Speaker 1: Welcome to the CommonsCast. We're glad to have you here. We hope you find something meaningful in our teaching this week. Head to commons.church for more information.
Speaker 2: Hey, everyone. Welcome to Commons Online today. My name is Scott, and I'm part of the team here at the church. And I know I speak for all of us here when I say that it matters so much that you are journeying with us. None of us really could have expected what life would look like when restrictions and shutdowns came so hard and fast a year ago, and I'll be the first to admit that there have been some unwelcome changes, some undesired pauses, some sadly missed opportunities in our community, but I'm still so amazed at the ways that you keep pushing for intellectually honest, spiritually passionate, and Jesus centered lives.
And so many of you do this in the ways that you teach and care and work and serve all while trying not to lose hold of yourself, which, truth be told, we've probably all done more than a few times, and that's to be expected. But here we are now in the season of Lent together reflecting on motivations and appetites, stretching to make room for thoughtful intentional practices, journeying with Christ, following his nonviolent humble way that invites us to imagine how resurrection might still come into the world because we need it. I'm super excited to be jumping into this travel log series that we're in. Over the past couple of weeks, Jeremy got things rolling as we work our way through this part of Luke's gospel where Jesus seems to be aware of his mission and with some deliberate energy, with a certain resoluteness, he starts to move towards Jerusalem, which is where, spoiler alert, he's gonna trash the temple. He's gonna tell a bunch of scary stories.
He's gonna be arrested and executed. And, yes, you will have to join us at Easter for the rest of the story. But last week, one of the things that stuck out for me was this idea that while Jesus certainly had some compelling things to say, he also lived a fascinating life. Yeah. Jesus threw out one liners and stories like the best verified account, but also he was prepared to live and to eat and to travel, to pray, to go to weddings, to do fish and chips in the park, gathering those who were slowly coming to trust his way.
Sure. Some people dropped everything they had and followed immediately, but that wasn't everyone's story just like it isn't everyone's today. And I love how Luke shows us a Jesus willing to live and make space for people to come close all while telling the truth about the kind of demanding and fulfilling life that can be lived. And this is part of why I find the story of Jesus so compelling, and I hope you do too, or at the very least, that it inspires you to go a little further down this path. Because today, we're gonna jump right back onto it.
But before we do, let's pray together. Loving God of this Lenten path we walk, we start today with some gratitude in our hearts for a community that calls us again to be together in whatever limited ways we can be today. We're grateful for shared words and for shared meaning. We're thankful for your spirit that comes near to us wherever we are and wherever we are in our journey. And so we ask today again, gentle spirit, would you be our guide into these words that we will read?
Will you be our guide into a story that's bigger than ourselves? And will you take us closer to the way of Jesus? We pray in the name of Christ. Amen. Right.
Well, there is a lot to get to today. We need to cover messiah complexes, self talk, who you think it is, and a new path. So we're gonna jump right into Luke's gospel chapter 12. And if you happen to be wondering why we're skipping over a couple of chapters, quick note, we looked at Luke 10, the story of the Good Samaritan, during our strange exchange series last fall, and we visited some of Luke 11 during our Jonas series last year on Palm Sunday. So if you're curious about the prequel chapters to the one we're in today, you can check out our teaching archive right here on YouTube.
And I mentioned that in part to say that during this series, we are looking at some sections of this gospel that are a little off the beaten path. And, yes, that's another travel reference which might seem in poor taste given that many of us have not and cannot and will not go anywhere right now, which has likely had many of you reminiscing about trips you've taken in the past. The serendipitous and unexpected moments you've experienced when you've traveled. And quick note, one of my favorites was when I was traveling in Turkey in 2001, and there was a group of us who thought that we were just gonna go and spend a quiet evening nursing our jet lag. We were just gonna watch a Turkish football match only to find ourselves in what felt like an escalating riot out on the street, leading to this sensory discovery that public displays of emotion accompanied by torches and fireworks and pushing and shoving.
Well, this is just normal Turkish practice for when the local team wins a regular game. And these kinds of unexpected moments, they have a way of grabbing our attention and fusing with our memory. And our text today is a little like that kind of experience, I think. Yes. Be because it's not a story that gets a lot of airtime, but also because well, just stay with me till the end.
Okay. Luke 12. And what you need to know is that this chapter begins with the crowds around Jesus growing. He's headed for Jerusalem, and he started to pick up some traction with an audience. A couple of his a couple of his sermons have gone viral, and not unlike other places in the gospel, this is when Jesus seems to give a wake up call.
