The Great Bread Giveaway

First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scriptures: Leviticus 19:9, Matthew 13:31-33
November 2, 1997

Every small town should have an industry by which it is known. My town (when I am not here) is Elk Rapids. The industry by which my town is known is the mustard industry. That’s right, mustard. Plain old ordinary mustard. I suppose you could say that Elk Rapids is the mustard capital of Michigan. But who cares? Or who knows? I think the town fathers need to do a better job marketing our industry. We should have a Mustard Festival. My daughter, Julie, could be “Mustard Queen.” She could sit on top of a float shaped like a giant hot dog. She could wear a yellow dress.

Don’t laugh. There have been worst ideas. And worst festivals. Out near Pinckney (where Larry Van Slambrook lives) lies the little town of Hamburg….which is home to the Kohlrabi Festival. Except the woodchucks occasionally eat the greater portion of the kohlrabi crop. Which would be a great tragedy for the citizens of Hamburg, were they not a resourceful lot. Which they are. Meaning that in bad kohlrabi years, they turn to their second best crop….jalapeno peppers (which woodchucks abhor). And figuring that most outsiders don’t have the faintest idea what a kohlrabi looks like….well, you get the picture. ‘Tis said that you really can have a “hot time” in Hamburg in an off-kohlrabi year.

But Elk Rapids won’t ever stoop to such deception. For my town is not just any town. And my town’s mustard is not just any mustard. My town’s mustard is Bechs. It is “mustard with authority.” It says so on the jar. It also says so on a huge billboard strategically located on I-75. Somewhere in the vicinity of Bay City, you’ll see it on the east side of the highway….“Mustard With Authority.” I like that. It has a nice ring to it. It suggests that Bechs is mustard with a bite….mustard with a kick….mustard with distinction….mustard that is capable of making a statement. Try some.

But mustard is not usually thought of in such terminology. The chief function of mustard is to make something else taste better. It is an “add on.” Its chief claim to fame is that it is virtually calorie-free. You could build a diet around it. Lettuce has no calories either. You could put mustard on lettuce. Lots of mustard on lots of lettuce. You could eat it three times a day. But who would want to?

Mustard can be found in the Bible. But it is not a “big deal” in the Bible. In fact, the reason mustard is in the Bible is by virtue of its being such a “small deal”…. “small” as in “insignificant.” Jesus tells a pair of stories which play off the insignificance of mustard (or mustard seeds). The first, found in Matthew 17:20, suggests that if you have faith equal to a grain of mustard seed (which is not very much faith), you can tell a mountain to move from one side of the road to the other, and that mountain will move. The second story, the one just read, likens the Kingdom of God to a tiny mustard seed which eventually springs up to become a great lodging for all the birds of heaven.

We know that this latter story is a Kingdom story. Jesus says so. One translation reads: “How shall we find something with which to compare the Kingdom?” It’s a good question. How shall we find something with which to compare the Kingdom? I’ve thought about it a bit. I don’t know what comparison I would favor. But, given a zillion years and three or four computers, I don’t think I’d come up with a mustard seed. I think Jesus means to surprise us.

The seed’s insignificance is the key. The seed is small. Jesus calls it “the least of all the seeds upon the earth.” He’s wrong. There are smaller seeds. Still, his point is well made. Mustard seeds aren’t peach pits. Jesus means to say: “Look at this seed. You can hardly see it.” But there are some days when you can hardly see the Kingdom either. On some days, the Kingdom looks very small and very buried. But Jesus says: “Don’t miss it, just because it doesn’t look like much.” The seed’s insignificance is precisely the point.

But let me move you beyond “insignificance” to another word that begins with the letter “I.” The word is “inevitability.” The real point of the parable is that the seed grows up, and there is something “inevitable” about its growing. It grows into something bigger than all the vegetables. It grows into something bigger than all the flowers. It grows into something bigger than all the shrubs. It even grows into something that puts forth big branches….something that looks very much like a tree. Which may be pushing things a bit. But William Barkley suggests that a Palestinian mustard plant often grows to be taller than a horse and its rider. He also suggests that a cloud of birds hovering over a mustard plant is a common enough sight, given that the birds are drawn to the little black seeds the plant produces.

