Season of Giving — Week 1
DATE: October 14, 2012
SCRIPTURE: Isaiah 58:6–9a; Matthew 5:1, 13–16
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Seabury Center
Isaiah 58:6-9a
6 Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? 7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? 8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up quickly; your vindicator shall go before you, the glory of the Lord shall be your rear guard. 9 Then you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry for help, and the Lord will say, Here I am.
Matthew 5:1, 13-16
1 When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him…
13 “You are the salt of the earth; but if salt has lost its taste, how can its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything, but is thrown out and trampled underfoot. 14 “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. 15 No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. 16 In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.
April 20, 2004: temperatures reached 85 degrees in Boston that day, the hottest Patriots Day in nearly two decades. My dad was running the Boston Marathon at age 65 and the whole family had turned out to watch. The sun beat down on pavement and people. I remember our festive mood as we crammed onto the T to ride to the start of the race. I remember meeting my dad at about mile 14 and running alongside him in my flip flops, cheering like crazy for nearly a mile. I remember 2-year-old Tobey, his face pressed between the bars of one of the barriers near the finish, scanning the field of exhausted runners, watching for Grandpa to appear and cross the line. I remember, more than anything, the almost giddy sense of pride I felt when he did finish, exhausted, sweaty, but finished: a marathon runner …
Several years earlier, Dad had taken up running to support my younger sister, who had joined the junior high cross country team. His first goal: to run one mile. He would walk for five minutes, run for five, walk for another five …and so it went. I remember him saying at the time: “I’ll be happy just to run a few miles, maybe a 5 k. I’m not interested in those long runs. Marathons are for crazy people.” To date, he’s run at least six: from Hartford to Milwaukee, New Hampshire to Nantucket.
So how did he get there? I asked him once. He said: Step one: Make a training plan. Step two: Write it down. Step three: Follow that plan.
Certain things in life just take practice.
There’s no learning a foreign language without muddling through one conversation after another.
There’s no performing a piano concerto without weeks of playing scales.
And there’s no running a marathon without months of training, one mile at a time, for miles and miles and miles.
Even faith takes practice. Think about it. We talk about “practicing faith.” That can mean to participate in, or be a part of (as in, “I am a practicing Christian”) but it can also mean to rehearse or work at, as in “I am practicing at being a Christian, at being a disciple, or a follower of Christ…I don’t get it all at once: I have good days and bad days, and sometimes I get sidetracked and then I get rusty; but over time I hope I’m getting a little better, a little more faithful, a little closer to God.” I am practicing my faith.
That’s what Jesus is talking about in these verses in the Gospel of Matthew, taken from what we call the Sermon on the Mount: He’s describing what it means to live as a disciple, what it looks like, and feels like to practice faith. So, Jesus says: You are light. You are salt. This is his starting place. We do not have to ignite the flame inside us; we do not have to mine the salt. Like the gifts with which we are gifted from birth, the salt is there, ready to season; the light is there, ready to shine. God is the source of these gifts. But we: we’ve got to learn how to use them— use them, or lose them. After all, says Jesus, “What good is salt, if it loses its saltiness? What use is a light if it’s hidden under a bowl?” We’ve got to practice being salty and shiny.
It’s an appeal that we’ve lost track of, some of us, over the generations. Ever since Emperor Constantine converted to Christianity and made it the religion of the state, Christianity has emphasized belief more than practice, as in: I am a Christian by virtue of the things I believe or the creeds I confess (See: Constantine needed a way to weed out the heretics, the ones who were not faithful to the church, and, by extension, to the empire). (Both Judaism and Islam have been and are more practice-centered: I am a Jew by virtue of observing the Sabbath; I am Muslim by virtue of praying five times daily.)
