6/29/03
Are We There Yet? - 2 Corinthians 8:7-15, Mark 5:21-43
(view lectionary notes for this text)
When I was in elementary school, I wanted to do just about everything that my older brother did. I wanted to dress like him, have the same things he had, do the same things he did. One thing my big brother did really well was write stories. Every year the Rome Teachers Association had a short story writing contest, and three years out of four, Jim won. Not to be outdone, I wanted to try my hand at story-writing as well. However, my writing always showed a serious flaw: I could never wait to get to the end, to finish the story. I could write a great beginning, full of detail. I would set everything up carefully, describe my characters and develop them, but then, in a flash, I would impatiently throw aside all the important plot develop that makes a story move and spit out an ending and wrap things up. I couldn't wait to finish, but I couldn't seem to manage to put all the work and time and effort into the story that would make getting to the ending so much sweeter.
It is here, somewhere after the beginning of our stories, but well before the end, that Paul confronts us in his letter to the church at Corinth today. Taken out of context, Paul's message sounds pretty, but confusing. The Corinthians excel in everything, he writes, praising them, and so also, Paul continues, he wants them to excel in their generous undertaking. What is he talking about?
Paul's letter to the Corinthians is not just a theoretical tract on how good Christians should live: he's talking to a very specific group of people about some very concrete issues. Specifically, Paul is urging the Corinthians to continue with their collection for those Christians struck by famine in Jerusalem. Yes, they've given a lot already. But Paul says it's not yet enough, they're not yet finished. He writes, "It is appropriate for you who began last year not only to do something but even to desire to do something - now finish doing it, so that your eagerness may be matched by completing it according to your means." His argument is clever and persuasive - they've not yet given enough from the surplus they have to balance out the amount of need those hungry in Jerusalem don't have. Paul just wants things to be fair, he insists - the generosity of those who have needs to balance the needs of those who don't have, "a question of a fair balance," he writes, "between your present abundance and their need, so that their abundance may be for your need, in order that there may be a fair balance."
Jesus was a living example of one's abundant surplus meeting another's need. In our gospel lesson from Mark, Jesus hears from a prominent synagogue leader named Jairus, who reports to Jesus that his daughter has fallen seriously ill, and he asks Jesus to come with him to lay hands on her. Jesus, who had just crossed the sea after healing some in Gerasenes, doesn't hesitate in response, but follows Jairus. On the way, a crowd forms around Jesus, as people press in on him, wanting to get a look at him. A woman, hemorrhaging for years, touches Jesus' cloak, hoping for healing. She is made instantly whole, instantly well. But Jesus doesn't just go on his way to see the young child: he stops, makes time to talk to the woman, speaks to her personally, commends her faith, and sends her off in peace. And then he continues on - criticized by some because he had taken time to speak to the woman, told by some that he might as well give up - the girl is already dead. But Jesus continues on - he knows he has more to give before the needs are met, and he knows that his work is not yet finished. He goes into the house, and restores the girl, telling her simply, 'little girl, get up!' Jesus continued on, healing until those set before him were restored, journeying across the sea and back, meeting the needs of all those who sought him out. Paul writes of Christ, "though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich." Jesus empties himself, giving of his abundance, reaching out of his own closeness with God, to meet the needs, to give life, to finish the ministry God set him out to do.
We, like Jesus, are called to live in such a way, out of our abundance, completing that which we have been called to do, carrying on with God's work in the world. It is not always easy. Rev. Richard Fairchild shares these words on Paul's message to the Corinthians, on our task for ministry: "I suppose some will say, 'we must be the givers, because we have so much. We have a responsibility to share because we have homes and cars and food and others do not,' and there is truth in this . . . there is great truth in it - but there is not much grace in it. It makes our giving a matter of duty, of obligation, of command, and quite frankly this kind of giving is a pain in the neck. Admittedly giving by command meets needs, just as taxes meet needs but all too often it doesn't do anything for the giver, except leave them staring at their wallets and their receipts and wondering who will knock next. There is very little grace in this kind of giving, and it is the grace of giving that I want to communicate today, grace - not only to the recipients of our giving, which is always there, but grace for the giver as well, the grace in the giving."
How can we put grace in our giving? How can we come to see the task of ministry set before us not as a responsibility or obligation that we complete from a sense of duty, but like Christ saw his ministry: as an outpouring of love, as an integral part of life, making our humanity complete, creating the balance of life God intended for us?
One doctor shares his experience of such grace filled giving: He writes, "For fifteen years, I've worked as a physician with the inner-city poor as part of a small Christian community. Our work is grounded in the understanding that God calls us to care for and move into solidarity with those who have been - for whatever reason - excluded from society. Several times a month, I travel to talk about our work--mostly to medical students or groups. Their questions have become predictable and troubling. Increasingly I feel like a visitor from another time.
"Dr. Hilfiker, what do your wife and children think about your living in the city and working with very poor people?" The underlying assumption seems to be that I must have dragged my family kicking and screaming into the urban jungle. (If anyone did the dragging, it was my wife Marja, and our children's lives have been greatly enriched.)
"Dr. Hilfiker, you're obviously an extraordinary person. [They really say that!] You've been able to give up a doctor's salary to work with the poor. But you certainly can't expect most young doctors to be able to do what you've done."
This perception of my extraordinary sacrifice persists even though I've mentioned in my talk that Marja's and my combined income (around $45,000) puts us well above the median income in this country, and I've made clear that we reap the benefits of community and meaningful vocations in ways most people only dream of. Try as I might, I cannot seem to undermine the perception of our sainthood.
"Dr. Hilfiker, I really want to do work like yours. That's why I came to medical school. But now I'm not sure I could give up all the other stuff. I've really become attached to our lifestyle. And I see the older students starting to believe they deserve those enormous salaries. I'm not sure I can hold out! Besides, with the debts I'm racking up, I don't know how to do anything like what you've done. I feel like I'm getting lost."
Forty years ago, doctors assumed they had a responsibility to serve poor people. For the most part, they accepted that responsibility gratefully. Many thousands of doctors did work similar to mine, and no one thought to remark much upon it. But today, doctors (or, for that matter, any affluent people) who voluntarily move into solidarity with the poor are considered "saints," while those who sacrifice perhaps more for careers in politics, the arts, or business are considered "normal."
This doctor is one who is giving in the way that Paul has called us to give, who continues on with work, not seeking reward, not seeking compliments, not feeling that he is obligated somehow, but feeling that indeed, his path of life is simply 'normal' - the way we are meant to live with one another.
Sometimes, we feel we've done enough. Or we get all fired up about something but don't want to follow through. Or we get bogged down with feelings of obligation and duties - what we should be doing. We are called, however, to imitate Christ - to stop for those we meet along the way with words of hope, to continue on to the finish for those commitments we've made with as much energy and joy as when we started - to give and give and give, until we are richly blessed by emptying ourselves into the lives of others. Our church is changing, our paths are changing - but we are not finished yet, we aren't there yet. So now, as you excel in everything - in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in utmost eagerness, and in our love for you - so excel also in this generous undertaking, this ministry set before you, that all may be so richly blessed.
Let us pray: Gracious God, we are so richly blessed. You've set before us a life of hard work and generous grace-filled giving. Help us go about our ministry with open hearts, loving souls. Be with us as we continue onward, guiding our work, as we seek to live as Christ did. Amen.
Benediction: God be in your head, and in your understanding; God be in your eyes, and in your looking; God be in your mouth, and in your speaking; God be in your heart, and in your knowing; God be at your end, at your departing.