Sabbath Rest, Sabbath Power

Text: Luke 13:10–17 Other texts: Isaiah 58:9b–14

Last week, a man named Zhang Shuhong, a co-owner and manager of a small company in China killed himself on the third floor of his factory. He did so, people guess, because his was one of the companies that supplied toys to Mattel that were painted with paint that had lead in its pigment, which he had purchased from another company.

The man committed suicide. But he also was put to death. He was killed, yet no one was the killer. He was killed by circumstance, by the greed of the market to demand the lowest price, by the need of the toy maker to sell its wares cheaply, by our desire to be able to buy more of those toys. He was killed by fear, perhaps, that if he performed poorly he would lose his factory and the well-being of his family and his workers. In a worldwide competitive market, everything is on the margin. An infinitesimal incremental savings, or a tiny increase in costs, makes the difference between life and death. There is no slack. Slack is for losers. There is no rest. Those who rest fall behind or by the wayside.

The third or fourth commandment (Lutherans number them differently than most) is “Remember the Sabbath; keep it holy.” There are two versions of the Ten Commandments in the Bible, one in Deuteronomy and the other in Exodus. In both cases, the sabbath commandment is clear: The seventh day of the week is a sabbath. You shall not do any work. The commandment is the same in both cases, but the reasons given are different. In Exodus it says we must honor the seventh day because on the seventh day of creation, God rested. And so should we. And in Deuteronomy it says we must honor the seventh day because God freed the Israelite slaves and brought them out from the land of Egypt.

In one case, we take a sabbath day because we are creatures, not the creator. Creatures need rest. In the other case because we are free, not slaves. Free people are not bound by fear and greed. Creaturely rest and human freedom.

Like all the law, the commandments both protect and distinguish. That is, they both are good for us and for the world and they define us against the world. The Israelites, and the Christians who followed, are the people who observe a sabbath. The sabbath is both a means of grace and a mark that identifies us.

The sabbath is a gift of rest, modeled after God's rest. And as creatures, we need the rest. We cannot work nonstop. If we do, we go nuts. We get sick or worse, like the Chinese business owner. We harm others. We do stupid things and think weird thoughts. So we value the rest part of the sabbath.

But the sabbath is also a gift of power, modeled after God’s freeing power in Egypt. The sabbath is a shield against a kind of slavery. And we seem to have devalued the power part of the sabbath.

The sabbath is radical. It is radical because sabbath observance repudiates some the world’s most binding values.

The sabbath is a repudiation of constant work. Our faith says that no one can ask you to work all the time. No one owns all your days. One out of seven (that’s about fourteen percent) of the days is unavailable for sale or rent. The eighty-six percent left is plenty. The seventh day is God’s to give, and is given to you. No person has the authority to take it away. And even you don’t have the authority to give it away.

But the sabbath is more. It is a repudiation in some ways of the fruits of work. Not all fruits. God knows, Jesus says, that we need to eat, to have shelter and clothing, to be healed of our diseases. And Lutheran theology says that work is an expression of our love for God and for each other. But sometimes we work because we want a whole bunch more stuff. And sometimes we work because we are afraid that if we do not work hard we will be passed by and passed up. Or we will be defeated in life, commerce, or love by people who are willing to work harder and longer than we are. There are always such people. Sometimes we work because we are attacked by greed or by fear.

By observing a day, one whole day, of rest, we are denying the power of fear and greed. We refuse to succumb to those forces. We are saying that our longings and our worries are not going to jerk us around.

The sabbath is a repudiation of the notion that everything is up to us. We are creatures, and creatures made, it seems clear, to live with others. By observing a sabbath, we put part of our lives and welfare in the hands of others. And we put them in the hands of God. We acknowledge our vulnerability and dependence on beings other than ourselves.

We live in a time of commerce. Not just here in this country, but everywhere. We live in a time of competition. We live in cultures that demand hard work, excellence, and performance above all. Commerce is an idol, an evaluating judge. So Zhang was judged and found wanting, and he killed himself. This idol is not new. Isaiah speaks out against it.

