Commencement speeches are rarely memorable.
They tend to be (can I say this?) preachy and
are often filled with platitudes and even cringey
moments. Therefore, exceptions are notable. Ten
years ago, the columnist David Brooks spoke to
the graduating class of the University of the South
in Sewanee, Tennessee. The speech is well worth
your time, easily accessible on YouTube. Brooks
eloquently reflects on the meaning of life with a mix
of humor and solid research from the social sciences.
At one point, reflecting on what brings fulfillment in
life, Brooks gives sage advice to these graduates,
advice that will come as no surprise to those of you
who have chosen to gather for worship on a Sunday
morning. He says, “Join a group that meets (at least)
once a month. That produces the same happiness
gain as doubling your income. Use what money you
have to buy experiences, not things.”i
I always find it gratifying when research confirms
what we already know in our hearts and what
scripture teaches us. Life is not about an
abundance of things. Wise guidance. Practical
advice. Biblical truth.
And yet. You and I live in the real world, where
much is measured by financial gain and the
acquisition of things. Remaining for just a moment
on the subject of higher education, I’ve been
disappointed in recent debates on university
admission policies by the uncontested assumption
that elite schools are those that result in the highest
earnings among their graduates, not the virtues
learned, the character shaped, the community
formed by the experience. These seem to me an
accurate reflection of how we actually measure
success, regardless of what we may tell ourselves…
or our graduates. The point was driven home for
me this week when a friend sent me a piece with
the ominous title, “Rot of Nation’s Core Values
Quantified by Single Poll.” The results of that poll,
which has been conducted for decades now, signify
tectonic shifts in what Americans say matters
most. Values like community involvement, religious
participation, and patriotism have seen dramatic
drops in the last five years, while the importance of
only one priority has grown. Money.
Back to the text. A stranger asks Jesus for some
help with an argument he’s having over inheritance.
More to the point, the man wants Jesus, who has
the authority of a teacher, to command his brother
to divide the family inheritance with him. Predictably
if you’ve met Jesus, the teacher challenges the
premise of the request. He undercuts our inclination
to equate possessions with purpose. And then he
tells a story for all those in the crowd to hear.
It’s a challenging story, especially for us, with our
cultural emphasis on acquisition and consumption,
the unchallenged mythology that claims that life
consists precisely in the abundance of possessions
or, if not their abundance, at least having the right
possessions. We function in this way even while
acknowledging the futility of our approach. We
are enticed. We are beguiled by the cleverness of
advertisers. We are easily convinced that possessions
will fill the gaps we feel in purpose and fulfillment.
And of course, it never works. It is never enough.
There are only two characters in the parable. There
s a man who has great resources, and there is God.
We would call this man successful. He is a strategic,
prudent businessman. He does not become wealthy
by immoral or illegal means. His land produces
abundantly, and he aims to secure his future. Not a
bad person. Certainly not the caricature of corporate
largess. And yet, in the parable, God addresses the
man as a fool. Why?
Remember the first words of Jesus to the man in the
crowd: “Be on your guard against all forms of greed.”
The story of the barn-builder is a warning. A warning
about the possessive power of possessions.
The man’s anxiety over his material wealth rules his
life. It consumes him. His singular driving concern is
to build barns large enough to achieve security.
And so, the question must be asked: at what point
are those barns large enough? Perhaps when they
tower over all the buildings surrounding them? Or
when the man is fully insulated from the needs of
those standing outside? When he can no longer
see his neighbors? When all of his competitors are
finally defeated and bowed down in recognition of
his triumph? And by the way, how much can one
person really use or enjoy? Doesn’t grain rot if it
goes unused?
Once, a reporter asked John D. Rockefeller, “How
much money is enough?” Rockefeller smiled and
chuckled a little, and answered, “Just a little more.”
The parable is a warning against greed. But it’s more
than that. It’s a meditation on what does matter.
Let’s look again. The story is dominated by soliloquy.
The man speaks exclusively to himself. His monologue
consists of sixty words. You don’t need to count them.
