“Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the
LORD. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the
stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in
the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit”
(Jeremiah 17:7-8).
Jeremiah—now there’s a mission interpreter for you. “Jewish
Jeremiah of Josiah's Jerusalem; Reluctant, persecuted, preaching prophet of
doom, called from the womb, who longed for the tomb (20:14). Speaker of words
of fire, clay in the Potter's hands, Jeremiah was a bold Baal and
Babylon-busting broker of rebuilding and restoration. He was a proclaimer of a
future with hope, a new heart, an everlasting covenant, all on account of a God
who remembers our sin no more” (My editing of words by Michael Rinehart, 22
August 2012). Declaratively and decisively, Jeremiah proclaimed, "Thus
sayeth the Lord!" He didn’t mince words or massage his message. Fans would
say Jeremiah was passionate; detractors would call him intense, even negative.
But most people simply called Jeremiah crazy. After all, ff
you want to preach like Jeremiah, be ready to get naked before the people. Yes,
most people called Jeremiah crazy. And perhaps we would, too. Hear again
Jeremiah’s words: “Blessed are those who trust in the LORD, whose trust is the
LORD. They shall be like a tree planted by water, sending out its roots by the
stream. It shall not fear when heat comes, and its leaves shall stay green; in
the year of drought it is not anxious, and it does not cease to bear fruit”
(17:7-8).
Jeremiah interpreted God’s mission to people who felt
threatened by their enemies, who experienced economic hard times, whose way of
life was threatened, and who therefore felt vulnerable. Politically, things
were unstable and volatile. Sound at all familiar? Add to all this that we live
in a year with too little rain and too much violence, when economists pull out
statistics to show that the middle class is shrinking and Diana Butler Bass
draws on data to demonstrate that, across the breadth of Christian
denominations, religious affiliation is plummeting. And Jeremiah’s pretty words
about being a tree planted by a river sound wistful, naive, crazy. After all, beautifully wrapped in lyric
and image, Jeremiah serves up the pill we find hardest to swallow: God is our only refuge. God is our only refuge.
Now I could recite a litany of all the places people want to
and try to take refuge. But let’s cut to the chase. Let’s bring it uncomfortably
too close to home. Our refuge is not to be found in our hands doing God’s work.
Our refuge is not to be found in our hands doing God’s work. For our hands grow
weak, and our hands tremble. Our hands get full and our hands falter. Our hands
fold. Our hands get angry. Our hands push away. No, our refuge is not to be
found in our hands, or in anything we do with our hands, even when we use our
hands to do God’s work. Jeremiah is right. God is our only refuge.
You see, as much as I like Jeremiah’s image of those who
trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD, being like a tree planted by water,
sending out its roots by the stream—God’s Trunk, Our Branches—Jesus has a tree
image that I like even better. Jesus said, “What is the kingdom of God like?
And to what should I compare it? It is like a mustard seed that someone took
and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds of the air
made nests in its branches” (Luke 13:18, 19). Before we are the tree, or even
the branches, we are the birds making nests in the tree’s branches.
I am struck by the fact that, three times in the book of
Acts, the apostles refer to the cross as a tree. Peter preached, “The God of
our ancestors raised up Jesus, whom you had killed by hanging him on a tree
(5:30). They put him to death by
hanging him on a tree (10:39).” And John adds, “When they had carried out
everything that was written about him, they took him down from the tree and
laid him in a tomb. But God raised him from the dead” (13:29-30). Before we become a tree, Jesus gives us
refuge under the tree of his cross.
And from our refuge beneath the tree of the cross, where,
like birds, we have made our nests, Christ frees us to worship God without
fear. Christ empowers us to
participate in God’s mission of reconciling the world to God’s Own Self. Christ
strengthens us to resist the powers at work in the world that are opposed to
God. Christ emboldens us to bear witness that God is our only refuge. And Christ
nurtures us to grow in grace.
