Finding the Focus, by Jan Richardson. Used by permission.
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What is mine and what is yours?
What do we really believe about what we own, and what we do not own?
Let’s begin by looking at a belief I have, a belief that probably seems self-evident and utterly uncontroversial: I believe that the money in my bank account belongs to me. We live in a culture that supports this belief: everyone accepts that this money is mine, and no one else’s.
Here is another uncontroversial belief: This coming Friday is payday, and Grace Church will make a deposit in my bank account. I am going to tell you how much, and I’ll explain why in a minute. The deposit will be my monthly net pay of $6,312.09. Grace Church is going to do that because they — that is, you — believe that by this Friday, that money will belong to me.
In this transaction, we participate in our capitalist system, whatever me might happen to think or feel about it, and we believe that we can own things, and we can buy things. Simple enough so far.
Now, I wonder if you found it odd – and maybe off-putting, or even offensive – that I disclosed the exact amount of my paycheck. I certainly feel odd disclosing it, even fearful. To do so crosses a value of the Midwestern culture I’ve known my whole life: don’t talk about money. And why not? Because it could lead to resentments and conflict, and because it underlines the inequality inherent in our capitalist system.
However, it’s not my money yet: it’s yours. On Friday, that money will be mine; but today, if you contributed to Grace Church, it’s yours, or to borrow a helpful Southern way to say ‘yours plural,’ that money is currently all y’all’s. Why shouldn’t all y’all know exactly how much money you have, and how much you’re going to give me? Why should we awkwardly keep that information out of view?
I think many of us may harbor another money belief that explains our modesty about salary information. Speaking for myself, I hesitate to talk openly about things like my salary not just because I’m a native Midwesterner, but because I believe there’s something embarrassing or awkward about owning money, particularly in such a manifestly unjust economic system. I believe, on some level or in some way, that it is wrong – or at least problematic – to own things.
(Maybe Jesus has gotten into my head. He’s good at that.)
But I’m curious about another belief we may have about money. Consider this: Grace Church is notably cautious and risk-averse when it comes to our budget. We submit the budget at the annual meeting to the whole congregation for everyone’s approval (many churches delegate this approval to the vestry), and we have a strict standard of oversight about expenditures, with our vestry reviewing any expense over $500. In these practices we are being responsible about our money – a good thing! – but I wonder if we might be overdoing it just a little, like the guy who wears both a belt and suspenders. Maybe we’re cautious about spending money because we’re anxious about the future, and frightened to delegate finances if that puts our future at risk. I can empathize. But if this is how we feel, then on some level or in some way, we believe that though of course we have to buy things we want and need, it is wrong – or at least problematic – to buy things.
And so, we believe –
that we can own things and we can buy things;
but that it is wrong – or at least problematic – to own things;
and it is wrong – or at least problematic – to buy things.
This is an awkward and contradictory little cluster of beliefs. I think it’s fair to say that whatever any one of us may think or believe about money, this is a complicated topic for our community.
And I thought of yet another complication! Every payday, over morning coffee, I transfer $500 back to Grace Church. That adds up to $6000 a year, which is 6.25% of my gross income. I give an additional 3.75% to other worthy causes. And if it felt odd or off-putting when I disclosed my paycheck amount, how do you and I feel now? I immediately want to say something self-deprecating so you don’t think I’m flexing. It’s not a good look to brag about how generous I am. And so I hasten to tell you that our diocese expects its priests to tithe, understood specifically as giving away at least 10% of our income. I give Grace most of my tithe because I believe two things: first, I believe, as part of my identity as a priest, that ten percent of my paycheck is actually not my money; and second, I believe that most of that 10% belongs to the spiritual community I care about the most right now. And that’s you; that’s Grace Church.
And so I ask again: why shouldn’t I readily disclose what I give to Grace Church? After all, it’s your money. I believe you own it – that’s why I’m giving it back to you! But maybe I have yet another vexing money belief: that on some level or in some way, it is wrong to talk about my giving because those who give less might feel bad, or those who give more might say to themselves, “Oh, well now that I know Stephen only gives that much, I can throttle back.”
I think it’s pretty clear at this point that it isn’t just Jesus who’s in our heads. What we really believe about money, and what we’re ready to admit we believe – can be a jumble of religious and cultural assumptions and worldviews, the meaning we make of our past experiences, whatever we think and feel about the economy, and maybe just a nagging feeling that money is not easy, not benign, not safe.
So I say, if Jesus is in our heads already, we may as well listen to him, because he can give us good guidance about all of this. Here’s what he says:
Be rich toward God.
Here’s how that works. Take the first question I asked to introduce this whole topic: I asked, “What is mine and what is yours?” Answer: nothing. Nothing is mine, and nothing is yours. If we are rich toward God, we own nothing. I may think that Friday’s paycheck is mine, but if I am rich toward God, I can’t do whatever I want with that money, because it isn’t really mine. It isn’t really yours either, even if you generously give Grace Church a vast fortune every year. If we are rich toward God, we won’t just lose everything when we die; we won’t hoard anything while we live, either. If I keep money and call it mine, doing exactly what I want with it and nothing more, then that money stops moving toward God. All the money we control is supposed to move back and forth and up and around to build and nourish God’s dominion, God’s reign, God’s economy, God’s good world.
So: I work hard at my job here at Grace Church while you all work hard at your various vocations. Some of you earn a paycheck in your vocations and some do not, but in the eye of God all labor is valuable; all vocations are sacred. And then, because I’m working for Grace Church in a specific, contracted way, you give me $6,312.09 every fifth of the month. I immediately give $500 back to you, and an additional $300 to other causes. You give money to Grace Church and other organizations you care about. We all buy groceries and clothes and utilities and tuition and carbon offsets and daycare and countless other things. And we watch as the money moves, for good and for ill. We are aware that our use of money makes us complicit in systems of oppression, and we readily confess this communal sin. We try to improve the system. And on it goes.
Jesus invites us, in all of this, to focus intently on what we really believe about it all. And we will have a chance to understand and express this belief in a few moments, when we pass the plate and bring forward some of our money, our bread, and our wine. We will bring these gifts forward in thanksgiving to God, who gave all of them to us in the first place. As you may have noticed, every week at the time of the offering I say, “Walk in love as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.” That’s a line from the letter to the Ephesians, and it’s one of the sentences we say to remind ourselves what the offering is all about.
But there are other ways to say it. I could also say this: “Let us with gladness present the offerings and oblations of our life and labor to the Lord.” And then, as I receive the gifts at the altar, I could add this line that is spoken by King David in First Chronicles: David says, “All things come from you, [O God,] and of your own have we given you.” This is a “rich toward God” kind of thing to say. Nothing is mine and nothing is yours and nothing is King David’s, but we all participate in God’s economy, in all that we collect and in all that we spend.
And so we should speak freely about money, and what we do with it. We should be open and flexible about the choices we make. And we can let go of all our fears, since God gives abundantly, and by God’s creative power there is enough for everyone. We can, finally, feel deep gladness about all of this, and we can rejoice as we share what we’ve been given with our neighbors alongside us.
Rejoice! You and I own nothing, and therefore, in God’s gracious economy, we have all we need.
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Preached on the Eighth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 13C), July 31, 2022, at Grace Episcopal Church, Bainbridge Island, Washington.
Hosea 11:1-11
Psalm 107:1-9, 43
Colossians 3:1-11
Luke 12:13-21