Luke 12:13 21 “Mismanaging a Miracle”

Jesus begins this parable with a statement of blessing– “A certain rich man’s lands brought forth bountiful crops.” The word used for “land” is not the usual term agros. No, the word used is chora  a term which means extensive holdings, as much as a whole district or region. So, this wealthy man experiences a providential increase in his wealth. His lands bring forth a plentiful harvest  in fact, as we shall see, a miraculous harvest. At such good fortune, the man begins to dialogue within himself as he becomes the subject both in grammar and in the story. “What shall I do since I do not have a place where I may gather my crops?” And here we get our first clue that this is not just a good harvest. Surely a rich man accustomed to the unpredictability of farming–this year a good harvest, next year a disaster–surely such a wealthy man would have adequate storage for a good harvest. But he does not have sufficient storage space for this harvest. So, we wonder how big the harvest really is. 

“I will do this: I will tear down my granaries and build larger ones, and I will gather there all my grain and goods.” What a drastic action! Rather than simply building more granaries or adding on to his existing ones, he decides to tear down the old barns and build new, more spacious ones. What a harvest this must have been for a farmer, even an extremely wealthy one, to tear down all his barns and to build new ones! By now, the original audience of Jesus’ parable would see what we perhaps have missed in this story. This harvest is not accidental; it’s providential. It comes from God, and the farmer is doing exactly what one would expect. He is preparing to store his harvest for the years to come. 

Such a bountiful, even miraculous harvest and the preparation for storage evoke a memory from the history of Israel. When Joseph was the steward in Egypt, he stored up a surplus from bountiful harvests in preparation for seven lean years. A surplus one year could give way to a famine the next year. In fact, that was the expectation of the ancient people. So, with a bountiful harvest, one could prepare for a barren future. 

The original audience of this parable would have sensed in the miraculous harvest of this rich farmer God’s providence to provide for God’s people. And this member of the wealthy gentry, like Joseph of old, is now preparing to store his grain in preparation for an uncertain future. Or so the audience thought until the farmer says, “I will say to myself, ‘Self, you have many good things stored up for many a year. Rest, eat, drink, enjoy.’” Or as Clarence Jordan paraphrases it in contemporary language, “Sam, you old codger, you have enough to live it up for the rest of your life! Put your land in the soil bank, man, get a government loan on your grain, and then, boy, head for Florida. Sam, you’re going to recline, dine, wine, and shine!” And here the original audience sees with disappointment the direction of the parable. This man is no contemporary Joseph preparing to protect his people from the hard days ahead by storing up the present bountiful harvest. No, this farmer is a greedy, self centered aristocrat whose chief desire is his own comfort. His plan is to store his harvest and then to charge exorbitant rates for grain, thus enriching himself and impoverishing those with enough money to pay his inflated price. Those who can’t afford these outrageous rates will simply have to starve. But what does he care? He will be rich beyond measure.

The original audience of this parable would have sensed in the miraculous harvest of this rich farmer God’s providence to provide for God’s people.

And so, we have the picture of a man, already wealthy, hoarding the miracle of a fantastic harvest for his own pleasure. He refuses to share it with his community. In short, he mismanages a miracle. 

To appreciate the impact of this rich man’s words on the original audience, we must realize how these ancients understood their world. They perceived the world as a place with limited goods. There is only so much to go around, and if one person has inordinately more than his portion, hoards the providential harvest God has placed at his disposal, and refuses to share with others, then someone, possibly a lot of “someones,” must suffer. 

The man has finished his soliloquy, and now it is God’s turn. God, as always, has the last word. “You fool, on this night they will demand your soul/self from you.” In other words, “what you have valued and trusted will rob you of your humanity as a child of God.” All idols—and especially money, according to Jesus—will disappoint and ultimately destroy. All idols are strangers to love and compassion, even for those who worship at their altars. God continues, “And the things which you have prepared, whose will they be?” God calls the farmer “You fool.” God is not calling our wealthy farmer a nitwit, idiot, moron, and nincompoop. God is not calling into question the man’s I. Q. In the Bible the word “fool” means much more than a limitation of intelligence. As the psalmist says, “The fool says in his heart, ‘There is no God.'” In other words, the fool, regardless of what he may say, believe, or even feel decides to live his life as though there is no God. He makes his plans, finalizes his decisions, and carries out his intentions as though God does not exist. Twelve times in the short statements of the rich man we find the pronouns “I” or “my,” but nowhere do we find the word “God.” It’s as though when it comes to business, God is not welcome–the Almighty is banished–the Provider of the miracle does not exist. And in ignoring God in the decisions of his heart, the man has become a practical atheist. 

