Luke 12:13–21
Presented August 5th, 2007, by J.D. Kline
The Tenth Sunday after Pentecost
National Public Radio has a series of brief essays entitled This I Believe, shared by both the famous and the unknown, highlighting personal beliefs and how they shape the sharer’s life. The South American novelist Isabel Allende speaks of the shaping experience of her daughter Paula’s death. At age 28 Paula entered into a coma that lasted about a year, and during that year, as well as in the time following Paula’s death, Isabel felt as if everything in life had stopped. Paula had been a giving person, serving those on the fringes of life, and her illness seemed so unjust. And yet, during that time of grief and loss Isabel began to reflect deeply on the beliefs and principles that held her life together. Though it felt as if she had lost everything, it gradually dawned on Isabel that she still had love—love that could be shared. Isabel came to recognize that we only have what we are willing to give. By spending yourself, Isabel discovered afresh, you become rich.
“What’s the point of having experiences, knowledge, or talents, if we don’t give them away?” questions Isabel. “What’s the point of having stories to tell, if we don’t share them with others? What’s the point of having wealth, if we hoard it only for ourselves, if we do not share generously?” After asking these challenging questions, Isabel asserts somewhat tongue-in-cheek, “I don’t plan on being cremated with any of these things.”
Her experiences of agonizing grief taught Isabel Allende the value of casting aside that which is not essential in life; as a result, Isabel found herself no longer clinging to material things. In giving, asserts Isabel, she found the essentials—connecting with the world around her, and connecting with the divine.
Jesus reminds his hearers of a similar truth—does he not?—in the parable that forms this morning’s Gospel lesson. It’s an incident that flows out of a request from one of the hearers in the crowd, a request that Jesus serve as arbiter in a family dispute over property. “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me” (Luke 12:13). In a culture such as ours, with home ownership a critical component of “the American dream,” it seems like an understandable request made to a wise teacher. And in ancient Palestine, owning a piece of the land was perhaps even more critical, for not only was land seen in that culture as an economic asset, but even more, a religious one as well. The Jews of old, not unlike today, were convinced that God had gifted the land of Israel to them, and therefore the one making this request of Jesus is asking for confirmation that he, too, might be able to share in God’s promise.
But Jesus’ blunt response makes it clear that Jesus sees his mission as one that extends well beyond concerns about land ownership. Truth is, when Jesus tells the parable that follows this encounter, he is seeking to remind the people of that day that God’s blessing dare not be limited to a parcel of land. Instead, Jesus reminds them of the long-lasting challenge before them—the call to serve as light for all the nations. In his commentary Luke for Everyone Tom Wright asserts,
Jesus was coming with the message that God was changing all [this concern about land]. Jesus wasn’t tightening up Israel’s defense of the Land; he was longing to shower grace and new life on people of every race and place. Israel, as far as Jesus could see, was in danger of becoming like the man in the story who wanted the security of enough possessions to last him a long time. Societies and individuals alike can think themselves into this false position, to which the short answer is God’s: ‘You fool!’
Consider the story Jesus tells, which is indeed a parable many of his first hearers would have found troubling. In last week’s sermon I spoke of the intent of parables being to initiate conversation, rather than closing conversation. And this parable not only opens conversation for the people of Jesus’ day, but for us as well. For there is something certainly troubling about Jesus’ words, something even subversive and undermining, for we who have been raised in a culture awash with greed, consumerism, and materialism. How does this parable, we ask ourselves, square with a world such as ours, a world that places such a premium upon getting ahead in life. Quaker author Richard Foster, writing in his book Celebration of Discipline, reminds us that ours is a society in which covetousness is considered ambition. “Hoarding we call prudence,” asserts Foster. “Greed we call industry.”
