Living with teenagers means we have lots of interesting conversations in our house. Our 18 year old son is following the news these days, figuring out how economics, politics, power, history and culture all intersect in the web of life on our planet. He is particularly passionate about the vast differences between haves and have nots, not only in Ashburn, but around the world. We had a provocative conversation just the other day. “You say you care about poverty, and homelessness, and clean water for everyone,” he said to me, “but you don’t really care.” I took issue with this – of course we care. But he had a point. Are we trying as hard as we can to walk the talk? We give – some, we keep informed, we try to keep our footprint small, but really? Every argument I tried to make that we are doing all we can felt – well, lame.
Which begs the question – are we ‘all in’? Are we really walking the talk we say we believe in so strongly? Do we do enough to make ourselves feel good but stop short of doing all we can to show God’s love to everyone who doesn’t have enough? We live in the most affluent county in the country, yet the last census of the homeless found 300 people living in the woods along Claiborne Parkway – virtually in St. David’s back yard. Are we doing all we can? Are we all in?
Today in our scripture lessons we hear stories of people who were, in one way or another, all in. Elijah was all in. We find him in our first lesson today, in a showdown with the priests who worship Baal. Elijah has challenged them to a contest involving slaughtering bulls and offering sacrifice, not courses we had at seminary. Each side is attempting to prove the power of their God, and Elijah is supremely confident. The priests invoke their god, dancing and imploring and begging their god to set fire to their offering. Elijah taunts them along the way: has your god gone on vacation? Maybe your god is sleeping? And when they finally give up, Elijah makes his preparations as though, Frederick Buechner writes, he is a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
Elijah’s people dig a deep trench. They put the sacrifice in and then douse it with not one, not two but three rounds of water – you could swim in this trench. And then Elijah calls on the Lord to act - and stands back to see what happens.
Elijah was all in. Elijah put everything on the line publicly: his reputation, his people, his sacrifice – everything – convinced that God would act. And God acted. “Lightning flashed. The water in the trench fizzed like spit on a hot stove. Nothing was left of the offering but a pile of ashes and a smell like the Fourth of July. The onlookers were beside themselves with enthusiasm and at a signal from Elijah demolished the losing team down to the last prophet.” Buechner, Beyond Words. Elijah was all in.
Don’t we all wish that God would give us a sign of his presence – would act on command?
In our gospel, we find an example of faith in a most unlikely person – a Roman centurion. Centurions were mid-level managers – they supervised between 80 and 100 men, Rome was an occupying force but this centurion seems exceptional – the Jews held him in esteem because he helped build their synagogue. Imagine that. The centurion has a problem and he knows it. Someone important to him is ill – a slave or a boy. The centurion is a person who lives in a hierarchy and understands power. And this outsider, this Roman, somehow knows that Jesus has an authority beyond any in his military structure. Jesus, he asks through intermediaries, can you help? And then, when Jesus is approaching, the centurion models humility. He is not worthy to have Jesus come to his home. He knows that all Jesus needs to do is say the word, and the ill one will be well. This prayer of humble access is familiar to Episcopalians and Roman Catholics alike: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.” And Jesus is amazed at the faith of this Roman centurion, and the miracle is done.
The centurion was all in. He was not a Jew. No one would have looked to him as an example of faith in God. We don’t hear that he later converted to the faith, or followed Jesus. He recognized power and authority and trusted it publicly; he put what was most important on the line.
What we’re talking about here is commitment – not the sign on the dotted line kind of commitment, but a commitment of the heart. When we are committed to Christ we are bound together, we give our hearts to something bigger than we are, this commitment requires something from us – action, boldness, making a difference.
In case you are thinking that times are different now, that we can’t do anything like Elijah, or Paul, or the centurion, think about the example of the Salwen family. Kevin and Hannah Salwen wrote of their journey of commitment in their book, The Power of Half. This family of four lived in suburban Atlanta and was ascending the affluence ladder – bigger, nicer, more. But their teenager, Hannah, began to ask the hard questions about haves and have nots. And they decided as a family to sell their large home, downsize and give half of the proceeds - $800,000 – to a charity. The book chronicles their decision making as a family which included visits to Africa and ultimately a gift to a charity that promotes long-term growth and sustainability. The book also chronicles this family’s transformation from benign self-absorption and isolation to engagement in the world and with each other in deep and meaningful ways.
From Kevin Salwen’s blog on the Huffington Post: “Since that moment, the more we've examined this abundant life the more we realize that everyone has more than enough of something. Spend 6 hours a week on Facebook? Cut it in half and now you have a new 3-hour resource to sing in a nursing home or clean a neighborhood park. Eat out four times a week? Cut that in half and share what you save with the local soup kitchen. (While you're at it, stop by and serve a meal.)” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kevin-salwen/the-slightly-absurd-thing_b_817480.html
What does ‘all in’ look like for you? All in is more than sitting in the pews, more than occasionally putting something in the plate. How will you be ‘all in’ this week? Maybe talking to someone outside your family and saying the word God, or Jesus, or inviting them to come to church will be all in for you. Maybe cutting back from five days of work to four – and using the fifth to volunteer somewhere will be your ‘all in’. Take the step, do the thing you think you cannot possibly do, live it out. Come here for some reason other than worship, once a week. Arrange flowers, sing, sew, pray. Serve bagels, teach kids. Help weed the grounds or tighten the pew card holders or take pictures or work on the website.