The man believes he had “laid” up many things, securing them well, but that night he will lose the only thing that counts: his soul.

God’s words to this man match exactly the soliloquy of the farmer. The man calls himself “Self”–God calls him a “fool.” The man says he will have it made for many years–God says this night you will lose it all (in other words, what he believes will last for many years will not last through the night). The man believes he had “laid” up many things, securing them well–but that night he will lose the only thing that counts: his soul. And his boast that he will have many things is met by the pronouncement that they will be taken away from him. And then whose will they be? They will go to his heirs. Perhaps his heirs will know how to manage the miracle, but then again, probably not because “like father, like son” is the usual pattern. And so, our farmer friend dies in his sleep. No one knows what has really happened. No one knows of the dialogue between God and the man. Everyone will assume he died of a heart attack snoozing peacefully in his comfortable bed. He’ll get a splendid funeral, the best casket, the most spectacular flowers, and maybe even the finest eulogy ever offered in the community, because, after all, the man was accustomed to the best. Years in the future, people will walk by his impressive mausoleum and wonder what great man rests there. But God and the farmer know the truth: the man lived and died a fool. He had lost his soul and had mismanaged a miracle. 

So much is said in this craftily constructed parable. I want to focus on two points of the story as they relate to us. 

For many years we have pretended that we have “unlimited goods”–a never ending cornucopia. But now we know better. My greed constitutes someone else’s need.

One is the concept of “limited goods.” Ancient people understood there is only so much in this world. And thus, one who hoards literally takes food, shelter, and other basic necessities from others. For many years we have pretended that we have “unlimited goods”–a never ending cornucopia. But now we know better. My greed constitutes someone else’s need. We see that on the international level as poor nations struggle just to keep their citizens alive. We see it in our own country where 1 in 5 children go to bed hungry and where the majority of the homeless are women, children, mentally and emotionally challenged persons, and veterans wounded in body and soul but now cast out into the streets by the country they have served. 

I often hear that our country can’t afford to give everyone health insurance, decent homes, the food necessary for health and life, and work opportunities that respect the dignity human beings deserve. My response is the following: “You are absolutely correct. We can’t afford any of this when the combined wealth of the 400 richest Americans is now equal to that of nearly 2/3 of the US population; when three Americans have as much wealth as the bottom half of the US households combined; when CEOs make 278 times the wages of the average worker; when unjust tax breaks are given to the wealthy; when the median White family has 41 times more wealth than the median Black family and 22 times more wealth than the median Latinx family.” (“Wealth” is the total measure of what one owns minus that person’s debts.) But imagine what we could afford to do if these despicable inequities did not exist!” 

And we also see this mindset in the church. I am occasionally asked if I believe in tithing. My response is this: 10% of the miracle many of us have been called to manage is really an embarrassing amount to share for the Kingdom work of Jesus Christ in our community and around the world. In fact, 10% for most of us should be an affront to the God we say we serve. But for the most part, we cannot even manage that. We can manage to buy new houses, new cars, new clothes, new toys for boys and girls and men and women. We can manage to go on expensive vacations, save for rainy days, send our children to college, and invest in stocks, bonds, and CDs. But we can’t or we won’t manage the miracle God has providentially placed before us. We will hear a lot in this country of how God has blessed us. If that is so, then that blessing is not an invitation for us to “eat, drink, and be merry.” That blessing is a miracle of God’s grace to be shared with others. And we shall continue to give a thousand excuses as to why we should not share–why we should tear down our old barns to build better ones while  hundreds of millions worldwide have no food to eat and no place to lay their heads. But we know deep down from God’s dialogue with us in the quiet places of our hearts what is at stake. We can lose our souls as we purposely choose to mismanage the miracle. 

