You can't take it with you

Sermon for Pentecost IX, 2025, delivered at St. Alban The Martyr Episcopal Church, Morehead, KY
Text: Luke 12:32-40

In 2008, I finished a slightly masochistic pursuit of a Masters degree in Biochemistry while working full time, raising two children, and volunteering for the Red Cross. Then, 9 years ago, as we were clearing out our house in preparation for moving across town, I came across boxes that had my notes and exams and thesis rough drafts. I knew that I had the degree, that I didn’t need my notes any longer, but I fought the decision to throw them out. They represented three years of hard work and sacrifice, three years of wondering if I had what it took to graduate, three years of putting a lot of things on hold. They had value from my emotional and mental investment in achieving a goal and proving to the world that I was smart enough. I wasn’t going to sell them, but Jesus’ words to the rich man in this morning’s Gospel have run through my mind when I think back to that time. What, exactly, was I going to get from holding on to my possessions, in particular my notes? 

Jesus doesn’t say we shouldn’t have riches, but his idea of riches is different than ours which are things we own. He says that God wants to give us the kingdom, but as we learn what that kingdom is and what it will be like to live in it, we slowly realize that our things, our stuff won’t fit in it. The kingdom is not a physical place we arrive at with walls and doors to pass through. The kingdom is instead a way of life, Jesus’ life, and our entry into the kingdom is to live as he lived, do what he did, say what he said. In the kingdom, our identity comes from our faith and being God’s beloved, rather than what we own. My notes and thesis drafts were things of the past, things that I wanted to hold onto for proof, but they were holding me back from living in the moment, in the present. And none of what I was doing in the present then or now involved things. I was doing, putting my knowledge and abilities to work to serve the needs of others. To live in the kingdom, I had to believe that I was contributing to the world before I could let go of the proof of being capable of contributing to the world. I had to see myself as already active, not a possibility sometime in the future.

But, I still have things. I have a nice laptop that I write my sermons on, a nice Ikea bookcase that I converted to a wardrobe for my liturgical clothing, and an Instant Pot that has made making dinners easier after long days at work. These are things that in one way or another contribute to my spiritual life, things that feed my body and my soul as part of becoming who God is calling me to be. The problem starts when I look at my liturgical clothing, or my cookware, or the telescope that I have as things that show that I have it made, or that make me look good, or make me feel good about myself. That is when we are confronted by the world’s idea of riches, and we are conflicted. How can I compete against expensive clothes and cars and houses, when what I truly have is intangible, invisible to the eyes of others? It’s hard to do, because the people who look only for what is visible can’t see the spirit within me, the Holy Spirit that guides my words and actions, the Spirit that leads me to the kingdom.

I had a difficult time two years ago as I emptied out my mother’s house after her death, selling what I and my siblings didn’t want or didn’t have room for. It was emotionally very hard to let go of those familiar things that I grew up with and took for granted that they would always be present. But, even in the emotionally wrenching decision to part with things of sentimental value, there is liberation because they may no longer serve as physical reminders of what we hold most dear. They become symbols, sacred in some way, becoming a part of our spiritual lives. As we look and handle them we build emotional and spiritual connections that become possessions themselves. Those emotional and spiritual possessions are the treasures that we put into the purse that doesn’t wear out, the treasures that we store up in heaven. To let go of the physical is what the disciples did when they had to let go of Jesus as he died on the cross. Their treasure was their faith in his words and his teachings, and our treasure is a growing spiritual maturity that comes from letting go of the things we hold most dear.

This spirituality is what prepares us for entering the kingdom of God. We have to be ready, like waiting for the master to come to the door, looking for us. We must have our lamps trimmed and plenty of oil with us, but if we have the finest oil available, triple distilled and tested and certified for the highest purity, we will miss the knock at the door. If we have a highly decorated lamp, hand-carved, precision built, with all sorts of attachments for any weather or lighting condition, we will miss the knock. If we have 12 different lamps, some inherited from a great-grandparent and we can’t decide which one to use, we will miss the knock. But if we have just two lamps, and give one away to someone who needs a lamp, we are moving toward being able to part with our things. And by giving something of ours away, we will move closer to that place where what is in our hearts matters more than what is in our hands. If we share our high quality oil with those who have none without expecting anything in return, we are placing value on the right things, bringing and sharing some of what we need to enter the kingdom. The master, the Son of God, comes at an unexpected hour, and if we are not spiritually ready for him because we care more about our things than the master, then we will miss the invitation to enter the kingdom. We do need some things to live in this world, things to help us be healthy, things to house us, things to feed us, but all we need for the kingdom is what we have in our hearts.