The Text of my sermon from Sunday, November 15th

The 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time; November 15, 2009
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: 1 Samuel 1: 4-20
1 Samuel 2: 1-10
Hebrews
Mark 13: 1-8 *


“Hope that Is Seen is Not Hope”

--} Every stewardship season begins similarly; we almost always ask our members to contribute to supporting the planned budget for next year. And for a long time, our budget has always outpaced our giving. And for a long time, we’ve always managed to make up the difference. And if I asked you this morning to raise your hands if you thought we’d make the budget this year, how many of you would? Go ahead, raise your hands if you think our pledges will meet our planned expenses?

My guess is that if we told the honest truth, none of us believes we’re going to make it this year. We have too few members. We have too few members and friends financially supporting us. “It’s like getting blood from a turnip—no matter how hard you squeeze”—right?

One of the things that is unmistakable about Jerusalem is the collection of large buildings and huge stones. The walls of Jerusalem had been built and rebuilt any number of times by the first century in Jesus’ time. Huge, big building blocks make up everything—the Temple, the Roman palaces, homes, the city walls, the huge military fortifications. And when Jesus says, “not one stone will be left here one upon another,” he’s really saying something that defies our human imagination.

One of the “facts” about first-century Jerusalem is that Herod the Great—greatly—expanded the Temple plaza to accommodate more Jewish worshipers—to keep the occupied folks happy. Security for Rome demanded some accommodation, and so they managed the natives by allowing them to practice their own religion as much as possible. So Herod ordered huge paving stones to be laid in expanding the plaza around the Temple, as well as huge stones to build a palace to house the Roman authority near there. Together they were both magnificent and awesome.

And when Jesus says, “not one stone will be left here one upon another,” he’s really saying something that looks and sounds—not threatening, but—impossible. That those “stones” would somehow not be left standing, simply defies the imagination of anyone who sees them first-hand. In fact, many of those “stones” continue to stand right where they were placed! The Temple, for example, still has one wall left standing to this day!

But when Jesus wasn’t to become the heroic figure to release the occupied people of Israel from the will of their Roman oppressors, we can only imagine the hopeless feeling those people encountered. How could they believe that their “champion” could possibly make a difference if he wasn’t going to be the one to deliver them from the Roman oppressors? And because Jesus’ words are eventually interpreted as a “threat” against the Temple and against Rome that will get Jesus into legal trouble, we are often tempted to believe that Jesus’ words in today’s gospel reading suggest destruction. What a surprise that they don’t quite come to be as we imagine!

Today, our congregation lives “outside” realm of the Romans; yet, we have our own “oppressors.” And one of them, is our money. We constantly have to ride the knife-edge, hoping we’ll have enough. The economy is shaky. Costs seem to always go up—and rarely come back down; and amidst all the constant warnings on television and in the newspaper, it must always seem hopeless to us that we can’t even make our budget on a yearly basis—without help. But “hope that is seen is not hope.”

“Hope”—is not “optimism.” “Optimism” is what is gained from “seeing evidence” that things might go well. For example, we “hope” that we might “make the budget” because people might increase their giving a certain percentage. Or we “hope” if we see the pledge trending upwards. But evidence in hand that things “might be OK,” IS NOT “HOPE.” “Hope” only comes in our darkest hours of despair—and that’s a hard lesson for us to bear, especially when it comes to our money. “Hope” means learning to live “at risk.” It means “trusting God” to come through—especially when we know we can’t make it.

And don’t think for a minute that all of us aren’t living “at risk.” I think about that every time we don’t know where the money is coming from. “Hope” says we have to trust in the darkness, knowing that God is always good. “Hope” means having no other choices.

Stewardship Dedication Sunday is as good a time as any to talk about that “hope” that we have in God—hope that is not “seen.”

When I was growing up, my parents always believed that “tithing” was one of the most important things for Christ-followers. They believed then and now that a “biblical tithe” was 10%. And while for many years my weekly “offering” at church consisted of the money they left each Sunday morning on the corner of our piano to be taken and put in the offering plate, eventually it became little reminders that we needed to give 10% of what we received to God.

My parents did this, believing in part that if you give to God, God will always take care of you. It’s not an obligation; or any assurance that things will go better. Giving is simply the reminder that God provides. Hope that is “seen” is not hope.

So my practice, now engrained not by reminders but by choice and lifestyle, is to know that I give to God, FIRST. I, too, believe in a biblical tithe; and it’s the first item in my own personal budget. So I add together my housing allowance and cash salary—the amount of my monthly check that Peggy writes on behalf of the Church—take 10%, divide by twelve, and that’s my monthly giving. And because in my household we have two church families, we take that monthly amount and share it equally between our church and Desiree’s—$192, apiece.

We formulate our budget with our church commitments first, and then our expenses. And when we “run short” or wonder if we can “afford something,” it’s always after we’ve given our pledge. And so, there are things we don’t have because we can’t afford them. Cable television. More than one cell phone. A brand new cars. Season tickets to the Symphony. We make other choices, knowing that our commitment to God is first, and taken care of. And life is still good, and God has certainly blessed us—and not because of how much we give.

There have been times that we have been “tempted” to lower our pledge, because we could then afford other things. But that never seems fair. We’ve been able to keep our pledge and I am more resolved to do so. And here’s why. I don’t believe we “owe God” anything. God doesn’t need our money. In some ways, the Church doesn’t need our money. But I give to God first, because I want to participate in the hope that is God. Not because I believe whatever gift we make will come back to us and more besides, that if we “bless God” in our “giving” God will “bless us” in our income or our “things.” I believe that our commitment to God is tangible, not for the sake of God but for our own sake. We give, because we know it makes a difference, it holds us together in community, it is the work of God in this place and in places all over the world. Hope that is “seen” is not hope.

Now I know that our “hope” at Park Avenue is that we’ll have enough pledges “to make the budget.” Our “hope” maybe is that if some people give a little more, we might be able to give a little less. [That’s not really fair, is it?] We know that this year, perhaps more than in previous years, making the budget is going to be the hardest its ever been. Fewer people. Expenses are higher. We haven’t provided “increases” for our staff in at least 3 years, and in that time, some of them have taken “decreases”! Hope that is “seen” is not hope. And if you read your stewardship letter, you know that our Stewardship Team is asking for an increase in giving of 5%; and should that come to fruition, we know we still cannot meet the budget. “Hope that is seen is not hope.”

So here’s what we’re “hoping for.” Like the huge ‘stones’ that Jesus’ disciples saw neatly piled one on top of the other in the grand first-century capital that was Jerusalem, that we, too, as a congregation are built with the substantial giving that is generous and significant—like big stones, stacked one on top of the other. That we’re all considering some kind of percentage giving and challenging ourselves to consider giving more—if or when we can. We trust that together, we’re giving as much as 10% of our income, and making hard choices together. We’re believing—not that we will be rewarded by God, but that we will be blessed by God; that we will be participants with God in the world, and be witnesses to the love and justice of Jesus Christ. This is our hope in the darkness, isn’t it? Believing where we cannot see it will be possible. And choosing not to fret or complain about it, but to give what we can give and give it generously.

Jesus declares that our life together is never easy. Whether we’re looking to avoid persecutions or other forms of trouble, Jesus says, “beware.” “For they will hand you over to councils; and you will be beaten in synagogues; you will stand before governors and kings; and you will be hated by all because of my name.” Hope that is seen is not hope.

“Giving” is the same way. We “give,” not because of what we are promised if we do, but simply because we believe where we have not seen that God is good. We give in the “hope” of God’s kingdom being made alive in each of us—whether we make the budget or not.

--+ AMEN.