|
Luke 12: 13–21
|
Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your Name. Amen.
|
This week, as I read Jesus’ parable of the Rich Fool in our Gospel
text, words and phrases I haven’t thought about for a while
drifted across my brain. As I read the man’s boastful words
about all his worldly treasure, the more humble perspective in the old
General Thanksgiving from the Book of Common Prayer came to
mind. You probably remember these words too:
Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we thine unworthy
servants, do give thee most humble and hearty thanks for all thy
goodness and loving–kindness to us, and to all men. We
bless thee for our creation, preservation, and for all the blessings
of this life . . . [BCP, p. 58]
|
|
When I was a child those old words formed my perception of the
world – and myself in it. They told me that a generous God
was in charge of Creation, and I was a small but thankful part of it
all. And this week, as I recalled those words, I couldn’t
help but see how hugely the rich farmer’s words differed from this
more humble, more grateful perspective.
|
|
The old liturgy tells us that all that we
are . . . and all that we
have . . . come to us through God’s
gracious generosity. He created us in the first place. He has
preserved us – right up to this very moment. And he has
blessed us with homes, families, friends and possessions. We are
simply servants, stewards of all the gifts God has entrusted to us.
|
|
But the wealthy farmer in Jesus’ parable hardly thinks of himself
as a servant, accountable to someone else. And certainly not an
unworthy servant. Nor does he think of the abundance of grain his
fields have produced as a gracious gift from God. In fact, God
never enters into his calculations at all. To his way of thinking,
all that grain is simply his – to do with as he will. In
fact, the bountiful harvest presents him with a problem.
“What should I do?” he asks. ““how am I to
store it all?” And when he answers his own questions,
he is still at the center of all his own thoughts.
|
|
“I will do this,” he says. “I will pull down my
barns and build larger ones. And there I will store all my grain
and all my goods.”
|
|
Now, he could have thought to share that grain with others, maybe with
the poor. That, after all, is what God once commanded the children
of Israel to do – to leave grain at the edges of their fields for
strangers and sojourners, people who had no grain at all. But that
thought never occurs to him. Nor does he give any thought to
simply letting the land rest, to lie fallow for a season or two. He
only wants to amass more, always more — and all for himself.
|
|
In other words — to his way of thinking – this is all about
him. In the isolated world he has created for himself there is no
neighbor, no friend, and certainly no need for God. There is only
what shall I do . . . with my grain,
my goods, and my barns? And I can’t help but think
that the worst punishment our prison system has ever devised is solitary
confinement – to be imprisoned in a world where you are the only
person you can talk to, the only person you can see. And God will
not allow this man to stay in that prison of his own making any longer.
|
|
“You fool!” he says to the man. “This very
night your life is being demanded of you! And now — who
is going to get all those riches you imagined were yours
alone?” The Lord doesn’t answer his own
question – and he doesn’t have to. We have
heard – and understood — the warning against our own greed,
our own preoccupation with me – and mine — alone.
|
Amen
|