But there is an even better reason for taking the liberty of calling this plant “a tree.” It has to do with the fact that “tree” is often used as a biblical metaphor for “a great empire.” Jesus may well be saying: “You want to know what the Kingdom is like? It is like this tiny, tiny seed which becomes the greatest empire of all.”

Then, as if to drive the point home, Jesus expands upon it in this marvelous little story of the leaven. “The Kingdom of Heaven is like leaven, which a woman hides in three measures of flour, ‘til it is all leavened.”

Leaven, of course, is yeast. Yeast makes bread rise. About which I know little, given that my baking is limited to an occasional pecan pie. I have never baked a loaf of bread in my life. But my grandmother baked bread every Monday and Thursday. So I learned something about dough by watching my grandmother. Once you put yeast in the flour, it’s inevitable. It is in there working, hidden though it may be. In fact, this story goes the parable of the mustard seed one better. For while it is conceivable that a seed can be reclaimed from the earth (assuming that the sower can find it again after planting), the yeast can never be pulled from the flour once the rising process has begun.

Notice something else about this story of the leaven. Notice that the yeast is hidden in the flour by a woman. So what? So plenty! This is a Kingdom story. The Kingdom is God’s doing. Therefore, in this particular story, God’s surrogate is female.

What’s more, this act of leavening is no small thing. Three measures of flour (with “sata” being the word for “measure”) is a bushel of flour, for crying out loud. We’re talking 128 cups of flour. We’re talking 16 five-pound bags of flour. And once you get done adding enough liquid to make all that flour come together, you’ve got over a hundred pounds ofdough on your hands.

“And the whole was leavened by this little bit of yeast.” Meaning that eventually….and inevitably….the Kingdom will permeate and penetrate everything. It’s a given.

But more than that, the Kingdom is already in the mix. It’s been there from the very beginning. There has never been a time when it hasn’t been there. It is small, but powerful. It is small, but working. It is small, but rising. It is small, but permeating the whole.

You want another image? I’ll give you another image. Take a vessel of clear water. Add a few drops of concentrated dye. Initially, the drops are isolated, seemingly without effect. But slowly, and inevitably, the water is colored.

You want still another image? Consider oleo. When I was a kid, oleo was white. You bought a pound of it. Which was the only way you could buy it. It didn’t come in those individually-wrapped, quarter pound rectangles. And when you bought this pound of white oleo, it came equipped with a capsule of yellow food dye. Some of you remember that. In fact, let’s take a poll. How many of you remember that? More than I would have guessed. Anyway, you had to split open the capsule with your thumb. Then, with the back of a wooden spoon, or with your hands….usually your hands….you worked the color into the oleo, a whole pound at a time. The brick of oleo was so big. And the capsule was so small. But once you started working it in, the oleo could never be unyellow again.

Jesus said: “The Kingdom is like that. It’s already in there. It’s in the dirt. It’s in the dough. It’s in the water. It’s in the oleo. The Kingdom is not some future world that God has waiting in the wings as a backup, once this one is finished. The Kingdom is something that is already at work, right here in this world.”

But having said that, let me press on. It has probably not been lost on you that all this talk about seeds, yeast and baked goods has something to do with this year’s finance campaign. “Plant More Than You Harvest” is our title. It’s an agrarian theme….a down-home theme….a soil-based theme. It assumes that there is going to be a planting, and that there is going to be a harvesting. Both of which are God’s work. Both of which are our work. And if both parts of the work are done well, it’s going to make a difference. It can’t help but make a difference.

There is Kingdom stuff growing up all around us. The fact that we don’t notice it much, doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Our job is to work at noticing it. That way, once we notice it, we can enhance it rather than stomp on it.

We can’t (from scratch) create the Kingdom. Which is sobering news. But we can’t (in and of ourselves) stop the Kingdom. Which is wonderful news. And once we find Kingdom seedlings….or Kingdom saplings….or Kingdom cuttings….or Kingdom leavenings….we are called to put a shovel to them, or an oven around them, so that they have half a chance to become more of what they already are, so that they can do more than they are already doing.

