Magnificat Moments: Luke 1:47-55

Well, here we are, it’s the third Sunday in Advent, and it’s about that time of year when many of us start to feel a little battered down with all the stress of the holiday season.  I mentioned to my husband a few nights ago that it kind of feels like I have one of those news tickers running through my head-- only instead of news headlines, it’s my holiday to-do list: finish Christmas shopping, bake Christmas cookies, put up the Christmas decorations, plan Christmas dinner, write and send the Christmas cards…  And then of course it cycles back to the beginning, and continues to replay over and over and over again.  Perrhaps some of you know how this feels.

Well for our tired and haggard souls, the Gospel of Luke this morning offers us a wonderful pre-Christmas gift. The Magnificat-- Mary’s song of jubilation upon finding out that she is pregnant with the child who is to be called Emmanuel— God with us.  It is a text that Christians have cherished for centuries. Scholars have analyzed it.  Mystics have ruminated on it.  Christians of all backgrounds have used it as a text of praise and devotion.  We read it often during the season of advent, as we prepare to celebrate the birth of Christ.  And this morning, I would like to offer the idea that if we take a moment to slow down, and let God speak to us anew through these timeless words, we can find fresh meaning in the Advent and Christmas season-- a rekindling of the true meaning of Christmas for our spirits.

The first step in this undertaking Is to take a closer look at the words themselves and to remember the scene in which they originally occurred.  Here again are the words of Mary’s song:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my savior.  For he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant… he has shown strength with his arm, he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.  He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Many of us may be used to hearing this text set to beautiful music by Bach or Vivaldi or Rachmaninoff.  But the original scene was not nearly as tranquil or conventional.  Imagine what it must have been like for someone like Mary to receive this message of God’s salvation.  As Mary herself proclaims in the initial words of her song— she is amongst the lowly.  Not only is Mary poor, but she is a woman.  Not only is she a woman, but she is unmarried and pregnant.  And to top it all off, Mary is a Jew living under the oppression of the Roman Empire.  In every way possible, Mary represented “the least of these.” And yet it is to Mary that the angel discloses God’s plan of salvation.  It is through Mary— the lowly servant— that God will be made incarnate through Christ.  It’s a remarkable moment in scripture-- one of those moments when the lowly truly are lifted up.  When God turns the world— and the way we understand the world to be— completely upside down.   The coming of the Messiah is proclaimed not by high priests in the temple in Jerusalem, not by great Kings, but by a poor unwed mother in the small town of Nazareth.  A town which, by the way, people felt that nothing good could come out of. 

The Christmas story, after so many years, has a tendency to become rather “precious” in our minds.  We imagine a sweet scene of the Holy Family on Christmas Eve: the beautiful baby Jesus amongst the gentle animals in the stable, with wise men and shepherds arriving at the scene to pay homage.  But in the midst of that sweet and familiar story, we forget how— in its original setting— it was a story that was truly astonishing and even a little bit shocking.

To stop and consider this text in all of its original implications, we are reminded of what a truly remarkable and history altering event that that first Christmas really was.  It’s also a reminder to us that maybe, just maybe, Christmas can be that again.

So the question for us then becomes: how is this text inviting us to change the status quo of our world, here and now?  In this season of Advent, where is God calling us to turn our world upside down-- to reverse the claims of empire-- and to experience Christmas as the world changing event that it once was?

Well, this morning, I would like to offer four possibilities on how we might begin to answer that question.  They are possibilities that come to us from a movement called the Advent Conspiracy.  Some of you may have heard about this movement-- I wrote about it in the church newsletter a few weeks ago.  It’s an online campaign that began a number of years ago when a few Christians got together and decided that they wanted to do Christmas differently.  Basically, the Advent Conspiracy has this to say about Christmas:

“What was once a time to celebrate the birth of a savior has somehow turned into a season of stress, traffic jams, and shopping lists.  And when it’s all over, many of us are left with presents to return, debt that will take months to pay off, and this empty feeling of missed purpose.  Is that what we really want out of Christmas?”

The Advent Conspiracy calls us to remember the truly astonishing and counter-cultural message that the Christmas story once was.  To seek our own “Magnificat moments”, and to help us find new purpose in an age-old celebration.  And here is how they suggest we do it:

Worship fully.

Spend Less.

Give more.

Love all.

