Our Money Story 2: Release

Scripture Reading                   Matthew 19:16-22         

 

Then someone came to him and said, “Teacher, what good deed must I do to have eternal life?”  And he said to him, “Why do you ask me about what is good? There is only one who is good. If you wish to enter into life, keep the commandments.”  He said to him, “Which ones?” And Jesus said, “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness;  Honor your father and mother; also, You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”  The young man said to him, “I have kept all these; what do I still lack?”  Jesus said to him, “If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give [the money] to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When the young man heard this word, he went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

 

Meditation 

A couple of weeks ago, I made a confession to you: I never learned bible verses as a child. I learned bible stories. I learned about Jesus, and I learned about the beatitudes—“Blessed are in the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” But I never memorized that verse—at least, not back then.

 

I memorized one Bible verse as a young person, but not because of church, because of TV. It was in the Christmas show, “The Homecoming,” which ended up being the pilot for the series, “The Waltons.” It takes place on Christmas Eve in rural Virginia, in the midst of the Great Depression. It’s a freezing cold night, with snow on the ground and everyone’s breath visible in the frosty air. A missionary has come through town to give away Christmas presents to the children who live there, virtually all of them, in poverty.

 

But there’s a catch: To get a Christmas present, each child has to recite a bible verse. For a while, there’s a lot of silence.

 

But then, Mary Ellen Walton, adolescent smarty pants, starts whispering bible verses into the ears of the local kids. They go forward, they grab beautifully wrapped packages with huge smiles on their faces. Finally Mary Ellen’s youngest sister asks for one, and Mary Ellen whispers, “What is man that thou art mindful of him?” Erin, the little one, says, “Huh?” Mary Ellen, exasperated, hisses, “Jesus wept.”

 

That’s it. “Jesus wept.” John 11:35. Shortest verse in the bible.

 

Erin got a porcelain doll, with a smashed in face.

 

Jesus memorized a lot of Bible verses. All sons of the covenant did, and do. That’s pretty clear from his teaching and preaching throughout the gospels. And one I am pretty sure he memorized was Deuteronomy 15:11:

 

Poor persons will never disappear from the earth. That’s why I’m giving you this command: you must open your hand generously to your fellow Israelites, to the needy among you, and to the poor who live with you in your land.

~Common English Bible

 

I know that, because Jesus quotes that verse… “Poor persons will never disappear from the earth… You always have the poor with you…” And when he quotes it, he assumes his audience knows it too, so he doesn’t say the whole thing; he doesn’t complete it.

 

And as a result, today, we Christians seem to have allowed ourselves to use what Jesus says… “You will always have the poor with you…” as an excuse to wave away the problem of poverty as something that is not fixable, not solvable, not part of a system that is designed to benefit some and to leave others out in the freezing cold.

 

Jesus wept.

 

Our two passages today are talking about letting go, release, but they address that notion from two very different angles. In that passage from Deuteronomy, we witness Moses, on his deathbed, giving his final words of wisdom to the people of Israel. They have reached the end of their forty-year sojourn in the wilderness, and they are ready to enter the land of promise…but Moses will not be able to go with them. They will cross into the new land under other leadership.

 

And…let's be clear… it’s a whole new generation that will enter into this land. Some who were only children when they escaped slavery are now middle-aged-elders. But they know the stories of being enslaved. Many were born into the long sojourn, and have known nothing else. But they, too, know of the escape from the enslavers of Egypt—how unjust, how painful, how deadly it was to be an immigrant to that land.

 

And Moses offers them another idea. Another way. A new way of living with one another. He offers the idea of releasing one another from debt every seventh year—call it a year of Sabbath rest. Why should debt be a life sentence? Why shouldn’t everyone who has the ability to do it participate in making a society where all have enough, and no one is assigned to debt and poverty as a permanent life situation?

 

They have a chance to do something completely different, completely new. Will they do it? Will they decide to release their neighbors from their debt?

 

A related question is put to the young man who approaches Jesus in our gospel passage. First, he asks, How can I enter into eternal life—abundant life, life that is not merely pie in the sky in the by-and-by, but life now that is expansive, generous, open-hearted, and God-rooted? How can I do that, right here and right now? He asks.

 

The commandments, Jesus says. Keep them.

 

It’s interesting, isn’t it, that the man asks, “Which ones?” That’s a lot like asking, “Which ones can I get away with not keeping?”

 

And did you notice? Jesus then ticks off every commandment in the ten that has to do with loving our neighbors.

 

No murder; stay faithful to your marriage vows; no stealing; no false witness—don't lie, in court or anywhere else; honor your parents. And then he sums up with a bible verse he has memorized from Leviticus: You shall love your neighbor as yourself.

 

Because how can we love God, if we don’t love those who have been made in God’s image and likeness?

 

The young man seems impatient. “I’ve done all that,” he says. “What else?”

 

How about this? Jesus offers. Go and sell everything you have, and give to the poor, and then come and follow me.

 

Here you have it, young man, Jesus seems to be saying. A chance to do something completely different, completely new. Why shouldn’t someone who has the ability to do it participate in making a society where all have enough, and no one is assigned to debt and poverty as a life-sentence?

 

Will he do it? Will he decide to release his possessions in hopes of finding abundant, even eternal life?

 

[Insert photo] At the end of this encounter, he is walking away, grieving, for he had many possessions. So the story tells us.

 

But I’m not sure that’s the end of his story. Sometimes we have to grieve, before we are able to release something we have become attached to. Sometimes we grieve a life that no longer fits before we are ready to step into a new and more abundant life. [End photo]

 

When we grieve, we learn things about ourselves, and about those things or people we are grieving. As he grieves, the young man might learn that he has invested his possessions with a power that things cannot possibly have; that, on some level, he believes his possessions will save him, make him worthy, will show the world—maybe even God—that he is a good and successful person, deserving of respect.

 

And then, maybe he will begin to understand his own money story, and see just how it bumps up against God’s. In God’s money story, things are just things, sure, but they also have the ability, evidently, to come between us and God, to be liabilities in our attempts to find union with God, to recognize that God is with us.

 

And because God is with us—whether we know it or not—we keep bumping up against these opportunities to do something completely different, completely new; something that will open for us the possibility of life more abundant than we can imagine. Writer Jen Hatmaker describes one possible path:

 

“What if we tried together? What if a bunch of Christians wrote a new story, becoming the consumers the earth is groaning for? I suspect we’d find that elusive contentment, storing up treasures in heaven like Jesus told us to. I’m betting our stuff would lose its grip and we’d discover riches contained in a simpler life...” [i]

 

The act of “releasing” is an essential component of every faith journey. To take a step forward means to release some aspect of the past. To embrace the overwhelming, abundant grace of God is to release the shame or self-hatred that tells us we deserve only condemnation. To forgive someone is to release our need to change the past.

 

What do you need to release today? Possessions? Shame? Self-doubt? Fear of the future?

 

Maybe you need to release anger, or frustration, or guilt.

 

Whatever it is, for any and for all: I pray that we might unclench our hands and our hearts. I pray that we might feel the lifting of weight from our shoulders. And I pray that we might know that we are stepping into new, and abundant life.

 

Thanks be to God. Amen.


[i] Hatmaker, Jen. 7: An experimental mutiny against excess. (Nashville, TN: B&H Publishing Group, 2012). 94.