In this instance, he starts talking about how things aren't going to trend well, how his followers shouldn't be afraid of dying. Wait. What? Can you repeat that, Jesus? That they shouldn't worry about what they're gonna say when they're arrested?
And you can almost see everybody pausing. So this is this interesting moment. Jesus is saying some really personal things here to his friends. He's assuring them that when the pressure kicks up, they're gonna have divine help. And right in the middle of him teaching, starting in verse 13, some guy in the crowd, literally, that's what the Greek says, hashtag random guy in the crowd says to Jesus, teacher, tell my brother to divide the inheritance with me.
And, yes, insert awkward silence that comes whenever someone hijacks a conversation with a topic from out of thin air. And we know that that silence is here in this text because Jesus replies, bro. Again, that's what the Greek says. Check me on that. He says, man, who appointed me a judge or an arbiter between you?
And then he turns to everybody else and says, watch out. Be on your guard against all kinds of greed. Life doesn't consist in an abundance of possessions. And listen, we're gonna get to Jesus's warning right there at the end in a moment, but can we just appreciate what Jesus does here? Because on one hand, I'd love to spend some more time looking at Jesus' vocabulary here, but in effect, Jesus says, wait.
What makes you think that I can discern the boundaries of your case and then accurately divide in a state? What makes you think that I wanna use the law of Moses to divide you and your brother? Which is to acknowledge along with many commentators that Jesus, albeit maybe with a hint of irritation here, dismisses this question with a kind of, bro, there are people who do that sort of thing. You gotta lawyer up. Okay.
Maybe not that last part, but what strikes me about this is how Jesus seems to have really good boundaries here. Because after all, there are lots of places in the gospels where Jesus involves himself in the events, the social structures, and the situations that are unfolding around him. He heals a marginalized man during the middle of a synagogue service in Mark three. He travels a distance to help Lazarus after he's already dead. That's in John 11.
Or how about the fact that he breaks up a fight between two criminals while he's hanging on the cross? The gospels repeatedly show Jesus wanting to engage and wanting to help and taking the initiative, you know, doing his messiah thing. And yet here, yeah, I just kinda find it striking that he doesn't seem to be working with a messiah complex. I mean, it's self evident that Jesus didn't feed all the hungry people or heal all the sick or confront all the disingenuous leaders or answer all the questions. It's interesting here to see him just not help someone.
And we're gonna talk about why in a second, but I wonder if this isn't something that someone in this pandemic world needs to hear. I mean, maybe you you've had to take care of all the needs of your children or a loved one, and you're the only one who can, and you kinda feel like you're losing yourself in this work. Maybe you've been working really hard to confront the instances of misinformation or intolerance that you see online in the comments, which, to be honest, has turned into a full time job in its own right. Am I right? Or may maybe you've been taking extra shifts and doing extra work, answering all of your boss's emails because that's the only way your company's gonna make it.
That's the only way to make sure that you keep your position. And to be clear, I'm not telling you you shouldn't do those things. I just want you to know that the same part of me that feels similar pressures and often feels like I can't let anything go, I need this picture of Jesus. I need this picture that Jesus offers of what it looks like to have a broader perspective on my life, to have a resolute commitment to the longer objective so that I don't get sucked into each day's mountain of pressures and moral imperatives or Facebook spats that clamor for my attention. And you know what?
Maybe tomorrow, you'll jump back in. All I'm saying is that if Jesus didn't have a complex, maybe this Lent is a good time to lay yours down too now and again. Now I read to you earlier that as Jesus turns from this guy's question about a property dispute, he offers a warning, and we're gonna come to that. Because first, we need to acknowledge that as he turns, he begins to tell the surrounding crowd a parable. And here it is quickly.
Jesus said, the ground of a certain rich man yielded an abundant harvest. He thought to himself, what should I do? I have no place to store my crops. And then he said, this is what I'll do. I'll tear down my barns and build bigger ones, and there I will store my surplus grain.
And I'll say to myself, you have plenty of grain laid up for many years. Take it easy. Eat, drink, and be merry. But God said to him, you fool. This very night, your life will be demanded from you.
Then who's gonna get what you've prepared for yourself? This is how it will be for whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich towards God. And there is so much here in this short little story, but essentially, we've got a rich man with too many good crops resulting in a new barn project. And when that project's done, he says to himself, self, you're set. You're good.
Just relax. Have a glass of wine. Actually, have some more. There's reason to celebrate. And what we see in this parable is a literary device that Jesus actually employs quite often in Luke fifteen sixteen eighteen and twenty where his parable characters have these internal dialogues.