The sabbath is a shield, our shield against the power of this idolatry. It is one of the few we have left. The sabbath gives us something beyond our own will and strength of character to resist. We observe a time of rest, a time without working, not because we are good or faithful or value “wellness,” but because we are told to.

I suspect we are letting the sabbath be taken from us. Or we are giving it up ourselves. I don't just mean Sunday, though that is our sabbath, but the whole idea of sabbath. Our culture seems to have concluded that sabbath is for wimps. But the preservation of the sabbath turns out to be hard work, and something worth working for.

We need some slack in our lives. Some room for downtime, and some room for error, for experiments that don't turn out, for things to be a little out of control. The sabbath is a place for all that.

Luther was said to have claimed to spit in the eye of the devil. The sabbath is a way of spitting in the face of greed and fear.

We should not put our shield down. We as Christians should not so easily give up the gift of the sabbath that God has provided and commanded. We are in danger of being overwhelmed by forces that are strong and tempting. We need to defend our lives and our freedom. We need the sabbath. Think of manager Zhang. It is a matter of life and death.

Dreaming

Text: Jeremiah 23:23-29 Other texts: Luke 12:49-56

Fantasy is great. In the Harry Potter books, people transport themselves instantaneously, which is a lot better than flying commercial airlines or driving from here to Chicago. Harry and his friends have a magical tent in which are bunk beds, a bathroom and kitchen, and a big soft armchair, which is a lot better than camping in the rain in the White Mountains. And the books also contain fantastic evil, personified and pure, without compassion or regret. But as Harry and Hermione and Ron get older, their lives become more complicated, just like real people. Not that they are beset by other-worldly troubles—which they are—but that they have begun to act like real people, complex creatures of friendship and jealously, courage and cowardice, love returned and love unrequited, hopes realized and hopes just as often frustrated. And the people they meet are both bad and good, strong and weak. In other words, just like in real life.

It is helpful sometimes to put ourselves in a fantastic world, different from our own. Fantasy is a kind of slack, a place known to be unreal, safe because the threats, no matter how dire, are phony. But it is not good for long-term solace. People know that, which is why eventually even in fantasy, reality intrudes as it does with Harry Potter. Even in the artificial computer world of Second Life, where people meet in the guise of avatars of their own making, as beautiful and powerful as they like, there is now advertising and commerce, winners and losers, the A-list and the rest of us.

“I have dreamed, I have dreamed,” said the false prophets mocked by God in Jeremiah. The dreams God speaks about are not visions of promise and hope, but fantasies. And the dreams that the people of Jeremiah’s time dream are the same ones that people have always dreamed. Dreams of power, dreams of wealth, dreams of security through strength, dreams of control, dreams of flawless love and beauty.

Sometimes these dreams are told by professional dreamers—people who have a stake in getting others to dream along with them, for commercial, political, or personal advantage and gain. But just as often we dream them ourselves, even against our own wisdom. I sometimes fantasize about owning a big house, forgetting the upkeep, taxes, maintenance, clutter; the moral shame of having more than I need; my own lack of interest and skills in carpentry and plumbing and furnaces. People dream of being their own bosses, or becoming a CEO, forgetting that they hate making decisions, or traveling all the time, or worrying about whether they can meet payroll. People dream of finding the perfect spouse or partner, forgetting that long-term relationships are built on promises and grow in the face of conflict and both unexpected joys and unwelcome struggles. Fantasy is great. You can go a long way on the force of your fantasies. But you cannot go all the way.

A prophet speaks about reality. Prophecy and dreaming—at least the kind we are talking about—are opposites. A prophet is a truth teller. A prophet is not sentimental. A prophet is anti-sentimental. It is tough job. Jeremiah did not want to be a prophet. No one would. In a land of dreamers, who would want to speak the truth? Prophets get into trouble. But getting into trouble is part of what it is all about. Being Christian, that is.