Yet Jesus is prodding us to consider a markedly different perspective, as he tells the story of a rich farmer whose land has produced abundantly, so abundantly that he must ask himself, “What shall I do, for I have no more place to store my crops?” Though we are no longer rural people, we still understand the dilemma. Indeed, our landscape—urban and rural alike—is rapidly becoming dotted with one storage company after another, so plentiful have our possessions become. Faced with his own need for increased storage space, the farmer determines to build larger structures, telling himself, “I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store my grain and my goods” (12:18).
Notice that the farmer seems unable to think any further than himself. There is no sign in him of Isabel Allende’s conviction that we are only rich as we give of ourselves, that it is through giving that we are connected to the world around us and to the reality of the divine. No, the rich farmer can only think in the first person singular: What shall I do; I have no place to store my crops; I will do this; I will tear down my barns; I will store my grain and my goods. Even when the farmer stands back and takes stock, he does not see beyond himself. Rather, he sees only his own accomplishments and anticipates his own rewards. “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry!” (12:19).
New Testament scholar William Barclay writes of a self-centered woman about whom it was said, “Edith lived in a little world, bounded on the north, south, east, and west by Edith.” And so it is for the rich farmer who, blessed with abundance, apparently never even considers the possibility of caring for and serving others. Sadly, he never ponders how he might be able to serve anyone but himself.
Among William Sloane Coffin’s Letters to a Young Doubter is one in which he laments the presence of a brand of Christianity that invites persons to think only of their own salvation. Reminding his young friend of the shortsightedness of individualism, that social justice is a central theme for the gospel of Jesus, Coffin goes on to say,
It’s hard to square Christianity with the heartless neglect of people in need. Too much of what passes for Christianity substitutes emotion for morals. Too much is lip service. And giving mere lip service to God doesn’t advance faith; it weakens it.
In his commentary Luke for Everyone Tom Wright asserts that the chapter in which this parable is found, Luke 12, “is a standing rebuke to all casual, half-hearted, relaxed Christianity.” Half-hearted Christianity does not want to grapple with the tough questions Jesus asks, including, “What does it profit us if we gain the whole world, but lose or forfeit our own souls?” (Luke 9:25, paraphrased). But today’s parable confronts that very question head-on. Jesus responds as he does to the man who comes asking him to intervene in a family dispute, because he recognizes this man to be in danger of losing his own soul. He stands in danger of allowing anxiety about the future, yearnings to accumulate more and more possessions, greater and greater wealth—allowing all this to become the controlling passion of his life. And when that happens, something critical is lost. True richness—the richness of life lived in communion with the Creator of all life—true richness is lost.
The parable Jesus tells prompts the man—and us—to hold up a mirror before us, to consider what it is that we hold as most important in our lives, what it is that most motivates us minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. The parable invites us to take a second look at life’s riches, to grapple with what it means to live lives rich toward God. The parable urges us to examine where we place our trust in life, where we find our deepest treasure.
In the section of Luke’s Gospel that follows on the heels of Jesus’ parable of the rich fool are equally inviting, yet challenging words: Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat, or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing …. Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life? …Strive for God’s kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well (12:22-23, 25, 31).
Ultimately, this parable invites us to embrace a new reality in life, life with God at the center of all our living, life filled with treasures of heaven. But heaven’s treasures come to us, not just in the afterlife, but here and now. Heaven’s treasures come to us whenever we let go of selfishness and greed, whenever we choose the pathway of gratitude, whenever we gratefully share with others out of the very abundance with which we have been blessed. With Isabel Allende, dare we ask, “What’s the point of having experiences, knowledge, or talents, if we don’t give them away? What’s the point of having stories to tell, if we don’t share them with others? What’s the point of having wealth, if we hoard it only for ourselves, and do not share?”
As we grapple with tough and challenging questions such as these, we may well discover what it means to be rich toward God. As we take a second look at life’s riches, it may well become far clearer to us that trust and gratitude, not hoarding and greed, are key to our life journey. For what does it profit us if we gain the whole world, but forfeit our very souls?