And when the field produces….when the tree yields….and when the bread rises….we are supposed to remember that the gleanings are not entirely ours to pick and can, wrap and freeze, clutch and hoard, or bank and invest as we see fit. Instead, we are supposed to plow some of the gleanings back into Kingdom business, or share them with those the Kingdom is for (which means everybody, don’t you see, including those who can’t tell the Kingdom from a mustard tree or a loaf of bread….and especially for those who find their lives treed and who have no bread).

What am I saying? I’ll tell you what I’m saying. In fact, let me be blunt in saying it. I am saying that God is doing some amazing work….whether we can always see it or not. And I am saying that we are reaping one hell of a harvest….whether we can always appreciate it or not. And I am saying that if we are be unwilling to shoulder the work and share the profits, we miss the whole point of the exercise and, in the short run, gum up the works something terrible.

This is the way God means for the world to work. I could preach this in spades (from any one of a hundred passages). But so as to balance today’s New Testament parable with an Old Testament counterpoint, let me turn to the Levitical mandate that undergirds our campaign:

When you harvest your field, don’t harvest clear to the border. And when you pick your grapes, don’t strip the clusters right down to the nub. And when you shake the fruit from your trees, don’t shake it all down. And the stuff that falls on the ground, don’t pick it all up. Leave some for the hungry, the wayfarer and the stranger.

In time, that mandate was expanded. Now, the Bible suggests that when you harvest anything (grapes…. grain….cucumbers…. kumquats….stocks…. bonds…. lottery winnings….commodity futures) some of it needs to go elsewhere than your closet or cupboard. That’s because it’s not all yours, even though it feels like yours (because you planted it, worked for it, wagered it or invested it in the first place).

One of the local pizza makers….one of the big three pizza makers (who are in a cutthroat fight for my business)….has upped the marketing ante to an all-time high. They are now telling me that if I don’t like crusts….don’t eat crusts….leave my crusts on the plate like so many sparerib bones after I suck the meat off them….I won’t have to pay for crusts anymore. They’ll eliminate the crusts. That way I can have double cheese, Italian sausage, mushrooms, peppers and anchovies right to the edge. But God says: “Not in my bakery, you can’t. Not in my vineyard, you can’t. Not in my field, you can’t. You can plant to the edge. You can bake to the edge. In fact, I half expect you to. But when it comes to picking and consuming, you can’t go to the edge. You have to stop short of the edge. Because that’s the way my world works.”

What’s more, that’s the way you work….or are built to work. Within every soul is an instinct to give. Those of you in the balcony have an instinct to give. Those of you on the main floor have an instinct to give. Those of you in the choir have an instinct to give. And all the people who slept in this morning, meaning that they can’t be found anywhere in the building, have an instinct to give. Blunt that instinct and another will take over. Call it an animal instinct if you like. Which is very basic….very helpful….and very necessary. For animals. To be sure, some animal instincts will preserve us in the short run. But very few animal instincts will serve us in the long run.

In a moment, I’m going to bring this exercise to a close. The choir is going to sing a song. Then we all will sing a song. And you are going to stream for the exits. But as you pass through the narthex this morning, somebody is going to do something with your hand, other than shake it. Somebody is going to put a loaf of bread in it. A good loaf. A tasty loaf. A pretty good-sized loaf. Better yet, a free loaf. There’s a loaf for every man, woman and child in here.

So don’t look a gift loaf in the mouth. Take it home. Open it up. Eat it. Enjoy it. Put a little egg and cinnamon with it and make yourself some French toast. Stop and get a little sausage on the way home to have with it. But resist the temptation to ask: “I wonder how much dough they blew on all that bread?” Yes, we paid for it. But get past that. Or get over that.

