For Sunday, July 31, 2016 – Luke 12:13-21
Hardly anything arouses as much angst for us as sensing that we are not getting our fair share. Luke says a voice from the crowd, maybe it is the classic voice of Everyman, calls out to Jesus: “Teacher, tell my brother to divide the family inheritance with me.” That seems fair enough, an equal portion for each member of the family. But Jesus refuses to get involved, saying, “Who placed me in the position of being judge and arbitrator over you?” And then he cuts right to what is undoubtedly at the heart of the matter: “Take care! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed.”
ALL kinds of greed, even the greed that looks like fairness. We must take care lest greed lurks at the heart of our wanting more and more and more of all kinds of things—more possessions, yes, but also more assurance that we are right, more favor from others and God, even more justice. When we try to do right and make sure others do the same, when we insist that things turn out pleasantly and equally for all, might our efforts be subterfuge for our own greed? When we seek fairness, might we be hoping for easier lives for ourselves? Do we want equality with our sisters and brothers, or do we want to love them so lavishly that we would relinquish equality for their greater abundance?
Jesus tells them a parable about a rich man who already has everything he needs and whose land keeps producing abundantly. Instead of being concerned about how to share it all, he becomes concerned about where to store all these crops. All he can imagine doing is tearing down the old barns and building larger ones to preserve his bounty. All he can imagine is telling his soul to relax, take it easy in the years ahead and live off his growing piles of resources. God calls him a fool because that very day would be his last day. That very day was the last day to imagine something new. Only the abundance we relinquish is ultimately ours. Only when we open the doors of our silos and barns can the winds of a new Spirit blow through.