We begin by worshipping more fully.  Andrew Purves notes that before we get to the radical reversals that are part of what make this text so famous, there is Mary’s reaction to God’s act of salvation. “My whole being proclaims the greatness of the Lord”, one translation of the text reads.  Mary’s whole being is moved to worship God.  During the Christmas season, when all the tasks on our to-do list threaten to overwhelm us, it can be easy to forget about God.  It’s possible for church to become just one more obligation that we must attend to.  But it’s important for us to continue to be intentional about making room for God-- not just on Sunday-- but every day,  Not just in church, but in every corner of our lives.  There’s a reason why so many of the Advent texts are about staying alert and staying awake.  Because it’s so easy, particularly during this time of year, for us to stop paying attention, and to miss God.  To miss out on our own Magnificat moments-- to miss out on opportunities to experience God in our lives or to be a part of God’s actions in the world.  This Advent, we are invited to make more room for God.  We are invited to take our inspiration from Mary herself, and to worship God with our entire being.  To worry less about what we will buy, and think more about why we give in the first place.

Which brings me to the second step in the Advent Conspiracy— which is to spend less.  In our culture, consumerism has become in many ways the new empire.  And if there is one thing that Mary’s song does, it calls us to cast down empire— to bring down the powerful from their thrones.  It calls us to recognize when empire gets in the way of meaningful and fulfilling lives.  With all of the emphasis in our culture on Black Friday, and Cyber Monday, and shopping our way through Christmas, it’s no wonder we feel so haggard and stressed out.  All of our time and energy and money is going towards building up an empire that has no real bearing or meaning in our lives.  Did you know, for example, that Americans spend approximately 450 billion dollars every year at Christmas?  With such a staggering number, we have to ask ourselves: is that money really enriching our lives? Is all that spending really bringing us more joy, satisfaction, and fulfillment? 

In the Magnificat, we read about how the birth of one small child has the power to upset empire and totally reverse the status quo.  The good news of the gospel is that God continues to work in the world, and that all of us are called to be in partnership with God in that work.  We too can upset the status quo— we can overthrow the empire of consumerism and cast off the power that materialism has over us.  Like Mary, we too can proclaim a counter-cultural message that has the potential to change the world we live in.  This Christmas, we can spend less, and we can give more.  And that is the third step in the Advent conspiracy— to give more.

What if we were to take the all the money we saved by spending less on gifts we don’t need, and gave some of that money away to people who are hurting, or homeless, or hungry?  What if we were to live out the words of our text today— to lift up the lowly and fill the hungry?  What if we were to buy one less present this year, and instead, gave that money to a local food bank, or a homeless shelter, or an organization like Heifer International that works to eliminate poverty all over the world?  What if we saved that money, and put it in the offering plate on Christmas Eve, when it will go towards feeding the hungry here in our own community of Norwich?

There are countless ways we can spend less and give more.  But of course giving more doesn’t just have to do with money.  It’s also about giving more of ourselves, and more of our time, to the people in our lives.  To worry less about perfect decorations or every little detail of Christmas dinner, and instead, simply cherish the time we get to spend with those we love.  Because at the end of the day, the heart of the Christmas story is about relationship.  It’s about a God who cares for us so much that God chose to walk among us in order to enter into deeper relationship with us.  “The Magnificat offers us a theology of hope”— says theologian Gustavo Gutierrez— “because it speaks to us of a God who comes to meet us where we are.”  The heart of the Christmas story—and indeed the heart of Christianity itself-- is incarnation.  Meaning that the divine realm come to meet the earthly realm.  Spiritual meets the physical.  God meets us in relationship.  And we meet God in our relationships with others.

Worship more fully.

Spend Less.

Give More.

And finally, the last element of the Advent conspiracy is to love all.  Theologian Nancy Sell writes that Mary’s Magnificat is an invitation to love-- to see all people as equally loved and gifted by God--- to see all people as made in the image and likeness of God.  It is a text which transcends any and all barriers of discrimination and proclaims justice for all people regardless of race, gender, ethnicity, or economic status.  “The proud will be cast down from their thrones”—our text proclaims boldly—“and the lowly will be lifted up.”

This text has a lot to say to us in a world where there are so many divisions, and such a large and growing gap between the rich and poor.  Say what you will about the occupy wall street movement, but one thing they get right is that it isn’t right for a few people to have so much when so many people have so little.

But again, the good news of the gospel is that when God comes to meet us, everything can change.  And that is exactly what Mary proclaims in this passage.  The old order of life is displaced, and a new order is created in its place.  The old has gone, the new has come, and nothing will ever be the same again.  Advent means this: God is incarnate in our world, and in us, and we are meant never to be the same.

This Christmas we are invited to open ourselves up to God’s incarnation in the world-- to worship fully, to spend less, to give more, and to love all.  We are invited to open ourselves up to the act of God doing a new thing-- to be a part of that new thing-- to let it change us-- and to let it change the world, yet again.