We bought it from the people at the Great Harvest Bakery. That’s the place where they give you a huge slice of bread (with butter, jam, olive oil, whatever) every time you walk in the door. Free. In fact, they’ll even give you a couple of free slices. You can make a meal out of the bread they give away. Which some people do. But a lot of others question the bread give-away program. In fact, so many people seemed bothered by this, that they had to post a letter, entitled: “What’s the gimmick? Why the free slices?”

·         Do people sometimes come in for the slices without buying the loaves? All the time.

·         Do the bakery people care? Don’t seem to.

·         Do they look at you funny? Never have yet.

            Instead, they explain:

Some people think a business is just to make money, so naturally our bread board is confusing. But we are in business for two reasons. We are in business to make money. And we are in business to have fun. Either one alone wouldn’t be enough. The day we stop making money….or it stops being fun….we quit.

The bread board is our fun. The cash register is our money. So you see, when you’re at our bread board, you’re keeping this whole thing going….just as much as the people at the cash register. People are happiest when they make other people happy. As bakers, we’re happiest when we see people eating our bread, right when it comes from the oven. Some people worry that we don’t know what we’re doing. Trust us. We’re far from going broke.

I am not a shopper. But I love going in their store. That’s because everybody really does seem to be having a good time. And it smells so good. But, more than that, it feels like church (on one of the church’s better days).

So, following the benediction, waltz right on out of here. Belly up to the bread brokers. Take your loaf. Eat your fill. Give ten percent to the birds, the ducks or your Catholic neighbors. And sometime, before too many suns have set on your tomorrows, ask yourself: “What is that crazy old fool in the pulpit trying to tell us?”

* * * * *

Note: As always, when I turn to parables, I am especially indebted to a pair of authors…. William Barkley, who does a most traditional thing….and Robert Capon, who wouldn’t know what the word “traditional” means, but who unwraps the Bible brilliantly.

You Can Never Be Too Rich or Too Thin

First United Methodist Church
Birmingham, Michigan
Scripture: Luke 12:13-21

I don’t know where I first saw it. But once I saw it, I never forgot it. I am talking about a pillow. A crocheted pillow. Not the kind of pillow you lay your head on in bed, but the kind of pillow you lay your eyes on, on the sofa. And while I have long since forgotten its coloring, I remember its lettering. Which read: “You Can Never Be Too Rich or Too Thin.”

Which is at least partly wrong. For it appears that you can be too thin. People die from a preoccupation with thinness. I tell myself that each time we have donuts in the office. Yet this is no joking matter. I have had occasion to spend time in the company of anorexic and bulemic individuals. I have a friend whose son has struggled with this problem for several years. He has been in therapy. He has been hospitalized. And still the problem persists. Every meal is a struggle. Every mouthful is a victory. Every pound gained….or not lost….is a relief. But the problem remains, day after day. And always in the background is the realization that “thin” can take your life.

I suppose that “thin” can also sap your joy. Several years ago I performed a wedding ceremony for a bunny. Not the kind of bunny that hops through the forest. This bunny worked as a waitress in the Playboy Club. Yes, I took a second look. Yes, she fit the image. And yes, she was also a lovely lady. I married her to Bozo….the clown. Literally. Don’t ask me to explain. It would take too long. Kris and I went to the reception, which was a very small dinner party for Bozo and bunny, the members of the bridal party, and a few close friends. Halfway through the meal, Kris poked me in the ribs. When I leaned over in response, she whispered in my ear. “See,” she said. “See what?” said I. “Look at her plate,” Kris responded. “What about her plate?” I asked. “She doesn’t eat,” said Kris. And indeed she didn’t….or hadn’t. I wouldn’t want to be married to a non-eater, even though it would cut down on the grocery bill. I don’t think life would be much fun. Which is another way of saying: “You can be too thin.”

But can you ever be too rich? “No,” say the financial advisors. You can never have too much. You can never be too certain. Those who plan best are those who continually insure themselves against the worst.

I know that not everybody in the “money business” talks that way. But a lot do. I think back to the days when Kris and I were first married. Everybody wanted to sell us insurance. We figured it was probably a good idea. I had a small policy, courtesy of the denomination. At the time it would have buried me, with little left over. So we were clear we needed more. Agents came to see us. Some of them were from my congregation. They were good people. They were peddling good products. The agents told me that we were in the same business. They assured me that they felt a spiritual calling to sell insurance. In their own way, they were convinced they were doing ministry. I thought that sounded nice, even when I heard it for the tenth time.