And these dialogues give us access to a character's angst, to their stress, to their motivations, and in many ways, this makes them more real. We see frantic thoughts and calculations. We see the desperate attempts to claw out of trouble, and we see the rationale that each one uses. Not unlike when Fleabag or Michael Scott looks directly at the camera and we can sense their sincerity. All these interior revelations have a literary quality for sure, but I find that Jesus giving this rich guy a soliloquy has a bit more of a reflective impact.
It gets me thinking about our self talk. And in fact, I think it might be what he was going for here. Because I don't know if there's a more effective practice for us to adopt in evaluating our relationship with our own resources than to pay attention to the things we say to ourselves about money. Just like this rich guy. Like, do I have a consistent dialogue with myself about how I need more or I need better?
Am I thinking a lot about what I'm gonna do with my resources or my savings? Do I find myself thinking about what I do with other people's things with their disposable income? Or maybe I ignore these ideas. Do I avoid thinking about money as a way of ignoring my worry or my lack or my debt. And part of what I love about this practice is that it is immediately illuminating.
It doesn't matter how many resources we do or do not have. Our self talk tells the truth. And see, there's this grammatical piece here in verse 20, that section where God hears this guy's self talk and says, fool, this night, your life will be demanded from you. And what's interesting in the Greek here is that there's an indefinite third person plural verb used, which just means that this verse could easily be translated this very night, they are demanding your soul of you. And who is this they?
Well, commentators suggest that it could be a reference to the rich guy's self talk, to his recounting of his many things, and his gratuitous celebration. And this rings true for me. How, like this guy, my repetitive self talk about my resources, my fussing, my planning, and my strategizing over my security, my my longing for more, my comparing myself to others, my internalized complaining, and my endless worry. These things do demand my soul from me. They demand a reckoning where someday we wake up and we realize that our lives have been spent in ways that we wish they hadn't been, which is to say, at least in part, that Jesus offers this story as a new set of directions, setting us on a path to a different destination, a path that starts with paying attention to the things we say to ourselves about what we have and what we want.
Now to be clear, Jesus rarely uses parables to teach some kind of universal moral. As a genre, parables are a kind of storytelling that are meant to surprise and confront and disturb the listener. Scholar Amy Jolevine notes that, quote, what makes parables mysterious or difficult is the fact that they challenge us to look into the hidden aspects of our own values. They bring to the surface unasked questions, and they reveal the answers that we have always known but refuse to acknowledge, end quote. And what's interesting is how this particular story seems to be pretty straightforward.
It's a story about an excessively wealthy guy hoarding a bit more the night before he dies. Okay. Got it. Check. Moral lesson learned.
Don't be a materialist. But I wanna suggest that there's something a bit more subtle going on here, and the hints of it are in that curious exchange with the random guy we talked about at the beginning. See, that guy comes to Jesus, and he says, tell my brother to give me my share of the family inheritance. And what this signals is that there's a dispute happening over a family estate. These kinds of conflicts would have been quite common as most wealth in the ancient world was inherited, not earned or generated.
And, actually, we see in Jesus' story about the prodigal son in Luke 15 that there are some of these economic elements there too. And the point is just this, that Jewish law in various places gave general guidelines for the passing on of wealth. Things like keep the wealth within one tribe or that daughters could in fact also be beneficiaries. But specific to this story, Deuteronomy chapter 21 stipulates that firstborn sons received a double portion of the inheritance first, and then subsequent sons received their portion. And rabbis and religious teachers would have been asked to weigh in on cases like this all the time as there were often unique and blended family structures.
And all this means is that it's often accepted that the random guy asking for Jesus' help here is a younger sibling, and he's been cut out of the family inheritance for reasons that aren't clear. And the point is that he's justified in wanting some help. The scales of Hebrew law will likely tip to his side. He just needs somebody to back him up. And what does Jesus do?
Well, it seems as though Jesus takes one look at him and immediately says to everybody else, watch out. Be on your guard against all kinds of greed. And then he tells a story of an outrageously rich person whose hubris and excess are what most of us think of when we hear the word greed. Right? When we hear about Wall Street bailouts or GameStop mania or corporate CEOs on their yachts and villas.
And that's not who Jesus is looking at when he tells this story, when he gives his warning to be on our guard against all kinds of greed. See, the majority of Jesus' audience were subsistence farmers or artisans and laborers and maybe even the guy who was asking this question. These are not people who are gonna have bumper crops and require new barns. They weren't gonna see the kinds of luxuries that this character in the story spends his last night consuming. No.