And that brings me to the second aspect of this parable. My salvation and the salvation of my brothers and sisters are intertwined. I meet God in their faces, their lives, their needs. To turn my back on the hungry, the sick, the needy, the different, the marginalized is to turn by back on the God who comes to me in those precious ones. To live my life as though God were indifferent to the plight of my sisters and brothers and as though I could worship in spirit and truth while neglecting their suffering is to live the life of a fool. And it’s not that I must save them. It’s that as I manage the miracle, God will save me through them. I am not called to works of charity. I am called to recognize the solidarity God intends us all to celebrate hand in hand. I am called to recognize that we belong together now and forever, because we are all kept in the heart of God. I cannot pray, worship, plead, rejoice, or commit myself to the Lord without becoming soulmates of those I meet who are also held lovingly in God’s hands. 

We must choose between mismanaging the miracle or becoming a part of the miracle of God’s grace to us, our brothers and sisters, and our world.

When I was younger, I thought a pastor had to choose between being prophetic and being pastoral. I have since come to see that this is a naive distinction. Over and over again as I was called to deal pastorally with the crises facing parishioners, I found that behind many of these dilemmas was the problem of greed–the tragedy of mismanaging the miracle–the mistaken notion, contrary to Jesus’ teaching, that life does consist in the abundance of possessions–the calamity of putting money, success, and work before the priority of God’s Kingdom–before the primacy of faith, hope, and love. As one elderly pastor whom I greatly admire told me, “I have never held the hand of a dying man who told me he wished he had spent more time making money or more time working. But I have held the hand and watched the tears of many a man who wished he had spent more time with his family and being about that which really matters.” And I must confess that nothing breaks my heart more than to be with someone at the end of that person’s days and to look back over a life which has essentially mismanaged a miracle. But it doesn’t have to be that way.  

We must choose between mismanaging the miracle or becoming a part of the miracle of God’s grace to us, our brothers and sisters, and our world. Fools say in their hearts, where they decide how to manage the miracle, “There is no God.” But the children of God say, “All I am and all I have is a miracle of grace. Help me, O God, to choose wisely, lovingly, and joyfully.”

(I hope it is obvious that this is not a stewardship sermon aimed at obtaining more money for the church’s general budget. This sermon is about something much more important. Jesus said, “Seek first the Kingdom of God.” What I am referring to is sacrificing for the Kingdom work of justice, peace, compassion and truth in our church, our community, and this world God so loves. A church that does not reflect this emphasis and mission doesn’t deserve a red cent!)

Communion

Each Sunday in the Anglican tradition the worship leader says something like, “We bring these gifts of bread and wine.” For some people that may sound very strange. After all, God feeds us at communion, so how can we bring bread and wine? Of course, literally those words are true. Each Sunday morning the Diaconate arrive early to prepare communion and place the bread and wine on the table. 

But that Anglican reference is valid in a deeper sense. God has given us the miracle of this world–its fragile beauty, its splendid bounty, its glorious potential. It has been put into our hands. We may mismanage the miracle, or we may put it on the altar asking God to bless, transform, and use that miracle for Kingdom purposes. 

If we eat our bread and drink our wine oblivious to the God in whom we live, move and have our being and indifferent to the holy potential of the Body of Christ, then we foolishly forget who and whose we are and, in the process, we lose our very soul. If, however, we share the bread and wine in the presence of the Risen Christ, then a miraculous community of grace comes into being and material things become channels of blessing. 

Communion is not just a Sunday observance. Communion is a way of life–a way of life instigated by Jesus as he offered all he was and all he had for our sake and a way of life continued by us as we offer all things in the context of grace. 

The Society of Friends (those we know as the Quakers) does not observe the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. In fact, the Quakers do not observe any sacrament. In Quaker theology every person, every event, every creature can become a sacrament – a channel and means of grace. Though I would not want to give up our communion emphasis, perhaps we could learn from the Quakers. 

Commission

Just like the Sabbath is a symbol of the whole of time in the hands of God, and just as the sanctuary is a symbol of the whole of space in the hands of God, so the Bread and the Wine are symbols of how sacramental the whole universe can be by God’s grace and our willingness to manage the miracle. Common substance can be transformed into Kingdom essence. 

So, depart in the fellowship of the Spirit and in faith see each day, every person, and the whole of creation tinged with the holy potential of God’s new creation just waiting to appear from God’s hands—and from our faithfulness. Amen.

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