But I remember something else about those visits. Eventually, each visit would end up at the kitchen table. It would seem that life insurance sells best in the kitchen. Once we were comfortably seated, out would come “the Book.” The Book was always a looseleaf. The pages were slick, even laminated. At least they seemed to be laminated. I could never tell for sure. That’s because the client never touches “the Book.” Only the agent touches “the Book,” so as to control the speed by which the “pitch” proceeds through the pages.

The first couple of pages are filled with happy pictures. Pictures of a husband and wife. Pictures of a home and a fireplace (especially a fireplace). Pictures of a nice car. Pictures of little children. Pictures of older children, wearing caps and gowns and carrying diplomas. Pictures of a cabin in the woods or a boat by a dock. Pictures of a husband and wife waving from the deck of a cruise ship. These are the kind of pictures on pages one and two.

By the time you get to pages three and four, you are looking at pictures that are not so happy. Pictures of an ambulance….a fire….an accident. Pictures of somebody who appears to be permanently disabled. Pictures of a nursing home. Pictures that depict a grieving family. Pictures that depict children not being educated. Pictures of a spouse moving from the family home….to a much smaller home….with no shrubbery….and crabgrass. I can’t remember all the pictures. It’s been too long now.

But the pictures made their impression. The appeal was straightforward and obvious. It was based upon a “worst-case scenario.” The underlying question was: “Are you ready for this?” The implied answer: “Not yet….but I will be, once I buy some insurance.”

So I bought some insurance. And then I bought some more. And even more. Until Kris and I realized that our need for protection was changing, and that much of what was being sold as protection, was really investment. Finally, we began to ask whether it was wise to invest with our protectors. So we began to shift things around a bit.

About the same time, I began to notice that Jesus was rather hard on people who became preoccupied with protecting themselves. Apparently, Jesus never talked to a good agent. At least Jesus never sat down at the kitchen table and looked at “the Book.” Jesus may have been “the Rock,” but it doesn’t appear that he ever owned a piece of “the rock.” But, then, what did Jesus really have to lose?

One recalls his story about the talents. Remember how he castigates the one-talent man for burying his trust? It seems almost cruel, this criticism of Jesus. After all, the man doesn’t have much. He is afraid of losing what he has. So he protects it. And loses it anyway. Then Jesus jumps on him. Somehow, it doesn’t seem fair.

But I’ve spoken of this before. So I’m going to redirect you to another story. I’m going to tell you about the rich man in the 12th chapter of Luke. He interests me because he is the one in the Bible who believes you can never be too rich.

This man is going to be prepared. He is both careful and astute. Call him a forward planner. The world applauds him. Because the world wants to be him. Failing in that objective, the world wants to hire him. But Jesus calls him a fool. I mean, you can’t polarize things more sharply than that. Let me read you his story:

One of the multitudes said to him: “Teacher, bid my brother divide the inheritance with me.” But Jesus said to him: “Man, who made me a judge or divider over you?” Then he said to them: “Take heed and beware of all covetousness, for a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” Then he told them a parable, saying: “The land of a rich man brought forth plentifully. And the man thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ And he said: ‘I will do this. I will pull down my barns. I will build bigger ones.’

Which happens once a month in my neighborhood. Not with barns, but with houses. In fact, it happened just last week. On Wednesday, there was a $450,000 house down the block from me. By Thursday, the lot was clean. In a few weeks, we’ll have one of those “big foot” houses for which our neighborhoods are becoming famous. It will be stunning. It will be huge. And it will cost $700,000 if it costs a dime. But back to the text.

‘And there I will store all my grain and my goods. Then I will say to my soul….soul, you have ample goods for many years….take your ease….eat…. drink….be merry.’ But God said to him: ‘Fool! This night your soul may be required of you; and these things you have prepared, whose will they be?’”