I already did. And twelve of them, one-fifth, are I and
my. “These are my crops, my barns, my grain, my
goods, my, my, my.” The man has lost all capacity to
see the existence of other people. After all, the man’s
land does not produce so abundantly without help,
hired or otherwise. The man will not tear down and
build new barns without the assistance of others. And
yet, his focus is entirely on himself. Lying behind his
outward greed, the man is guilty of self-absorption
driven by fear. Living in his own world for himself,
with himself, by himself. As poor in relationship as he
is wealthy in things. And when his life is over, those
things prove worthless on their own.
The barn-builder belongs to no one. He attends no
group that meets at least once a month. Greed is his
only companion. Not only has he become alienated
from human community, he also has abandoned his
relationship with God. The fearful man speaks not to
God but only to himself. In the King James Version he
says, ‘Soul, take thine ease.’” Ironic because ease is
precisely what the man will never have.
What ease is there to take when you have no
community, no one with whom to eat, drink, and be
merry? The cold comfort of material goods surrounds
the man. This is what earns him the title fool. Rather
than dinner with friends, he is stuck on the treadmill
of acquisition. Rather than use his resources for
experiences with others, the barn-builder builds
barns. It is as if he has forgotten there is any other
way. His is a tragic story meant to warn all who follow
Jesus that our attitude toward possessions is far more
important than the amount we possess.
The final question God asks in the parable must have
lingered in the mind of the inheritance-seeker at odds
with his brother. God asks, “All these things—whose
will they be?” Those questions multiply in my mind
because I hear them often in my office. Whose will all
of this be? What it is all for? How much is enough?
Whose will they be in the man’s case? The answer is
obvious, the question rhetorical. There is no one. His
anxious, fearful acquisitiveness has driven everyone
else away from him. The beautiful barns will fall into
disrepair. The grain will rot. And the memory of the
man will fade away.
But this is not the only way to live. Jesus gives us
another choice. Immediately after telling this grim
story, he offers a summary: “So it is with those who
store up treasure for themselves but are not rich
toward God.” What does it mean? How can we be
rich toward God? I think we know the answer. It
has to do with investing our lives in what matters
most instead of what will fade and fail and rot and
disappear. It involves using what we have to bless
and serve somebody else. It involves looking beyond
immediate gratification and instant pleasure to what
endures. It involves building a longer table instead of
bigger barns.
And so, my friends, at the risk of getting personal (or
preachy) I want to suggest that most of the people
hearing my voice have enough. That most of us are
among those who live in relative comfort—enough to
eat, stable housing, security for the future.
And none of us will carry that kind of abundance
from this life to the next. Regardless of how large
the pile is, it will fade and rot and disappear. That is
simply a statement of fact, but it is one that provokes
a question. Knowing that what we have will not last,
what should we do with what we have while it is
ours? The good news is Jesus could not have been
clearer on this one. Just a little later in Luke’s Gospel,
he runs into another man—another man who has a
question about inheritance. What must I do to inherit
eternal life? Jesus gives simple instruction. All you
have to do is sell everything you own and give the
money to the poor, and follow after me, for you will
have treasure in heaven. Maybe you remember how
that exchange ends. The man becomes very sad,
overcome with sadness. Why? Because, in Luke’s
words, he had many possessions. He was possessed.
We are fools. Building bigger barns. Warehouses.
Distribution centers. Self-storage. Walls of division.
Towers of isolation. Barriers that keep us from seeing
each other. I hear the voice of Jesus. Enough. Enough.
What should we, who have more than enough, do
with what we have while it is ours? We should break
barriers and build communities. There are many ways
to do this. Here at Second, we are committed to a
compassion that facilitates mutual transformation,
not just transaction. And so, I hope you will be here
on Tuesday, August the 29th to learn more about our
neighbors and to hear about a program designed to
build a better Washington Township, a community
free of poverty and filled with opportunity. We have a
God-given responsibility to share abundance in ways
that matter.
Just a few days before he was crucified, Jesus
made his way to the temple in Jerusalem. There,
surrounded by his disciples, he watched as a poor
widow placed two copper coins into the collection
plate. Two pennies. It was almost nothing. It was
nearly everything she had. And Jesus says to his
disciples that her gift means more than the millions
of those with abundance. Why? She knew the
purpose of possessions. She knew the meaning of
enough. Take care. Be on your guard against all kinds
of greed. Amen.