Strangers in a Strange Land: Isaiah 40:1-11

The reading that we heard from Isaiah this morning is one of the most well known passages in the Hebrew Scripture.  For many of us, myself included, hearing the words of this passage conjures up memories of listening to Handel’s great oratorio— The Messiah.  “Comfort, comfort ye my people—  the famous tenor aria declares—every valley shall be exalted, every hill made low.”  “All flesh shall see it together”— the choir sings out with joy.  But before these words were ever set to such beautiful and inspiring music, they existed first and foremost, as a lament.

These words were written during a period of Jewish history called the Babylonian captivity.  At the dawning of the 6^th century BCE, Israel was at the height of its glory— coming out of the days of the great kings.  But when Babylon invaded, they destroyed much of Jerusalem, deported many of its citizens, and the Israelites saw their days of glory come crashing to an end.  For over 50 years the people of Israel lived under Babylonian rule.  “How long O Lord”— they cried, “How long?”  They were banished from their beloved city to a strange land, full of strange customs, and stripped of the institutional structures that had shaped their lives and identities.  Feeling lost, alone, and uncertain about the future, they cried out to their God— “How long O Lord, how long-- before we can come home?”  And so the words we hear today from the prophet Isaiah—“comfort, O comfort my people”-- are a response to this cry— a word of solidarity to a people in the midst of mourning and exile.

Now for many of us, this definition of what it means to be an exile may seem rather distant from our everyday life experience.  To be forced from one’s homeland because of war or political strife-- to find oneself in a foreign land— not knowing the language, unable to express oneself or one’s beliefs--  is not really a reality most of us have ever had to face.  Most of us here-- though not all of us— live in the country in which we were born, we are free to express our beliefs as we like, and we are surrounded by much that is familiar and comfortable.  We may not readily claim the label of exile.  But of course that doesn’t mean that we can’t relate to the words of this passage— that we don’t also have times when we long for God’s presence and comfort.  Because at the heart of these words— and indeed at the heart of what it means to be an exile-- is quite simply this: to be a stranger in a strange land.  To feel alone or alienated.  To feel somehow disconnected from God, from ourselves, or from the world around us.  And how many of us can’t relate to that?  How many of us, at one time or another, has not looked toward God and asked, “how long, O Lord, before we can find our way home?”

This past Thursday was World AIDS day, and as I was reflecting on this passage, I thought of all those living with disease— not just with AIDS-- but any disease.   And I thought about how people struggling with illness can so often feel like strangers in a strange land.  In a culture that so glorifies the body-- that lifts up the ideal of physical strength, outward beauty, and perfection-- how strange and lonely it must feel to be battling one’s own body.  For those living with illness or disease, sometimes even the simplest tasks that most of us take for granted can seem like mountains to climb.  “How long O Lord”, asks the person struggling with illness, “before I can live a normal life?”

I think about those who struggle not with physical disease, but with the pain of mental illness or depression.  How they must feel like strangers in a strange land in the midst of the crowds of happy people during the holiday season.  I think about how lonely it must feel-- in the midst of all the messages telling us to rejoice and be glad-- to struggle to find even one small thing to be joyful about.  “How long. O Lord”, asks the soul in depression, “before I can feel joy?”

I think about those who live amidst violence.  I think about children who live in broken homes, and those who suffer domestic abuse.  How they must feel like strangers in a strange land, as all around them, they hear people proclaim: “Peace on Earth! Goodwill towards men!”  As congregations all across the world this morning light the candle of peace, others struggle to find peace in their lives even for one moment.  “How long, O Lord”, the child asks, “before I can know peace?”

Finally, as I reflect upon what it means to be strangers in a strange land, I think of the church in our 21^st century culture.  Now I want to be clear that there is certainly NOT a one-to-one correspondence between what the Israelites experienced in captivity and what we face now as Christians living in a post-Christian world.  Nor is there any comparison between the suffering of people living with disease or violence and the uncertain times that many churches find themselves in these days.  We are not victims.  We live relatively comfortable lives-- free of political or religious oppression.  That being said, there is no doubt that many churches, and many Christians, do find themselves feeling like strangers living in a strange land.  How many of us— after all— have friends who don’t understand why it is we continue to show up in church week after week?  Gone are the days when membership at a church was about as mandatory as being a member of a political party.  Gone are the days when being American was practically synonymous with being a Christian.  We live in a much more secular and pluralistic world.  And even for those who still consider themselves Christian, the church seems to have lost the kind of power and influence it once had.  

Now to be sure, there are many church leaders out there who mourn this fate.  They ask, “how can we sing the Lord’s song in this foreign land?”  But for my part, I don’t know that it’s such a bad thing to have to let go of a little bit of that institutional power.  I don’t know that it’s such a bad thing to find ourselves as strangers in a strange land.  I think it makes it easier for us—particularly at this time of year-- to remember that God came to us not in great power or splendor— but in the most humble form possible— a weak, helpless, infant child.  Additionally, being strangers in a strange land ourselves makes it easier for us to identify with the other strangers living among us.  It makes it easier for us to understand how it feels to be disconnected, lonely, or afraid.  And to then to be able to extend the hand of genuine Christian welcome and friendship— knowing the power that such a gesture can have for the soul crying out to God in exile.