Are we all in? I pray that we are ‘all in’ this commitment to Christ, to meaning beyond ourselves, to love others, to live so deeply, so generously, so passionately that those who see us will say, “Their Lord is indeed God.”
Which begs the question – are we ‘all in’? Are we really walking the talk we say we believe in so strongly? Do we do enough to make ourselves feel good but stop short of doing all we can to show God’s love to everyone who doesn’t have enough? We live in the most affluent county in the country, yet the last census of the homeless found 300 people living in the woods along Claiborne Parkway – virtually in St. David’s back yard. Are we doing all we can? Are we all in?
Today in our scripture lessons we hear stories of people who were, in one way or another, all in. Elijah was all in. We find him in our first lesson today, in a showdown with the priests who worship Baal. Elijah has challenged them to a contest involving slaughtering bulls and offering sacrifice, not courses we had at seminary. Each side is attempting to prove the power of their God, and Elijah is supremely confident. The priests invoke their god, dancing and imploring and begging their god to set fire to their offering. Elijah taunts them along the way: has your god gone on vacation? Maybe your god is sleeping? And when they finally give up, Elijah makes his preparations as though, Frederick Buechner writes, he is a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.
Elijah’s people dig a deep trench. They put the sacrifice in and then douse it with not one, not two but three rounds of water – you could swim in this trench. And then Elijah calls on the Lord to act - and stands back to see what happens.
Elijah was all in. Elijah put everything on the line publicly: his reputation, his people, his sacrifice – everything – convinced that God would act. And God acted. “Lightning flashed. The water in the trench fizzed like spit on a hot stove. Nothing was left of the offering but a pile of ashes and a smell like the Fourth of July. The onlookers were beside themselves with enthusiasm and at a signal from Elijah demolished the losing team down to the last prophet.” Buechner, Beyond Words. Elijah was all in.
Don’t we all wish that God would give us a sign of his presence – would act on command?
In our gospel, we find an example of faith in a most unlikely person – a Roman centurion. Centurions were mid-level managers – they supervised between 80 and 100 men, Rome was an occupying force but this centurion seems exceptional – the Jews held him in esteem because he helped build their synagogue. Imagine that. The centurion has a problem and he knows it. Someone important to him is ill – a slave or a boy. The centurion is a person who lives in a hierarchy and understands power. And this outsider, this Roman, somehow knows that Jesus has an authority beyond any in his military structure. Jesus, he asks through intermediaries, can you help? And then, when Jesus is approaching, the centurion models humility. He is not worthy to have Jesus come to his home. He knows that all Jesus needs to do is say the word, and the ill one will be well. This prayer of humble access is familiar to Episcopalians and Roman Catholics alike: “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.” And Jesus is amazed at the faith of this Roman centurion, and the miracle is done.
The centurion was all in. He was not a Jew. No one would have looked to him as an example of faith in God. We don’t hear that he later converted to the faith, or followed Jesus. He recognized power and authority and trusted it publicly; he put what was most important on the line.
What we’re talking about here is commitment – not the sign on the dotted line kind of commitment, but a commitment of the heart. When we are committed to Christ we are bound together, we give our hearts to something bigger than we are, this commitment requires something from us – action, boldness, making a difference.
In case you are thinking that times are different now, that we can’t do anything like Elijah, or Paul, or the centurion, think about the example of the Salwen family. Kevin and Hannah Salwen wrote of their journey of commitment in their book, The Power of Half. This family of four lived in suburban Atlanta and was ascending the affluence ladder – bigger, nicer, more. But their teenager, Hannah, began to ask the hard questions about haves and have nots. And they decided as a family to sell their large home, downsize and give half of the proceeds - $800,000 – to a charity. The book chronicles their decision making as a family which included visits to Africa and ultimately a gift to a charity that promotes long-term growth and sustainability. The book also chronicles this family’s transformation from benign self-absorption and isolation to engagement in the world and with each other in deep and meaningful ways.
From Kevin Salwen’s blog on the Huffington Post: “Since that moment, the more we've examined this abundant life the more we realize that everyone has more than enough of something. Spend 6 hours a week on Facebook? Cut it in half and now you have a new 3-hour resource to sing in a nursing home or clean a neighborhood park. Eat out four times a week? Cut that in half and share what you save with the local soup kitchen. (While you're at it, stop by and serve a meal.)” http://www.huffingtonpost.com/kevin-salwen/the-slightly-absurd-thing_b_817480.html
What does ‘all in’ look like for you? All in is more than sitting in the pews, more than occasionally putting something in the plate. How will you be ‘all in’ this week? Maybe talking to someone outside your family and saying the word God, or Jesus, or inviting them to come to church will be all in for you. Maybe cutting back from five days of work to four – and using the fifth to volunteer somewhere will be your ‘all in’. Take the step, do the thing you think you cannot possibly do, live it out. Come here for some reason other than worship, once a week. Arrange flowers, sing, sew, pray. Serve bagels, teach kids. Help weed the grounds or tighten the pew card holders or take pictures or work on the website.
Are we all in? I pray that we are ‘all in’ this commitment to Christ, to meaning beyond ourselves, to love others, to live so deeply, so generously, so passionately that those who see us will say, “Their Lord is indeed God.”
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