popular image of God in his day too—the image of God as king; and again tragedy came upon the world.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be like the third slave in today’s parable. I don’t want to view God as a harsh taskmaster, which simply perpetuates the fear, shame, and guilt that already runs rampant in our society.

Rather, I want to be like the first and second slaves. These guys took risks! These guys understood and lived into their freedoms! And in the end they were elevated to a kind of equality with their master.

Yet even more than that, I want to be like Jesus, who imaged God as love. For in imaging God as love, we become love.

Crude as Cold, Hard Cash

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 22, 2017 by timtrue

Emperor_Tiberius_Denarius_-_Tribute_Penny

Matthew 22:15-22

1.

I once knew a man who felt strongly that it was his constitutional right to avoid paying taxes intentionally. Let’s call him Greg.

Greg was one of these guys who, commendably, studied his Bible all the time. Whenever any sort of question about life came up—what to do on weekends, how to divide up family chores, even what kind of car he ought to buy—he consulted his Bible, searching for some kind of answer or at least guidance.

Somewhere along the way he determined from his personal study of the Bible that federal and local governments extend their authority far more than they should.

The government’s purpose, Greg reasoned, is to protect its citizenship; so for a government to provide military, police, and fire departments, for instance, is its bounden duty.

But to offer services and agencies to look out for the welfare of its citizenship—for Greg this was an absolute no-no. Public schools are out, he reasoned; anyone using them, in Greg’s mind, commits grievous sin. And, of course, all of welfare’s variations—like Fannie Mae, Medicare, and Social Security—simply cannot be an option for Christians.

One of our country’s chief founding principles is separation of church and state. As a consequence, Greg felt deeply that the church, not the state, should establish and maintain all organizations concerned with the well-being and welfare of its members.

And so Greg’s logic led him to the conviction that he, and every US citizen, therefore possessed the constitutional right not to pay taxes.

He refused to get social security numbers for his kids. He ran a business completely “under the table,” paying his (always temporary) workers in kind. And while he was off conducting business during the day, his wife homeschooled the kids.

For Greg, to avoid paying taxes was to exercise his freedom of religion. Not sure the IRS would see it this way, but there it is.

2.

Anyway, I tell you about Greg because he sounds a bit like the Pharisees of today’s Gospel.

They come to Jesus with their minds already made up, with cold, hard cash in hand, in order to trap Jesus.

The coin they hold, a denarius, has an image of Tiberius Caesar on it; as well as an inscription, which reads, “Tiberius Caesar, august and divine son of Augustus, high priest.”

Good Jews find this coin simultaneously oppressive and blasphemous: oppressive because it reminds them that they are subject to an ungodly people, the Romans; and blasphemous because of its graven image and supremely arrogant message.

This highly offensive currency—whose minting and circulation is an ongoing violation of the first two commandments!—is required for the tax to the Romans: no other currency is acceptable.

So, what would Jesus do? What could he do?

If he says, “Pay the tax,” why, he’s guilty of collaboration with pagans!

And if he says, “Don’t pay the tax,” well, that’s sedition!

Either way, the Pharisees think, they have him trapped.

3.

My old friend Greg, like the Pharisees of today’s Gospel, separates church and state to an extreme. On the other hand, I also have friends who convolute their religion with their politics; friends who commingle religion and politics to such an extent that their religion becomes their politics; and vice-versa.

Do you know anyone like this? It doesn’t matter whether we’re talking Democrat or Republican. Their tendency is truly bi-partisan.

I was in seminary during the 2012 presidential election. Discussion in one of my classes turned to politics, and more specifically to the church’s role in modern America. One of my classmates commented, “I don’t know how someone could ever vote Republican and call themselves Christian.”

That same night—no joke!—a family member who was visiting expressed his similar sentiment, “I don’t know how someone could vote Democrat and call himself a Christian.”

Exact same comment—except the parties were switched!

Well, I have news for people like this. For every Conservative who claims Jesus as his champion, there is likewise a Progressive claiming Jesus for her cause.

Anyway, these folks—those who essentially equate religion to politics and vice-versa—sound a lot like the Herodians mentioned in today’s Gospel.

Did you hear it?

The Pharisees went and plotted to entrap Jesus in what he said. So they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians.

Perhaps the most amazing thing here is that both the Pharisees and the Herodians have come together!

That would be like my old friend Greg and my seminary classmate going out for coffee—a meeting I simply cannot envision!

But the Pharisees and the Herodians from today’s Gospel share a common enemy: Jesus.

And so they come to him together, saying, “Teacher, we know that you . . . show deference to no one; for you do not regard people with partiality.”

Jesus, they say, you are neither Pharisee nor Herodian; neither Conservative nor Progressive; neither Republican nor Democrat. Or that’s what you say, at least. But we’re forcing you into a corner. And we’re doing so with this coin. Where do you land? Pick a side already!

And we know the story: both the Pharisees and the Herodians seek to trap Jesus, to incriminate him with either sedition or collaboration; but Jesus is so brilliant he takes their question out of the political realm and into the realm of theology; and thus blows their minds.

Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, he says; and to God what is God’s.

