being curved in (a sermon on Luke 12:13-21)

One of my favorite comic strips is called Foxtrot, and each summer that we harvest vegetables from our garden I think of this particular series from a number of years ago. The mom, Andi, comes into the kitchen, excitedly waving a single zucchini. “Roger, look! The first zucchini from my garden!” Looking up from his newspaper, Roger responds, “I didn’t know you planted zucchini.” “I wasn’t going to,” she replies, “but someone told me they were easy to grow, and since I’m new at this, I figured easy is good. And just think - we’ll have 23 more of these soon.”

Roger looks puzzled - “How can you be so sure of the number?” “That’s how many I planted, silly.” Eyebrows raised, Roger says, “Um, I’m pretty sure you get more than one zucchini per plant.” At the same time Andi asks, “How many more?”, one of the kids yells from the background, “Hey, mom - what’s with these 4 million green things?”

If you’ve ever planted a garden, you probably know what it’s like to experience an abundant harvest - both the joys and challenges of it. The subsequent comics that week show Andi desperately trying new recipes, giving away carloads, and basically asking herself, “What should I do, for I have no place to store my crops?”

Photo by Jukka Heinovirta on Unsplash

Our response to having more than we need can be seen through two opposing lenses - the lens of scarcity, and the lens of abundance.

The lens of scarcity tells us that resources are limited, and we are constantly in a state of competition with one another. We might have a lot now, but scarcity tells us to cling tightly to our things because we never know what could happen. Scarcity conflates our worth and value with the worth and value of the things we possess.

The lens of abundance, on the other hand, tells us not that we are in competition with one another, but that we are connected to one another. Abundance tells us to share, because it wasn’t ours in the first place and we never know what could happen. Abundance encourages us to celebrate and express gratitude, because there’s more than enough to go around.

Now, the rich man in Jesus’ parable seems to think he understands abundance. “What should I do,” he thinks to himself, “for I have no place to store my crops?...I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’

Let’s be clear - the rich man is not called a fool because he is rich. And he’s not called a fool because he had a successful harvest. No, the rich man is called a fool because he’s forgotten or perhaps just ignored a few crucial points. 

First, it is foolish to think that the future is secure because of anything we can do. No amount of wealth, or privilege, or popularity can shield us from death. Not our possessions, not our degrees, not our fences or our guns or our ideological purity. Each of us is fragile and mortal. Not one of us knows how many years our life will extend. Knowing that the future is uncertain, and knowing that each day is a gift, what will our priorities be?

So it’s foolish to think we have control over the future, and second, it’s foolish to forget that we were created to be in relationship with one another. We were not meant to move through life on our own. We need each other in order to thrive. The rich man saw his abundant harvest and made it seem like the abundance was a result of his work alone. In reality, there were workers who planted, tended, and harvested, and rain and sun that nourished apart from his singular effort or power. 

As he sits and dreams about his cushy, protected future, the rich man is called a fool because he doesn’t even notice that he has been so consumed by his possessions, so turned inward, that he’s totally cut off from the community. 

Saint Augustine, and later Martin Luther, described sin in this way, as being incurvatus in se - turned in on ourselves. In this posture, we only see ourselves and our own needs. We act selfishly, propelled by fear, or self-preservation, or greed. We care only for ourselves, with no regard for the larger picture, the status of life in the world around us. Oriented inward, we cannot even see the way that God is leading us, let alone follow it. Oriented inward, we cannot see the needs or the gifts of our neighbors. 

I really appreciate this description of sin because I think it so aptly illustrates two things. First, the danger and difficulty of being perpetually oriented inward, and second, the challenge and discomfort of reorientation. It is not easy to move through life oblivious to anything that doesn’t seem to directly concern us. If we were to do this literally - try to walk around with our neck craned down and our gaze inward - we’d struggle to make it down the front steps let alone go anywhere or do anything. And yet, so often, we act as if we weren’t created for relationship and community; we act as if we are not interconnected; we act as if the suffering of others does not also wound us.

This is why we begin our worship each week with confession. “God of mercy, we confess that we have sinned against you, against one another, and against the earth entrusted to our care.” Curved in is our default orientation, and we need God’s mercy and justice to unbend us and make us whole. It is by no means an easy or comfortable process. It is painful to have our ignorance pointed out and corrected. It’s challenging to feel unseated from places of power and privilege that we’ve convinced ourselves we deserve. And yet, being curved in and isolated and overcome by fear and greed is not who we were created to be. This is not what the dominion of God looks like - not at all.

Instead, the dominion of God is characterized by love, mutuality, abundance, interconnectedness, community, and joy. In the dominion of God, we will experience fully what it is to give and receive, to care and be cared for. 

I wonder what it would have been like if the rich man’s response to his bountiful harvest came from a place of abundance rather than scarcity. What if, instead of tearing down his barns to build larger ones, he instead built tables and invited friend and stranger alike to come and feast. Can you imagine what a joyful occasion that would have been? Workers and landowners, neighbors and family members - everyone gathered to feast, rejoice, and give thanks for God’s abundant provision and the gift of community. 

Community, gratitude, generosity - these are sources of joy and fulfillment for us as the people of God! They are characteristics of the abundant life we receive from God in the waters of baptism. Community, gratitude, and generosity are who we are. 

Soon we will gather alongside one another at the altar rail to share in the gifts and promises of God. Bread and wine, the body and blood of Christ, given and shed for you. The table is long, with room for God’s beloveds of all times and places, near and far, living and dead. In this meal, we receive the very presence of Christ, who forgives us and strengthens us for life together in the world God made. In this meal, we are united and made whole as the Body of Christ. Come to the table - this is our treasure. Come to the table - Jesus invites us, and there is more than enough.