In the passage from Hebrews we just heard, the author lists what we might call Heroes of Faith. In the first half of the list are people who were strong, just, powerful, victorious. Gideon, Samuel, David. In the second half people—unnamed—who suffer, are persecuted, impoverished. There are not two lists here. All of these, it says, were commended for their faith. They all make up the “great cloud of witnesses.”

It is not an accident that the word for “witness” here is the same as the word for martyr. Clouds of martyrs living in faith. People who witness—that is, people who tell it like they see it—can get into trouble. It is important here to not confuse cause and effect. The scripture does not call us to suffer so that we might witness (that is, tell the truth about the world and God). It calls us to be truth-tellers, which in turn might cause us problems. Being a martyr—that is, getting in trouble on account of one’s faith—does not make one more Christian. It is not necessary or even desirable. And following Christ does not necessarily lead to conflict, but it probably will.

So when Jesus speaks about the division he brings, he is not promoting discord. This passage in Luke is descriptive, not proscriptive. If someone does what Jesus says to do—such as always placing people first before structure and power—then some folks are going to be bent out of shape. And fathers will be divided from sons, mothers against daughters, and all the other combinations—friend from friend, kin from kin. It is not inevitable, but it is likely. People will name those who follow Jesus as seditious, naïve, unrealistic, disloyal, geeky, arrogant, radical. Or they’ll do worse.

So Jesus speaks here to let people know what they are getting into—what we are getting into.

Christianity is not a faith of dreams, it is a faith of prophecy. We can take comfort in the presence of Christ in our lives, and in the intimacy of God in the affairs of humans, but ours is not a cushy faith. We are not called to take refuge in a religious fantasy. An opiate, as some have called it. Our God is not a God of fantasy but of reality. Of joys and difficulties. We are not avatars in an elaborate game of Second Life. We are real, complicated, people, and our God is a God of our lives as we actually live them.

In the psalm for today God speaks out for people who are weak, who are lonely, who are uncertain about what to do, who go hungry, who are at the mercy of others. In other words, just regular people like you and me who do regular things and have regular, complicated, sometimes great and sometimes difficult lives. A prophet reiterates God’s desire and guidance: that all care for the poor and troubled, and that all of us need care.

Our God may be an awesome God, but that does not mean we have to be awesome, too. God comes to us not in our dreams but in real life. Here. Now. In your life as it is. In this time. In this place.

Barns and Brains

Text: Luke 12:13-21

In its literal meaning “productivity” is making product. It is an economic measure. Increased productivity means that workers in a factory can produce more product now with the same amount of effort that they used to expend. Or produce the same product for less effort.

Not wanting to be too industrial, we’ve expanded the definition of productivity to mean useful or effective. A productive person is a person who keep his or her eye on the ball, nose to the grindstone, and ear to the ground. Productive has come to mean good, thrifty, hard-working. Productivity and success have become close cousins. The man who had a lot of stuff to put in his barns was a productive person as anyone could see.

He was effective, a word more in fashion. Maybe he followed the 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. He got things done, evidently. Getting Things Done is now a copyrighted process, the subject of another how-to book. The book preaches a kind of salvation, a cure for stress in the lives we all lead.

One of the important foundations of Getting Things Done, the book, is the To Do list. I have a To Do list. I’ll bet that you have one, too. Or many ones. Some of mine are on little sheets of paper, and some on real sticky notes, and some on virtual sticky notes in my computer, and some in my calendar program, and some just rampaging around in my head, to pop out at 2:00 in the morning or to distract me when I should be relaxing, or having fun with friends, or when praying. I have all these lists because I need help getting things done. They must provide me some solace—but what?

