Inheritance and Belonging

Sermon

A friend of mine has a new grandson who just turned six weeks old. Being around this child and his loving, attentive parents is a reminder of how vulnerable we are all in the beginning, as human babies, born into this world. The infant relies upon parents for food, diaper-changing, safety, mobility, and most importantly: love. Think of it. All of us began that way: helpless, learning everything (including how to breathe, eat, sleep) for the first time. We all began in an extreme state of dependency.  

We slowly grew into independent and self-reliant people. I mention this because the scripture passage we read this morning comes right after Jesus said that “unless you are like an infant, you won’t enter the kingdom of God.” That’s the context for the story today, and the man who came to ask: “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 

The man who came to Jesus was a mature, successful man, not a child. He had it all. He was devout, his mind sound, his heart in the right place, and he was good. He had done the right things: followed the rules, respected his parents, marched for justice, voted responsibly, worked hard, saved his money, and sought spiritual leadership. But he was seeking more; he wanted the vibrancy and love he could see in Jesus. He wanted to belong to something larger than himself.  

Jesus looked at him, and saw all that good in him, and loved him. Then, Jesus told him there was one thing missing. What was lacking was letting go: letting go of his possessions, sharing with the poor, and following Jesus.  

This was unrealistic, too much. Way too much. That wasn’t what he expected. His life of success, material security, of self-reliance was a far cry from the vulnerable, dependent state of a young child that Jesus said was necessary for entering the kingdom of God. 

He walked away, sadly.  

I want to read some of this again, from The Message, a Biblical paraphrase, by Eugene Peterson: 

As the rich man sadly walks away, Jesus says to his disciples,  

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for people who ‘have it all’ to enter God’s kingdom?” The disciples couldn’t believe what they were hearing, but Jesus kept on: “You can’t imagine how difficult. I’d say it’s easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye than for the rich to get into God’s kingdom.”  

The disciples ask: “Who has any chance at all then?” 

Jesus: “No chance at all if you think you can pull it off by yourself. Every chance in the world if you let God do it.” 

Every chance in the world, if you let God do it… Some call that grace. 

It’s true, this story IS most difficult for those of us who have a strong belief in our in self-reliance and who trust in the security of our material possessions. 

This is one of those sermons that is dangerous to preach. It’s dangerous because in all honesty, I cannot offer my own life as a good model for this kind of radical letting go. I have known people who were much better examples of this. 

Did you notice that the disciples—who actually already had let go of their former lives to follow him—were promised by Jesus that everyone who leaves their homes, their goods, their families—for the sake of the Good News—will receive (NOW!) a hundredfold back? They will win the spiritual jackpot.  

But the disciples didn’t seem very comforted by that. Maybe we don’t, either. In the gospel of Mark, there is an overall emphasis upon letting go of what has been and being born anew. One New Testament scholar once called the gospel of Mark a “wartime Gospel.” Let’s put that into today’s context.  

The devastation of climate changes, the challenges of COVID-19, the masses of homeless people in our midst, political unrest—we are definitely in a crisis time. Perhaps in this time, we will be less attached to our visions of self-reliance and individualism. Maybe we will be willing to let go of the obstacles that keep us from trusting the love of God, and we’ll care for one another, our community, our brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers, friends and strangers. 

One big thing that has changed in my life in the past 18 months is that for the first time in my adult life, my parents and I are now living in the same town. Actually, we are in the same house! During 2020, concerns about our distance from one another during COVID made us move to begin construction on a small house in my backyard. In the next month, Mom and Dad will be moving in! It’s a great blessing and joy. And over the past seven months, we’ve all been living in the same household. This has been a new chapter in living in community. A good chapter, and a learning chapter. I believe that Jesus would say: Wonderful that you are loving your family in such a direct way. Go now, and do that for the stranger! 

There are moments of grace where we see how with God at the center, generosity springs forth. Did you know that since the Heidi Manor fire (in our neighborhood, off Weidler), Westminster has received about $27,000 in donations for the victims of the fire? That was given by 134 donors. Instead of simply accepting the fire as tragic neighborhood news, Westminster helped to lead a quick, compassionate response. A glimmer of grace.  

You may be in a situation where you are suffering because you’ve already lost much. If you are feeling that way, imagine the doting and tenacious love of parents toward a newborn. God’s love is with you. All of us can help one another recognize God’s love with us, and how the Spirit is working in and through us in the midst of crises. The closing poem is from the Write Around Portland project. That project is founded on the belief that writing is a powerful tool for individual and societal transformation, self-expression, and healing. In any life, especially one lived in poverty or isolation, there is a vital need for art, community, and joy. 

By j.s.: 

Lost Then Found 

Every time I lose something I find 
something.
Every time I lose my clothes,
I find my style.
Every time I lose my writings, I
write more. 
Every time I lose my ego, I find my
dignity. 
Every time I lose my dignity, I
find my pride. 
Every time I lose my happiness, I
find it in a different view. 
Every time I lose myself, I find 
myself.