Springwood Presbyterian Church: Whitsett, NC

Do you know this song?

“’Tis the gift to be simple, ‘tis the gift to be free,

‘tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

and when we find ourselves in the place just right,

‘twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gained,

to bow and to bend we shan’t be ashamed.

To turn, turn will be our delight

till by turning, turning, we come ‘round right.”

 It was often sung in the Shaker religious communities in the 19^th century.  Lively singing and exuberant dancing characterized their worship.  “Turning” refers in part to the circle dances that were part of Shaker worship, but more to the idea of turning to God.  Shakers valued simplicity, as does our own faith tradition, which you will see in today’s affirmation of faith.  The tidy Shaker villages attest to their discipline of simplicity in all things: clean-lined functional buildings; spotless interiors with a place for everything and everything in its place; gracefully practical furniture that we imitate today; quiet, well-regulated community life; and…no private property—everything was owned in common.  Shakers believed that, by shedding their personal possessions, they would be free to worship God in spirit and in truth. 

 The Shaker movement died out in the mid-20^th century.  The only things left are a couple of villages kept as museums of a peculiar people, some of their delightful music, and their timeless furniture.  Their notions of simplicity and giving up of possessions (not to mention their practice of celibacy) weren’t very popular with Americans, who built a nation on individual achievement—pulling ourselves up by our own bootstraps.  If we can pay the price, we say, we should have anything we want—an argument we hear a lot lately over the national health care issue.

 When our national ethos is reflected in statements like one I heard recently—“In America, we judge ourselves by how much we earn”, or the bumper sticker “The one who dies with the most toys, wins”—surely it’s time to ask ourselves, as Jesus implied to the rich man, “What have your riches bought you?”  Does a closet full of clothes make you happy?  A new car?  A new gadget?  I doubt any of us can say that boredom or heartbreak or despair are relieved for long by the pleasure of a new toy.  We could ask ourselves the question that Dr. Phil asks in his book on overeating: “What hole are you trying to fill?” 

 Maya Angelou tells about her Aunt Tee, who worked as a housekeeper for a wealthy couple in Bel Air CA.  They were quiet folks, seldom entertained friends or went out, hardly talked even to one another.

Aunt Tee, on the other hand, enjoyed entertaining her friends on Saturday evenings in her little apartment in the back of their house.  She would cook up some pigs’ feet and greens, fry chicken, make potato salad, bake a banana pudding for her friends to feast on.  They would have a great time and there was always laughter coming from Aunt Tee’s room on Saturday.

One Saturday, the old couple called to her: “Theresa, we don’t mean to disturb you,” the old man whispered, “but you all seem to be having such a good time…”

His wife interrupted, “We hear you and your friends laughing every Saturday night, and we just wondered—would you let us sit outside the door and watch?  We won’t bother you at all.”

Aunt Tee wept to think that, with all their money, they had no joy in their lives.

Angelou reflects, “Money and power can liberate only if they are used [for liberation.  Otherwise,] they can imprison and inhibit more finally than barred windows and iron chains.

 Like nuclear power, money can do much good, if we handle it well.  Unfortunately, most of us don’t.  We get contaminated by its power; and we contaminate others by using it carelessly—wanting it too desperately—manipulating people with it—believing in it too fiercely—defending it too strongly.

 Although money is the issue Jesus deals with here, in a larger sense, this story isn’t about money.  If it were, we could get our ticket to heaven by giving all our money to the poor.  But we can’t.  No one earns eternal life, no matter what.  You can keep the commandments till you’re blue in the face.  You can sign over your paycheck to Allied Ministries and have to get in line, yourself, at the soup kitchen, and still not earn a place at God’s banquet table.  Keeping the commandments is good—please don’t get me wrong.  But they are good, in and of themselves—not for the possibility of the gold stars they may earn you.  God’s kingdom isn’t for sale.  The poor can’t buy it with their poverty and the rich can’t buy it with wealth.  Who, then, can be saved?  Jesus answered, for humans, it is impossible, but not for God.  With God all things are possible.  Salvation is a gift, pure and simple--the simplest and best gift.

 The catch is, you have to be free to receive the gift.  You can’t take something offered when your hands and heart are full of something else.  You can’t follow if you’re not free to go.  “’Tis a gift to turn ‘round where we ought to be”: to turn to Christ and follow him wherever he leads us.

 Jesus doesn’t condemn money and possessions, nor does he tell everyone he meets to give up their wealth—only this man.  But he does invite everyone to follow him. 

 His first disciples were not wealthy—yet they gave up nets, boats, family to follow him--not because it was a requirement for following Jesus, but because it was a consequence.  He called—they followed—and stuff got left behind.  The stuff wasn’t bad--it was just in the way. 

 Many monasteries have a ministry of hospitality, offering travelers a room and a meal.  In one monastery, the guestmaster showed a visitor to his room, pointing out the herb garden, the refectory where they would have supper, the chapel in case the visitor wanted to join the monks for evening prayer.  As they walked down the hall where the sleeping quarters were, the guest commented, “No tv, no radio, no closets, no dressers.  Your rooms have just a bed with one blanket, a table, a straight chair, one change of clothes hanging on a nail, one towel on a nail.  How can you live so simply?”

          The monk asked back, “How about you?  You have only a few items packed into a small suitcase.  How can you live so simply?”

          The man replied, “I’m a tourist—just traveling through.”

          The monk said, “So am I.”  …
          Aren’t we all?

 So, what holds you back?  What things, what ideology, what hatred, what passion, what love?  What is so dear to you—in what do you trust so strongly that you can’t follow Christ with your whole heart?  If Jesus stood here today and asked you to give up that thing, could you do it—or would you be shocked, and go away grieving?