Concerning this man and his story, I would offer a trio of observations. First, there’s a lot of ego here. There is no other story in the Bible which is so full of the words “I,” “me,” “my,” and “mine.” This man is very big, but he lives in a very small world. I suppose it is easy to become self-centered. All you have to do is put yourself in the center of the circle where you live. But when you are rich and successful, others will place you in the center of that circle. They will defer to you. They will back away from you. They will peripheralize themselves, reinforcing the idea that you must be in the middle….therefore, very important. And maybe you are. But funny stuff begins to happen, once you begin to think that way.

Notice that the rich man never considers solving his storage problem by turning it into a distribution problem. One way of solving the problem of overabundance, is to share some of it. Which is also a very good way to solve an ego problem.

But in addition to an ego problem, this man has an anxiety problem. His preoccupation with barns and storage has much to do with worry and insecurity. He says to himself: “I am not happy now. I will be happier tomorrow. When my barns are full. And when I have enough barns.”

Have you noticed that accumulating things is one way to prop up an insecure ego? I sense that tendency in myself. I sometimes find it hard to part with things. Not money. With money, I’m exceedingly open-handed. I bought the “tithing” idea thirty years ago. And it has served me well ever since. It may have even “saved” my life….financially speaking. Because, apart from tithing, I might not know the meaning of perspective or prioritization. But “things” are a different story. I am a bit of a saver. Not a pack rat, mind you. You are a pack rat. I just save stuff.

Among the things I find hardest to part with are books. Sermons, too. I seldom give away a book. And I never throw away a sermon. Not because I plan to reread them all….or repreach them all. But because my security is tied up in books and sermons. My self-image, too. If I give away too many books, maybe I won’t be a scholar anymore. And if I throw away my old sermons, maybe I won’t be a preacher anymore. And who will I be then? Silly, isn’t it. But ever so real.

Our anxieties get all tied up in such things. In fact, you can learn to read your anxieties like a road map. They will direct you to the “soft spots” in your security system every time.

·         If I don’t keep the big house, I may have to face the fact that my family no longer lives in it.

·         If I don’t keep every piece of mama’s china (all three sets), I may have to face the fact that mama is dead.

·         If I take the pink ribbon off of Joey’s letters and throw them in the trash, I may have to face the fact that Joey is never coming back to rescue me from Eddie.

·         If I stop planning for tomorrow’s rainy day, I might have to learn to enjoy whatever limited sunshine today may offer.

Remember (as I return, momentarily, to the one-talent man) that he stuck his “stake” in the ground because he was afraid. That’s what he said. “I buried it because I was afraid.”

But back to our text. We have a third thing to consider. Not only does our barn-builder have an ego problem and an anxiety problem, he also has a priority problem. Jesus sharpens the focus when he says: “Man, you are a fool. This very night it could all come to a screeching halt. And who will get all your stuff then?” Which pretty much cuts to the bottom line, doesn’t it?

My friend Bob Morley talks about the number of times he has moved, and all of the stuff he has dragged from place to place. After awhile, his stuff started to take on an intrinsic value, simply because he had moved it so many times. The first time he moved, he decided to label the boxes containing those things he would need immediately at his new place….things like dishes and towels, pots and pans, sheets and bedding. Out of the 38 boxes he moved, only eight were labeled. Of the remaining 30 boxes, most were still in the basement when his next move came along.

Then Bob writes:

The stuff multiplied. I had to spend more time and energy maintaining it. I needed a larger house in which to store it. I needed an alarm system so that no one could steal it. And I needed more insurance so that I could replace it. And the most valuable stuff, I put in a safe deposit box and had false stuff made to resemble it, just so people would know I had the real stuff somewhere.

I used to live in a neighborhood where I was burglarized every six months. The last time thieves broke in, they didn’t take anything. I think they looked around and said: “Our stuff is better than his stuff.” But now that I’ve moved to a safer neighborhood, my stuff is proliferating again.