By contrast, think about how many of our church rows have been sparked by disputes over what we ought to believe: Is God Unitarian (one-in-one), or Trinitarian (three-in-one)? Is scripture inspired or ‘just’ inspiring? Literal or metaphorical? Do you believe in the virgin birth, the resurrection, heaven and hell? Every one of these debates, and hundreds more like them, emerged years after Jesus walked among us. Jesus, for his part, was much less concerned with doctrine than with doing. Doing justice. Loving mercy. Walking humbly. He followed in the footsteps of Jewish prophets like Isaiah, who reminded the people, again and again, that God has no interest in empty rituals, but desires acts of faithful living:
“Is not this the fast that I choose? …Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin? 8 Then your light shall break forth like the dawn!”
It reminds me of that scene in the musical My Fair Lady, when Eliza Doolittle confronts Freddie, her bumbling suitor. Sick to death of being talked at by the two men who have been trying to refine her cockney speech and turn her into a well-spoken lady, she runs away to find Freddie, only to be barraged by his lengthy proclamations of devotion. Her response, “Don’t talk of stars burning above. If you’re in love, show me.” That’s God. Speaking through the prophets, and through Jesus on that hillside: Show me. Show me that light. Hold it up, way up, where everyone can see. Hold it up, where it can shine a light on hurt and hunger. Hold it up, where it can expose suffering and deceit…Hold it up, so that it can illuminate My love at work in the world — so others can see it, and you can, too.
That’s the key: We practice our faith any time we cast a light on the holy in our everyday lives; any time we pay attention to God and to what God loves. It’s not just about performing monumental acts of courage or self-sacrifice. Cooking becomes a faith practice when we honor the source of our food, give God thanks for the land that produced and the hands that prepared it; or when we choose foods that sustain healthy bodies and healthy land. Raising children becomes a faith practice when we remember — every day — that those children are loved and created by God. Running a meeting becomes a faith practice when we choose to listen together for the Spirit’s leading. To practice faith is to intentionally, persistently, prayerfully bring salt and light to everything we do.
So here’s an invitation. Today we launch our Season of Giving at Saugatuck Church, United Church of Christ: that time of year when we celebrate our gifts and give thanks to God for all that She has done among us. We are all asked to participate in the life and ministries of this community of faith by making a financial pledge for the coming year. It sounds like a straight-forward appeal for support. Like a National Public Radio pledge drive, “These programs are made possible by members like YOU.” And it’s true! But this morning, I’m also wondering: what would it be like to make of our giving a practice? A way of practicing our faith, of shining a light on the Holy in our everyday lives… What would that look like?
Maybe it’s deciding to pledge for the first time — to make of your giving a regular routine, a weekly expression of thanks or praise. Or maybe you resolve to increase what you give from 1 or 2% of your income to 3% or 5%…or even more over time. Maybe it’s deciding how much to pledge by first asking: “What gift would shine a light on everything that God has done in my life?” Or “How can my gift be salt in the world?”
Whatever your pledge, you could choose to say a prayer of gratitude every time you write that check: “O God, I lose count of all the ways you have blessed me. Thank you! Receive now a portion of all you have given to me. Bless these gifts to your use and us to your service…” Maybe, you make giving a family practice: so that each member of the family contributes something, and you bless those gifts together. You might even have a big jar in the house, labeled “Thank you, God!” or “Giving Jar.”
Whatever the goal, start like this: Make a plan. Write it down. Follow that plan.
Because the thing that turns convening a meeting into an act of prayer or check-writing into an act of faith is the purpose with which we pursue them, the degree to which we intentionally connect the things we do — everyday, mundane things — with the Christ we follow. So we practice our faith.
We won’t get it all at once; we’ll have good days and bad days; we will get sidetracked along the way. But it is in the practicing that we build the strength to run every race, the courage to overcome every injustice, the capacity to trust God when we’re in trouble and the love to live as Christ’s community. It is in the practicing that we grow closer to God, step by step, mile by mile, day by day, until the flame of God’s love burns bright within us — bright and warm and joyful within us, between us, and around us, for all the world to see!
May it be so. Amen.