Years and years ago I used to play the carillon at my college in what I called my Quasimodo act. Carillons are not your rank and file instrument — they are anywhere from two to four dozen bells, sometimes even more, way up in a tower. If you have been to the Netherlands Carillon in Arlington Cemetery, you may have heard it. Vermont has two: Norwich University and Middlebury College. Carillons can sound out of tune — beyond the actual note called prime, one hears overtones of an octave, fifth, minor third, all of which emphasise the prime. One quickly learns when playing a carillon not to muddy the sound. While one can play a bunch of notes at the same time, the resultant sound can be a mess because of all the overtones for each note. I found that classical guitar music was well suited to the carillon and stuck to that repertoire though, as my grand finale at college, I played Tubular Bells.
The collection of readings this morning have lots of overtones and sound somewhat like that muddy mess of noise when put all together. However, each note sounding on its own makes a little more sense. In order to focus on the prime note, the gospel, I have got unpack a little the overtones.
The collects at this time of year ask repeatedly for God’s grace. It is as though we need more and more to focus on that gift as we move to All Saints’ tide and then through the apocalyptic readings that always show up in the waning weeks of the church year (right around Thanksgiving!).
Job’s lament, from which we have been hearing the past couple of weeks, evokes the despair of being challenged by God. Job’s complaint shows up in part in our burial office in the words, ‘I know that my Redeemer lives.’ Still, there is an overtone of despair and death to this morning’s selection.
Psalm 22 throws us immediately back to Maundy Thursday at the moment of stripping the altar and washing it and then again to Good Friday when we pray it in its usual place in the liturgy. This overtone is particularly strong for me because the words always evoke a darkened church and the even darker night of the soul as we enter into the passion.
The Letter to the Hebrews continues to discuss the great high priest, Jesus. But the opening words of this lesson bring to mind the icon of Saint Paul, an open book, the Bible, with a sword lying in the middle of it. How has the word of God pierced your soul from spirit?
Finally, having discharged all the overtones, we arrive at the prime, the gospel. Funny how the lectionary conveniently places this reading about sacrifice in and around the time of year when we begin to discuss our budget!
Taken in total, there’s a lot about letting go to be freed.
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The man who comes to Jesus asking questions of eternal life is the first-century equivalent of the many packrats and people possessed by possessions.
Many people call this story ‘The Rich Young Ruler,’ but there is nothing in Mark’s account that point to the man being either young or a ruler. It’s probably because people are conflating Matthew (where he is young) and Luke (where he is a ruler). Evidently he is someone who has a lot of money but who also is very religious. He understands that his wealth is a sign of God’s favour. He really tries to be faithful: since his youth he has kept all the commandments that Jesus reels off (including a new one about not committing fraud). We should not think he is evil or self-righteous — it would seem he is trying to do his best and realises he is not quite there yet. As the story advances, we see that he will never arrive.
When Jesus invites him to give everything away and follow him, the man refuses, saying he cannot. He comes so close to accepting the invitation to enter the abundant life. He wants to say yes — he even grieves his inability to say yes — but he just cannot let go of his wealth.
Jesus also grieves the man’s inability to let go of all the stuff that holds him prisoner. In an exceptionally rare use of the word, ‘love,’ Mark’s Jesus loves the man standing in front on him, perhaps wishing that his love could set him free. If only the man who had been faithful elsewhere in his life could trust in God’s abundance… all would be well.
We live, you and I, so often with a theology or spirituality of scarcity. God’s gifts are pie-like, and there are only so many slices. In our culture, the responsible person looks out, first of all, for one’s own. We save, protect, insure, and when we share we do so much of the time with fear and caution because there is only just so much to go around.
This story is about a theology or spirituality of abundance. The world’s problem is not that of scarcity. Our spiritual life is not about being sure we have enough. In God’s economy and world there is always enough, and much to spare. This is true both materially and spiritually. Yet, as the rich man is unable to understand, one can survive when one lets go and lets God.
What the gospel really asks us this morning is where our treasure is. Where are our priorities in life? How well do we do with stewardship of the gifts God has given us? How well do we trust in God’s abundance?
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When I do a personal inventory, my head and even my heart know just how fortunate I am. The daughter of depression-era parents, I have turned out to be a packrat (you never know when that left-over whatsit will be useful). I know I have far more than I could ever use. I come from a long heritage of packrats, ‘collectors’ in more polite terms. As I talk with my sister and brother, I realize we are all collectors and not thrower-outers. Stuff runs my life as it seems to for other members in my family of origin.
I am grateful to have a very comfortable roof over my head, a vocation and a place in this economy. I know that my education will always serve me and that I probably will always be employed.
When I am honest, I also know how my material stuff holds me prisoner. I have not followed Jesus to the utmost ends of the earth because I don’t know how I’d unload it all or what I would do with my cats. My true vocation has been reined in by my materialism. One of my life tasks, like the rich man in the gospel, is to find the grace to be able to let go of stuff and not worry about whether I have enough because I know I already do and then some.
There are moments of clarity, such as when I lived in one room for six weeks in El Salvador during my sabbatical. It was quite refreshing, but I also knew I would be coming back to Vermont. Walking the Camino de Santiago and the Long Trail has also shown me that I am capable of surviving with only one change of clothes and very little else. Again, my heart knows that it is a momentary experience and besides, it is romanticizing the harsh existence of 2/3rds of the world, who live in poverty and for whom life of minimalism is not chosen.
My head and my heart know that someday as I get closer to death, my world will shrink and I will not need everything I have right now. Some day, if I live out naturally the measure of my days, my world will consist of a room and eventually just a bed. It really is true I can’t take all this stuff with me. I know that, I’ve seen that enough times.
What I do know in my heart is I can always take with me the spirit of Jesus. And that is where the rich man and I both need to grow and trust. It’s simply a matter of stewardship, of living one’s life out in God’s abundance—not the world’s material abundance—and trusting. I realise how I am called to let go and how far I still have to journey.
Perhaps Saint Francis should have added to his prayer we said last week, ‘For it is in letting go of things, that we are set free.’ Well, even if it’s not there, I am adding that phrase to my prayer life.
Paradoxically, even as I am held captive by my stuff, I truly enjoy giving away money. Contributing to Trinity or Episcopal Relief and Development or Cristosal or CHABHA (a Vermont-based group that works with AIDS-orphans in Rwanda) or Pure Water for the World that builds wells in Haiti or the Appalachian Mountain Club or the Green Mountain Club or some other worthy charitable organization comes out of a deep sense of gratitude for all I do have. Giving of this sort is a joy, not a duty. It’s the closest I come to being freed of a scarcity mentality. I find each year as I do my taxes, that I have given more than I thought. It doesn’t hurt. So, in a way, I am giving away my treasures and it’s OK. I know there are many of you, too, who do likewise, with a generous heart.
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So I come back full circle to the overtones of this morning’s readings. As Job seeks God’s wisdom, so do I. The word of God is a double-edged sword as we hear Jesus’ hard teachings of giving up everything to follow him. But, as the collect in which we pray for God’s grace to help us do good works, so also we hear that ‘for God all things are possible.’ And that knowledge is very good news and rings true.
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