But Bob’s greatest concern is what will happen to his stuff when he dies. Not as to who gets it, but as to the possibility that he’ll have to take it with him. When Bob thinks of the “last judgment,” he pictures himself standing in a long line (like at the checkout stand at KMart). He sees hundreds of shopping carts with all the stuff he has accumulated during his lifetime. Then he has to get those shopping carts through the “judgment line.” But every time he retreats to move some of his carts forward, somebody with fewer carts cuts in ahead of him. And that’s not the worst part. Not only does he have to haul it all, he has to explain it all. When he finally reaches the angel at the turnstile, he is asked to explain every last item and justify having kept it.

The problem is, most of it won’t justify. Because it isn’t all that important. Not in the final scheme of things. Which brings me to Ruth Price. Ruth served as a part-time nanny to our kids when Kris and I accepted a preaching assignment in England for the summer of 1975. Whenever we needed to fulfill some evening obligation, Ruth would come to our house and watch our kids. Needless to say, we became quite close.

A couple of days before we were to leave for the States, she invited us to her little cottage. She showed us her garden….her pictures….her tea cups (all with obvious pride). She also showed a few pieces of Waterford crystal. Since Kris and I also love Waterford, we responded with genuine enthusiasm. Which made her strangely quiet. Then she told us of her once-marvelous Waterford collection, passed down to her by her mother. “What happened to it?” I blurted out without thinking. Which was when she told of the war, the German planes, and the way the bombing raids would strafe the Sussex coast before targeting in on London. No Waterford survived. Not one goblet. But then she said: “Better it than me.” Which was not gallows humor, but a simple observation from a lady who knew the relative value of things. “Tonight,” says Jesus, “it could all come a screeching halt. And these goblets….whose will they be then?”

I’ve been reading Annie Dillard with my Tuesday morning group. Everybody should read Annie Dillard from time to time. Annie is a writer….a professor….a poet….a naturalist of sorts….and a passionate explorer of life. In her book, An American Childhood (the one we are reading on Tuesdays), she recalls the following:

One day father undertook to explain the mechanics of the stock market crash to Amy and me. We sat around the dining room table while he tried to explain why men on Wall Street had jumped from skyscrapers. We must not have understood to his satisfaction, because finally I heard him say: “Don’t you see, they lost everything.” But I still didn’t understand. I thought to myself: “They only lost everything when they jumped.”

Father went on to talk about bread lines….the dust bowl….entire families seeking work….proud men begging on city streets. He told us of city families living in cars, even as farm families left their land to come to the cities. Why? Because everybody realized at once, on the same morning, that paper money was only paper. What terrible fools. What did they think it was?

Don’t dismiss her as naïve. She knows as much about economics as you and I do. And especially don’t dismiss her observation that people only lose everything when they jump. For this is why Jesus called the rich man “a fool”….for allowing issues of storage to overshadow issues of life.

But the world is full of fools. David Buttrick recalls an off-Broadway play featuring a young couple in a very upscale apartment in the city. Deep pile carpeting on the floor. Designer furniture around the room. Designer gadgets in the kitchen. All at once the couple hears a Salvation Army band on the street below their window. Complete with trumpets, trombones and tambourines, the band is playing some very loud Jesus music. Whereupon the husband gets up, walks to the window, slams it shut, turns to his wife, and says: “I really don’t see what Jesus can do for us.”

And the sad thing is, if he doesn’t know, I’m not sure I can tell him. But I have to try, don’t I? I mean, I have to try.

My friends, let me close with a very honest confession. I’ve been rich. And I’ve been poor. And let me tell you: rich is better. But ever so dangerous. Because, if you let it, “rich” can screw up your thinking….your believing….your living….your giving….even your loving. Especially your loving.

* * * * *

Note:  My friends in the insurance business tell me that the “pitch” is pretty much the same as I remember it from 30 years ago, but the methodology has changed. Instead of “the Book,” the agent controls the “laptop.” But, as one agent was quick to clarify, “the client never touches the laptop.”

The David Buttrick story comes from Brian Bauknight, through Eric Ritz. The Annie Dillard quote comes from An American Childhood. Bob Morley’s recollections come from his book, Aerobics for the Spirit.