It is not an either-or but a both-and proposition.

Jesus gives us liberty to be loyal to the state; yet subordinates this loyalty to the lordship of God.

4.

Which brings up a great question: just what is the church’s place in the world?

The Jewish community of Jesus’ day included both those who believed in complete separation of church and state (the Pharisees) and those who believed that salvation came through the state (the Herodians).

Little has changed in two millennia.

On the one hand, there is a message spread far and wide through today’s church that says we Christians have been called out; we are separate from this world.

And thus, this teaching tells us, we shouldn’t care too much about what happens in our world—about ecology and the threat of nuclear war and so on—for the Bible is clear that we Christians are all going to be raptured away and the world will burn up in some kind of end-times apocalypse.

Let’s call this the sanctuary view: while we Christians have to endure the trials and hardships of this bluesy world we live in, the church provides us a temporary sanctuary from the storm.

On the other hand, there is another message that says we Christians can’t know about any of that end-times stuff, whether we’re all going to be raptured away or whatever, or whether there even is a heaven or a hell.

What we do know is that Christ has called us to care for widows, orphans, the sick, the lame, the poor, and the homeless. Our call as Christians is to make this world a better place, and thus, using the present political means at our disposal, to bring salvation to the ends of the earth.

Let’s call this the social-gospel view: we Christians spread salvation to the ends of the earth through present society and its political systems.

There are many people in today’s church that hold to the sanctuary view; and, at the same time, there are others who hold to the social-gospel view.

Both Pharisees and Herodians fill today’s pews!

But Jesus comes along and tells us we’re not focusing on the right things: it’s not an either-or proposition; though we may feel trapped by one worldview or another, it doesn’t have to be that way.

To focus on sanctuary makes our faith all about hope: life is fairly miserable but we have the hope that some glad morning, when this life is over, we will all fly away and be with Jesus in paradise.

To focus on the social gospel makes our faith all about action: what we will do in the here-and-now for the betterment of society.

But—please hear me here—our faith is not either hope or action. Rather, our faith is both hope and action!

Our future hope motivates us to present action—action towards the common good yielding salvation to the ends of the earth.

The world’s political systems simply are not able to operate from such a place.

5.

By the way, it’s not lost on me that Jesus is dealing with money at the same time that we are launching our pledge drive.

When Jesus says to give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God, money is the immediate and specific application. (I don’t know how my old friend Greg skirts around today’s passage.)

And, yes, we depend on money for almost everything necessary to function in modern society. This dependence applies to us both as individuals and as a church. So, give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar—pay your taxes—and to God what belongs to God—make your pledge, so that as a church we can continue to accomplish Christ’s ministry in the world.

But, as we launch this year’s pledge drive, here’s a closing thought to consider.

Jesus looks at the coin’s crude image of Caesar and recognizes it for what it is: simply cold, hard cash.

All the state can ever be is a crude, cold, hard image of its human leaders. At best, it is two-dimensional, something neither to separate ourselves from nor to view as our salvation.

With the church, however, we do not see a crude, two-dimensional image but the perfect image of Christ. This image is not always easy to see; but it is there—on the faces and in the hearts of every living, thinking, feeling, image-bearing person. Even at our very worst, then, the church is nevertheless three-dimensional.

Jesus reminds us today: the church is something the state is not; the church is much more; it fills the voids society cannot.

And thus: Offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving, and make good your vows to the Most High.

Practicing the Common Good

Posted in Homilies with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 26, 2017 by timtrue

USCurrency_Federal_Reserve

Matthew 20:1-16

1.

The Acts of the Apostles relates that members of the newly formed Christian church shared all things in common:

Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need (Acts 4:32-35).

Similarly, other groups in and around early Christian Palestine—and the Jewish sect known today as the Qumran Community—attempted to live a communal life together.

People in these communities worked. At the end of the day they’d return and the community’s resources were pooled. Regardless of how much or how little each individual member of the community brought in, from this pool the community members were able to live lives of relative equality. Each member drew from the pool as he or she needed.

Discussing these communities one day in seminary, and referring to today’s Gospel, my church history professor posited this question:

“Was Jesus’ vision for his new realm one of communism? That’s what this sounds like to me—or something very much like it. Of course, we’ve seen that communism as a political ideal has failed. But the world’s twentieth-century experiments in communism were atheistic, largely devoid of God. What if God were central? Could a kind of Christian communism work?”

I shot my hand up in the air, along with several other classmates. After a few had shared their affirming thoughts—a few younger, idealistic classmates—it was my turn.

“Try raising five kids,” I said, “and you’ll see right away that communism doesn’t work.”

I was thinking of dishes, for example. Nobody in my family wants to do the dishes; everyone sees them as a chore. When it’s their turn, the family members with a lazier disposition (not to mention any names) don’t do a good job, or don’t do them at all, leaving the more industrious family members to clean up after them. Sharing the chore is supposed to be for the common good; and yet the result is guilt, frustration, and resentment. Christian communism is a nice ideal; but the reality just doesn’t work.

Later that week, at a community picnic, my young professor, whose wife was expecting their first child, pulled me aside and said, “You know, Tim, that was a really profound statement: ‘Try raising five kids; communism can’t work.’”

