October 23, 2011 | 8:00 a.m.

Letting Loose

Victoria G. Curtiss
Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 90:1–6, 13–17
2 Corinthians 8:1–15
Luke 19:1–10

Poverty consists not in the decrease in one’s possessions, but in the increase in one’s greed.

Plato

A few months ago, a Texan drove up to Iowa in his Lincoln Continental and saw a farmer working in the field. He stopped his car, got out, and waved the farmer over. The farmer got off his tractor and came near. The Texan said, “Hi friend, how much land you got?” The farmer shaded his eyes and said, “You see that birch tree over there? Let your eye go along the hedge until you come to the wall, and then you come down along the wall along the spring that runs beside this road and back to where we are, and that’s my land.” The Texan said, “Friend, what would you say if I told you that I can get into my car before sunup and by sundown I still haven’t driven around all my land?” The farmer said, “Yep, had a car like that myself once.”

Either that farmer didn’t want to be engaged with the Texan’s bragging, or he just couldn’t identify with that much wealth. We may not identify with wealth either. That may happen when we hear the story of Zacchaeus, “the chief tax collector who was rich.” Zacchaeus was rich because he was part of the system of the Roman empire. The Romans taxed their subjects, the Jews, by employing Jewish people to do the collecting. Jews had to pay not the hated Roman occupiers, but other Jews. The franchise went to the highest bidder. And the collectors, knowing how much they’d paid for the job, then demanded more in taxes. They became wealthy, especially the supervisors—the chief tax collectors like Zacchaeus. To say Zacchaeus was unpopular is an understatement. He exploited others to accumulate more himself. Nothing there we identify with. Besides, we’re not rich.

If you want to think rich, think Bill Gates or Michael Jordan or Oprah Winfrey, right? They’ve got millions and millions of dollars to their name. Now that’s rich. When it comes to us, we mostly think of ourselves as middle class at best. We work to live within our means. There are things we don’t do or own because we don’t have enough money. We’re not rich!

Or are we? A few of us may be living on the streets, but for most of us, not believing we are rich is part of the disease of affluence in America. People at nearly all income levels believe if they had 10 or 20 percent more money, then they would be happy. Few of us actually feel wealthy. We talk poor because we tend to compare ourselves with those who have more. Most of us consider ourselves better than average, and we think we deserve more than others. But there are others who have more than we do! Our attention is on where we are going, not where we have come from. As Plato wrote, “Poverty consists not in the decrease in one’s possessions, but in the increase in one’s greed.”

But the reality is, most of us are rich. Even in this sluggish economy, compared to most of the world’s population, we are wealthy. The per-capita income of most families in the developing world is between $50 to $200 per year. Here’s what it would take for an American family to reduce its standard of living to this level:

Take out the furniture, except for a few old blankets, a kitchen table, and a chair.

Take away all the clothing, except for the oldest dress or suit for each member of the family and a shirt or blouse. Leave one pair of shoes for the head of the household.

Empty the refrigerator and the pantry, except for a small bag of flour, some sugar and salt, a few potatoes for tonight’s supper, a dish of dried beans.

Dismantle the bathroom, shut off the water, and remove the electric wiring.

Move the family into a tool shed.

Remove all the other houses in the neighborhood and set up in its place a shantytown.

Cancel all subscriptions to newspapers, magazines, and book clubs; your family is illiterate anyway.

Move the nearest clinic or hospital two to four hours away.

Throw out the bank books, stock certificates, pension plans, and insurance policies and leave your family a cash hoard of $5.

Give the head of the family three tenant acres to cultivate.

Lop twenty-five to thirty years off each family member’s life expectancy.

This is the level at which millions of people live. Whether we feel like it or not, like Zacchaeus, we are rich. Like Zacchaeus, we have more than our share of the world’s resources.

We have something else in common with Zacchaeus: a yearning for more. Our very dissatisfaction with what we have points to this. There’s an emptiness inside, and material things can’t fill it. In Tennessee Williams’ play, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, Big Daddy says, “The human animal buys and buys and buys and thinks the reason he buys everything he can is that in the back of his mind he has this crazy hope that one of his purchases will be life everlasting.” But it doesn’t work that way. There is yearning in us that money and things cannot satisfy. That yearning is for God. God created us with that yearning so that we turn to God. Our hearts have deep desires, which only God can fill.

Zacchaeus had a deep desire to see Jesus. He may not have recognized he was seeking God. But he was determined to catch a glimpse of Jesus; he even climbed a tree to see him. He thought he was just going to watch, to observe. Then comes an electric moment. Within the chaos of a large, swarming crowd, noisy people shouting and pushing each other, with Jesus and his followers working their way through the mob, everything suddenly stops.

Their eyes meet, Jesus and Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus and Jesus. Riveted. “Zacchaeus,” Jesus says, “Hurry. Come down. I must stay at your house today.” Zacchaeus hurries down and is happy to welcome him.

How happy would we be to welcome Jesus in our home? Would you find yourself a bit hesitant and tongue-tied? I think I would. We’re not comfortable talking about what our faith means to us, let alone about money. We’re not used to being drawn out about our hopes or concerns for our life, or where we are in our spiritual journey. We may worry that we would be judged by Jesus about our level of giving. We’re not sure we want Jesus coming to our house.

That’s not how Zacchaeus experienced his visit from Jesus. Zacchaeus responds to Jesus with great joy. Though he had reason to hide his head in shame, we find him standing and declaring that he is going to give half his possessions to the poor and pay back four times the amount he defrauded others. What happened? What motivated Zacchaeus to become so free with his money, so generous with his wealth, so ready to turn from his former life?

Zacchaeus experienced a love from Jesus that he had not known before, a love for who he truly was. He no longer needed his money to gain status, to define his worth, to prop him up, to fill an emptiness inside. He experienced good news with Jesus; he realized he was cherished as God’s beloved child.

“Zacchaeus,” said the carpenter gently, “what did you see that made you desire this peace?”

“Good Master, I saw mirrored in your eyes the face of Zacchaeus I was meant to be!”

His repentance bore fruit in how he related to money, and he shared it with the poor.

There is a story about a man from Wales who insisted on being buried with a handful of the soil of Wales in his fist. When he was to be admitted to heaven, God as a judge told him he must let the soil go. He wouldn’t. Then God as a clown told him about the parties inside, but he would have to let go of the soil. He wouldn’t, even though he had gripped all the moisture out of it and he had to cup the dust with both hands. Then God as a child came out and held out both hands. And the man let go of his dust, took the hand of the child, and they walked into heaven together. And inside he found all of Wales.

Jesus sees you wanting a glimpse of God. He recognizes your yearning for more. He knows your name. He is inviting himself into your home, your life. He is choosing you, especially. He is singling you out for some one-to-one quality time, a time for him to help you realize who you truly are, how much you are loved, the type of life worthy of you and your God. He is hoping to fill you with the only thing that can truly satisfy your hunger: his love. Imagine it. Believe it. Breathe it in. Let God fill you to overflowing. Let God loosen your grip.

Next Sunday is Commitment Sunday, in which we dedicate our annual financial pledges toward the church’s mission and ministry. I hope you will use this season of stewardship to take one more radical step towards God, by opening yourself to what God wants to do with you, through you, for you. Making a financial pledge is actually a path toward freedom. It’s good for the church if you do, because your money can sustain our ministry for the future. But it’s also good for you if you let loose. Making a commitment of our money is a spiritual discipline that prods us again and again to place God in the center of our lives, rather than money.

Jesus offers us the true bread of life, the real connection with our true selves, with God, and with our neighbors. Give yourself away and discover true life.