And so too with many of us. Yes. Many of us have enough. Many of us have extra. Many of us are doing well.
And even if we aren't, economists make it clear that even with significant needs, we are all pretty well off by global standards, which is to say that the point of Jesus' story is not to condemn the excesses of his day or ours. No. It's to pose the question, who do you think is greedy? Remember, the guy who sparks this story just wants what's due him. Right?
And is it possible that Jesus hears in his demand for help an accusation? A claim that his brother's taken more than his share and there's no consideration of his own possessive motivations? And read like this, all of a sudden, Jesus' parable turns our quick agreement with the story's moral lesson and our quiet delight in the rich man's demise turns it into a kind of mirror for the kinds of greed that might be closer than we think. First, there's a kind of ignorant greed. Story says that the ground of the rich man yielded an abundant harvest, and it's unclear if this is because he's inherited the land from someone who is a brilliant farmer and manager or he was using the exploitative labor of slaves, but the inference is that his wealth doesn't come from his own physical effort.
And this is an ignorance that we can all practice, where we assume and claim what's ours without thinking of the sources. Do I pay attention to where my resources, my wealth, and security come from? From my position or my able body or the gifts and the work of others? And if as I ask those questions, you immediately thought of how hard you work or how much you sacrificed or how much you've had to overcome, just take a second and use this story as a mirror and think about how your health or your education or your good fortune or your land or your connections, how these are often related to and determine our success. And the danger for us is in not doing this work of being honest and not being grateful.
Second, there's a kind of capacity greed here. The story says that the guy doesn't just build some extra barns to house his excess because presumably this would have affected his productivity and he would have had to take up valuable growing area with this new storage space. So he just tears the old barns down, and he builds taller, better, more efficient ones. And the inference being that he will stop at nothing to increase his productivity, grow his brand and operation, and up his returns. And this is a kind of capacity hoarding that we can all suffer from.
Endlessly trying to get more out of our time and our energy and our schedules, regularly cutting others out, our competitors, our colleagues, our loved ones, perpetually tweaking our performance and our effort for better earnings and results with little thought to our natural limits, our capacity, our fruitfulness, the finiteness of our one beautiful life. And finally, there's a kind of grasping greed here that typifies the Greek term that's used throughout the story. The guy accumulates compounding surpluses and uses them solely for his own security and pleasure, a kind of selfish greed that might not ever show up in your life and mine as a luxurious living or big investment portfolios. No. It's it's more subtle than that.
And the easiest way to determine if you're dealing with this one is to honestly ask yourself, how often you share what you have. This kind of greed never wakes up to the divine question to this guy on his deathbed, who will get what you've prepared for yourself? The inference being that we all end up sharing in the long run. So why not do it now on purpose with some care and intention? Because that is after all the heart of what Jesus is getting at here.
If you keep reading Luke 12, it's apparent that he wants the random guy with a question to not be anxious and to not be ruled by worry and to discover and share life, not hoard it. Which means that as Jesus looked out and realized just how universal possessiveness and greed were in the hearts and minds of everyone listening that day, everyone listening here today. He also trusted the universal antidote to their condition, namely the new path that he was charting. A path he says a little further down in verse 31 that we would find if first we confess how blessed we are and be honest about the true divine source of all we have. A path found by first learning, naming, and asserting the limits of your one precious life and choosing contentment over productivity.
A path you find when you take what you have and you share it on tables, in time, in generous gifts, in supporting vital causes and communities. A new kind of path that the longer you search for it returns you to your life, leading you on a way less traveled perhaps, but a way marked by blessing that makes the whole world good again. Let's pray. Loving God. We are present now to the ways the scripture comes to us.
And as these stories so often do, we find ourselves provoked, and we consider again the ways in which you moved the world without this overarching need to solve every problem. But you had this certain resoluteness, Jesus, in the way that you moved towards what you felt was your purpose. And we thank you for the ways that maybe even today we can see our own clearly again in some small way. We're grateful too for the opportunity to do the work in this Lenten season, paying attention to the conversations we have within ourselves all the time about our resources, the things we have, and the things we long for. And we thank you for the gentle ways you press into us, and you remind us that we don't need to be anxious and that we don't need to clamor for more.
We're thankful that you reflect back to us even in this moment, the ways that some destructive forms of this hoarding and holding might be closer than we think they are, And that you offer us a new way, a new way that you walked as you pressed towards your final destination, the making of all things new. And we pray that you would help us as we work to follow today and in the days to come. We pray this in the name of Christ, our hope. Amen.