Part of the pleasure of the story about the man and his barns full of stuff is the irony of it. The man thinks he is set for life. And so he is, but it is a little bit shorter life than he had imagined. So part of the lesson of this passage is that none of his possessions—many as they are—are worth anything in the long run, which happens to be the short run for him. Trusting in possessions is not super helpful, it turns out, because among other things they are not trustworthy. Luke paints a great picture. We can feel how comfortable the man is. How pleased he is with himself. In the story, he talks to himself: Self—which is perhaps a better translation of the word than “soul”—Self, he says, you have plenty of things. Enjoy, enjoy! But he is not able to.

But though the irony is a pleasure to read and to relish, it is not the main thing. If the man died three days later, there would still be a problem. Three weeks later, three years, three decades—it doesn’t matter. Not only is the man self-satisfied, he is also bad. I don’t mean morally bad, but he is meant to be an example of the wrong thing to do. It is not a good idea to grab all that stuff for yourself, to have so much that you have to find whole other storage space for it. The man is a super-consumer, and he has too much wealth, and instead of, for example, sharing it with the poor—which is what his religion told him to do—he got a bigger place.

I love this passage in Luke. I love it because the story itself is so well-constructed. But I love it more because I’m just like that man. I have a ton of stuff, and I worry about where to put it. But none of that stops me from wanting more stuff. I have too much, but I want more.

I’m sure I’m not alone here. It is the nature of our times that a lot of us are like that. And it seems to not matter, within reason, how much you really have. There is not one graph that has “I have too little” at one end and “I have too much” at the other. There are two different, unrelated graphs. It is possible to have too little and too much at the same time. To be hungry and stuffed at the same time. Strange but true.

But you know, this is all old hat. Everyone knows that too much stuff is a problem and that we probably shouldn’t do it, have and keep and get so much. But you know that; you don’t really need a Bible story to tell you that. It’s like “have less stuff” is on a lot of people’s To Do lists.

But it is not only our barns that are overstuffed. It is our brains, too. Our barns are full of things and our brains are full of To Do lists. Plus a bunch of other junk in there. [A parishioner] was amused the other day about a mailing from some Lutheran organization that proclaimed that “the truth is, your To Do list will never be finished.” Wow! Like that was a big discovery.

Our brains are full of what-ifs and worries. What if something bad happens? What can we do to prevent it? (Be sure to put it on the To Do list.) How can we make sure that life goes smoothly? How can we avoid feeling bad or doing bad? And possessions are just another kind of what-if and worry. We have them for lots of reasons, but a big set of reasons is to feel safe and in control. Not worry and not be a victim of what-ifs, of circumstances.

The lilies of the field and the birds that Jesus talks about a few verses on in the Gospel of Luke, they “neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn.” And they don’t have any brains, either. They don’t have insurance. They don’t worry about savings or retirement. They don’t have careers they are starting or relationships that they are developing or nurturing. They just are. God takes care of them, Jesus says. It is not that we can just sit around in the dirt like a lily. God knows you need food and drink, Jesus says. But we’ve replaced a few big basic worries with thousands of little worries, and we are not better for it.

The trouble with this is that it doesn’t work and it’s not fun. Just as gloating didn’t save the man with barns, so worrying, says Jesus, won’t save us. “Can any of you by worrying add a single hour to your span of life?” he asks. Can any of you? You might as well ask, “Can any of you by worrying add an inch to your height?” Some things—most things, actually, and a lot of important things—we can’t do much about. It is not going to work, this stuffing our brains with To Do lists. And besides that, it does not give us the joy we seek.

Is the point of life to be effective? Life is a gift given to us by God. It is not something we produced, something we extracted from the clay or carved from the rock and formed into ourselves. God did that.

We hear from Ecclesiastes that all is vanity. The word means “a puff of air.” A better translation might be “absurd” or “garbage.” All is garbage.

But that does not mean that everything we think, have, or do is stupid. We are not lilies, we cannot live on sun and soil, we have to do something to live. But there is no meaning in all the stuff that we stack up in our barns and the stuff we stack up in our brains. In one sense life is fragile and contingent. In another sense it is sturdy and graceful, and in it we may live rich toward God, as Jesus puts it. The meaning comes not from our programs of excellence, but from life itself.