And I said thank you and smiled politely; and silently wished him good luck.

2.

Now, we can bag on communism all we want; for we live in a culture that values free speech and other liberties that are self-evident. But, at the same time, I’m pretty sure Jesus’ vision wasn’t western capitalism either.

Just look at the parable:

First, early in the day, a wealthy land owner hires some workers. The mutual monetary agreement between them is a denarius, a day’s wage for a laborer. It’s not much; but it is enough for daily bread.

Next, three times more, every few hours, the land owner hires another batch of laborers. Each time a wage is not specifically stated; but it will be a just wage, the land owner assures.

Finally, at the eleventh hour, an hour before the sun sets, the land owner hires additional laborers one last time. This time there is no mention at all of a wage.

So, when the workday is done, the land owner has the laborers line up, the last to be hired at the front of the line. When he pays them each a denarius—same as the agreed wage for those hired early in the day—naturally, some expectations in the back of the line surface: the laborers hired last worked only one hour; it seems only fair then that we who worked the entire day should be compensated more for our troubles.

But when those hired in the middle of the day come forward and are given a denarius and no more, these expectations turn to feelings of entitlement: we who were hired early on did so much more for the land owner; don’t we deserve more compensation?

At last, when those hired first are paid a denarius just like everyone else, there is frustration and resentment. They grumble against the land owner. They feel themselves superior. They voice their complaints. “You have made them equal to us,” they say (v. 12)—as if equality is a negative value.

The land owner wonders out loud if these first hirees might be envious at his generosity.

Envy—ding! ding! ding! That’s one of the seven deadly sins.

Now, the point of this parable is God’s generosity. God treats all people equally, regardless of socioeconomic status, race, gender, or whatever other category we want to place people in. God is generous, benevolent, and good.

Nevertheless, for many of us this parable is unsettling. Dissolved boundary lines aside, it feels unfair; maybe even unjust—like when I end up doing someone else’s dishes.

But I wonder how much of this unsettling feeling has to do with the ideal of western capitalism.

Capitalism teaches us from birth to compete against others, excel, and distinguish ourselves. If we go to the right college, earn the right degree, and work for the right company, why, aren’t we then entitled to receive a higher income than the person who didn’t? And when someone seems better off with fewer credentials, aren’t we prone toward frustration and resentment? Even envy?

And envy—ding! ding! ding! That’s one of the seven deadly sins.

3.

But there’s another option that stands between the human ideals of communism and capitalism: the Christian practice of the common good.

This phrase, the common good, shows up in many places in our Book of Common Prayer. A few examples:

  • In the Good Friday Liturgy, we pray for those who serve the common good, including the President of our country, Congress, and members and representatives of the United Nations.
  • In the Collect for Vocation in Daily Work, we pray, “Deliver us in our various occupations from the service of self alone, that we may do the work you give us to do in truth and beauty and for the common good.”
  • In the Prayers of the People, Form IV, we pray, “Guide the people of this land, and of all the nations, in the ways of justice and peace; that we may honor one another and serve the common good.”
  • And in the Great Litany, we pray, “That it may please thee to inspire us, in our several callings, to do the work which thou givest us to do with singleness of heart as thy servants, and for the common good.”

I’ve said it before: our calling in Christ is not just about a personal relationship with Jesus. Christ’s mission and ministry are for the common good; or, in other words, the best quality of life we can experience together, as a community.

And while our community starts with you and me as individuals, it flows outward, like circles after dropping a rock into the still waters of a pond, to our church, city, state, nation, and the world; from Jerusalem to Judea and all Samaria, even to the ends of the earth.

That’s the idea of the common good. Which is a big part of our calling as followers of Christ.

But, of course, our reality is modern-day America, a highly individualized culture. Ideas about the common good are seemingly lost in a vast sea of individualism.

So then, how do we practice the common good in our cultural context?

4.

Well, I’m glad you asked. Our annual Pledge Drive affords us a wonderful, tangible example.

We will be launching our Pledge Drive soon.

All too often, financial stewardship is addressed from a very individual perspective. We’re asked to be introspective, to look at our personal budgets, to pray individual prayers about what we can reasonably afford to give to God, and figure out a way to give from what is rightfully yours.

But in our financial stewardship, God doesn’t call us just to be individuals, as if stewardship is merely a personal exercise just between me and Jesus.

Yes, personal introspection is a very real part of faithful stewardship; but it is not the complete picture. God also calls us to consider the common good.

Thus, when we pledge, in addition to our introspective, personal considerations, we also need to consider the bigger picture of this church body, its unique and particular makeup; its unique and particular needs.

And we need to consider the biggest picture of all: God is generous, benevolent, and good.

In pledging to the common good, then, we are merely managing what is already God’s: our pledges are acts of love to the Lord our God; and to our neighbor.

And what happens when we pool our resources together for the glory of God? We enable ourselves to live into our common life: we enable ourselves to work together as equals—no competition, no distinctions, no status; no frustration, no resentment, no envy—in order to accomplish Christ’s ministry and mission in Temecula and the world.