What is really in the Barn?

David Deutsch

I must confess that when I read this Gospel passage from Luke, I thought, uh-oh, another one of those Jesus parables about the uselessness of our possessions. Another guilt trip Jesus has laid on me. “Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions,” replies Jesus to the man in the crowd involved in an inheritance squabble with his brother. So certainly the danger of our possessions is a theme. Indeed, one can interpret this parable along this path in several ways:
  

1.    The preoccupation with possessions can ultimately lead to an empty life.
2.    The prideful inclination that we can find security in self-sufficiency.
3.    Greed can eat away at compassion.
4.    The hedonistic philosophy of the farmer is a foolish plan for a future life.

All these interpretations are certainly plausible and have been preached many times.
But when I look at the soliloquy of the farmer I see a different interpretation. By giving us this soliloquy Luke has let us overhear the man’s thoughts stripped from all the pretense that would be present in a public conversation. And we hear from a person who has shut out everyone from his thoughts and his life. He is left with just his possessions—which includes not just his worldly goods but an abundant grain harvest, which in the dry land of Israel, would be interpreted as a gift from God. This is a soliloquy of self isolation. What makes the farmer “foolish” is that he has forgotten about God. He is planning a godless future.

In fact our farmer friend is so happy and content, he starts dancing a little jig and recites a bit of Epicurean philosophy, “…eat, drink, and be merry.” At this point God breaks into the farmer’s life to complete the end of the verse, an ending which the farmer has conveniently forgotten or repressed. And God concludes the verse with a startling twist, “For tonightyou will die.” Not tomorrow. Not someday. No future tense here. But tonight. In no uncertain words, God reminds the farmer that his earthly life is a gift from God which can be redeemed at any time. I can imagine the farmer frozen in mid-jig looking scared… and dare I say foolish. This is the only parable in which God makes a direct appearance. No ambiguities here. Anyway, God is not finished interrupting the now broken soliloquy. He delivers the final line: “You may be rich in possessions, but you are not rich in ways that matter to Me.”

So I believe that the barn of the foolish farmer is not just filled with his goods and his harvest. The barn is filled with Self. The barn itself is holding the farmer prisoner. And this is a message for us.
Most will agree that putting our money and our treasures in a safe place is a prudent decision. But hoarding is another matter. And I don’t think it is simply a matter of possessions. It is a matter of hoarding ourselves. Now, we all have demands on our lives —husbands, partners, wives, children, aging parents, jobs, disabilities…the list is endless— and those demands are necessary and part of life. And meeting those demands can be exhausting. But I’m talking about hoarding our lives away from the world. Instead of celebrating and sharing the blessings of our lives, and I mean our lives, we can trap ourselves in the barn where we think our security lies. We can end up in our barn alone with our stuff. We might be rich toward ourselves. But we are not rich toward God.
What does it mean to “be rich toward God?”  I can only think of one of my all-time favorite texts. It is Micah, Chapter 6 verse 8:

He has told you, O mortal is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah clearly states that God is more interested in how we live our lives than how we practice religion.

It is difficult, if not impossible, to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly while locked in one’s own barn. The paradox is when we let God in…we can get out. As Jesus says, “Whoever wishes to preserve his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.” The way to real life is to give our lives away, not simply our wealth but our lives. Regardless of the breadth and scope of our possessions, rich or poor, our God-given lives offer a bountiful harvest for the world.

Peter Rhea Jones has a term for one who is ostensibly religious but, when push comes to shove, forgets about God. That term is “practical atheist.” And I think I intimately understand what it means to be a “practical atheist.” I go to church and hear the word of God. I partake of a meal that binds all together as one in God’s Kingdom. I even study the word of God. Yet, faced with the pressure of real life demands I can at times forget about God and leave God out of my life just as a the foolish farmer has.

I discovered this about myself through the Shelter Ministry, until a few weeks ago called the Shelter Project, which takes place at St. Mark’s during July and now August. During this period the Capitol Hill Group Ministry sends one or two families to spend the night at the church while they await transitional housing. Two volunteers from St. Mark’s also spend the night at the church and another volunteer brings dinner. The Shelter Ministry requires a huge commitment from the congregation as many of you already know. Yet, I did not want to volunteer to spend the night back a few years ago at the beginning of the Shelter Ministry even when my wife Stephanie (and Barbara Black) were in charge. Why? Because I didn’t want to be uncomfortable both in leaving the sanctuary of my house…and I certainly didn’t want to be uncomfortable in dealing with our guests with whom I knew I never would relate. And I am a huge believer in radical hospitality as a core value of Christianity. But I did not want to participate. In short, I wanted to stay in my barn with my Self and my Stuff. But instead of feeling comfortable, I felt vaguely uneasy. Finally, realizing I had to overcome these fears and insecurities, I decided to face them by volunteering for the night.

Now, I honestly don’t know if my 180 degree turn was the result of God breaking into my life. I’d like to think so. But I don’t know. But I did it. You know what? I had a marvelous time. I played soccer with the children thus taking them off their parents hands; I read to them. I enjoyed meeting their parents. I cannot pretend that I had any deep conversations anybody. But you know what? Doing kindness doesn’t mean talking kindness. I learned that love and compassion means being with, not necessarily talking to.  When I left my house, my barn, I let God into my life and received God back from all who were present that night guests and volunteers alike. I would not hesitate to call our dinner that night a Eucharist during which we were all bound together by the presence of God.

Our St. Mark’s community has many treasures: God’s love, our love for one another, our striving for radical hospitality, our faith, our skepticism, our liturgy, our music, but mainly our lives. All treasures to be shared for sure, but the most valuable of these are our lives. This is illustrated by the story of Laurence the Deacon of the Church in Rome in 258 during the persecutions of Emperor Valerian. Laurence was ask to turn over the treasures of his church to the Roman authorities. He asked for three days during which he quietly distributed the entire wealth of the church to the poor. On the third day Laurence presented himself in front of the prefect. When asked to give up the treasures, he presented the poor and said, “These are the true treasures of the Church. The Church is truly rich, far richer than the emperor.” Laurence was burned on a hot griddle shortly thereafter.

We all are the children of God. Our God-given lives are our treasure. We must make sure we don’t foolishly hoard them hidden in a church. We must, as we are able, share our bountiful harvest with others. Like the golden wheat pouring out of a grain elevator let our god-given lives cascade upon our world to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with our God.
Amen.