And so, even—or especially—when we feel threatened, when we
experience economic hard times, when our way of life is threatened, and we feel
vulnerable. When everything is unstable and volatile, when there is too little
rain and too much violence, when the middle class is shrinking and religious
affiliation is plummeting, when we have sinned and when we must die, from our
refuge beneath Christ’s cross we are free, even bold, to pray—using words from one
of the Eucharistic prayers in Evangelical
Lutheran Worship: “Nurture in us the fruits of your Spirit, that we may be
a living tree, sharing your bounty with all the world.”
You see, when Jeremiah declared, “Blessed are those who
trust in the LORD, whose trust is the LORD,” Jeremiah had more in mind than beautiful
words. Jeremiah had more in mind than an attitude or a disposition or a
theological construct. Jeremiah had in mind trust that leads to action, a
certainty or security about Christ being our refuge that shapes the way we live: “They shall be like a tree planted by
water, sending out its roots by the stream. It shall not fear when heat comes,
and its leaves shall stay green; in the year of drought it is not anxious, and
it does not cease to bear fruit”
We can name so many things that challenge us to place our
trust in some refuge other than God:
injustice, inequality, discrimination, addiction, violence, poverty. The
list goes on. And behind them all lurks the biggest challenge of all. The Bible
calls this challenge mammon. We know it simply as money. Like the serpent in
the Garden of Eden, this snake deceives us, saying, “If you have enough money, you
can be like God.” You won’t need God. You can determine right and wrong, good
and evil.
And if we don’t have enough money—And who does?—mammon
replaces our trust in God with impatience and ingratitude. Mammon tempts us
with all that we want and need to be safe, and happy and whole. Even worse, mammon
scares us with what will happen when we don’t have the money we need. And
despite all the ways God has provided for us, all the ways God has protected
us, all the ways God has blessed us, we find ourselves seeking refuge somewhere
else.
And God lifts Jesus up on
the tree to counter money’s poisonous venom with the healing, life-giving salve
of God’s grace. When money says, “You will be like God,” Christ proclaims, “No,
you are God’s cherished, beloved children.” A woman once told me about lifting the silver
communion chalice to drink and seeing her image reflected in the bottom. “The blood of Christ shed for
you.” If you want to see what you
are worth to God, look at the cross. See beyond the images and inscriptions
that money places upon us. See
beyond the ways that money defines us—we are what we have; we are what we wear;
we are what we do. See yourself
instead as God sees you—created in God’s image, joined to Christ’s cross and
resurrection, forgiven for Christ’s sake, free to live as an image of Christ
and not a servant of money.
Yes, I know. You have bills to pay. So do I. So mammon
will still tempt us to claim it as our refuge. But in Christ we can
resist. In Christ we can resist. Not
only can we look to the cross, not only can we take refuge under the tree, we
can bring some of our money and leave it there, as a way of saying that we give
God our love. We give God our trust. We give God our heart. We claim God alone
as our refuge. And today, that’s what I am asking you to do—to give some money
away for God’s own mission as a way of claiming God as your only refuge.
Giving away money to do God’s work is a way that
we trust and proclaim that we take refuge in God and not in our money. Giving
away money is a faith practice by which we Christians publicly declare our
loyalty to the living God, rather than buying and selling or dollars and cents.
Giving money away is a concrete means of living into the new life accomplished
in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection by participating in God’s work of
freeing, reconciling, and recreating. Giving away money is a way we render
money a little less powerful by freeing ourselves—and all people—from its
control, because giving money away transforms money into a sign of God’s grace.
So how much money can you give away for God’s
work as a sign that God is your only refuge? Take the money you must have off the table—things like
taxes, mortgage, rent, groceries, medical bills, and providing for your kids.
The question remains: What will you do with the rest? Can you give some—can you
give a little more—away for the work of God’s kingdom as an indication, a
proclamation, and a celebration that God is your only refuge? Could you give a little more money to your
church? I hope you can. I think
you should. But, as you do, ask
your church what I am asking you: Can we give a bit of our money away, for the
work of God’s kingdom, so that our neighbors and the world know that God is our
only refuge?