At the end of the day, there are countless examples we could name of what it means to be a stranger in a strange land.  I’m sure that amongst all of us, we could come up with a long list of what it means to be an exile in our modern world.  It’s a question that can serve as an important reminder as we continue the journey of Advent.  As all around us our culture hurdles towards Christmas, it’s a reminder to us that before Christ comes, there is work yet to be done.  There is more light yet to be shared.  

In the midst of Israel’s cries, the prophet Isaiah offered words of comfort.  But he also offered them a challenge.  In the midst of their pleas to come home, Isaiah challenged them to make a pathway in the wilderness so that God could come home to them.  The author of Isaiah is telling the Israelites that they don’t need buildings of brick or stone to worship the God they love.  That even as they live in a foreign land, they can still sing the Lord’s song.  Isaiah has a similar challenge for us this Advent season.  In a culture that may call into question our continued commitment to what some would call a fading institution, we can still prepare a way for God in our world.  We can prepare a way for God by making our churches homes for all those who find themselves exiles— who find themselves strangers in a strange land.  Because more than it is an institution, the church— in the words of Bill Coffin— is a place “where we try to think, speak, and act in God’s way, not in the way of a fear-filled world.  The church is a home for love, a home for brothers and sisters to dwell in unity, to rest and be healed, to let go their defenses and be free.”  The church is a home for God’s spirit, and it is a place for all those whose restless spirits seek to come home.

In the season of Advent, we hear the timeless words of the prophet— “Comfort, O comfort my people.  Lift up the valleys and make low the mountains.  Level the uneven ground and make the rough places plain.  Isaiah spoke these words to the exiles of Jerusalem, John the Baptist spoke them to first century Jews in Palestine, and the Holy Spirit continues to speak them to us now.  Faith communities, the Spirit says, find your voice.  Overcome your fear.  Speak to the heart of a culture that is increasingly defined by the valleys of isolation and anxiety— that is increasingly divided by the mountains of partisan politics and ideology.  Proclaim compassion and charity over the rough places of consumerism and consumption.  Speak words of comfort and assurance to all who feel separated or abandoned by God.  Sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land, because we live in a world that is hungry to hear it.

How Long, O Lord?

Not Long.

Because now is the time-- ours is the voice-- and God is our home.

An Advent Conspiracy

It’s around this time of year-- the end of November and the beginning of December-- when I always start to get a little exasperated by the fact that before we are even able to finish the leftover turkey and cranberry sauce in our kitchens, the onslaught of Christmas marketing begins.  I get exasperated because, as Christians, the amount of marketing around Christmas can sometimes distract us from the fact that before December 25^th roles around, there is actually another very important season to celebrate—the season of Advent. 

The word Advent literally means “coming,” and it is a time when we prepare our hearts and spirits for the coming of God’s love into the world.  Yet in the midst of family obligations, travel plans, school Christmas concerts and all of the other events of the holiday season, it’s easy to forget that our primary focus during Advent should be on God.  We certainly wouldn’t know this from all the slick ads we see online, in the newspaper, or on TV—all of which are geared towards encouraging us to spend more time at the mall and buy more things we don’t need.  Therefore it’s up to us-- as Christians living in a post-Christian culture—to be intentional about living our lives a little differently than the massive consumer frenzy would have us do. 

That is in fact the mission of an internet campaign entitled “Advent Conspiracy.” They put it this way: “What was once a time to celebrate the birth of a savior has somehow turned into a season of stress, traffic jams, and shopping lists.  And when it's all over, many of us are left with presents to return, looming debt that will take months to pay off, and this empty feeling of missed purpose. Is this what we really want out of Christmas? What if Christmas became a world-changing event again?”  

And that is why, this Advent season, I would like to invite everyone to join with me in an experiment.  I would like to invite everyone to join the Advent Conspiracy.  Rather than letting ourselves get carried away with the superficial trappings of the holiday season-- rather than letting ourselves get overwhelmed by all the tasks we have on our to-do list-- let’s live differently this holiday season.  Let us embrace the true meaning of Advent and Christmas by worshiping more fully, spending less but giving more, replacing consumption with compassion, and actively sharing God’s love with all.  There are many ways to do these things, but here are some suggestions.  To worship more fully, consider spending time in contemplation, prayer, or scripture study rather than taking that extra trip to the mall.  To spend less but give more, consider making a small portion of your gifts be contributions to organizations like Heifer International, whose gifts can help poor families rise out of poverty.  Or simply spend less money and give more of yourself to the people you love.  For even more ideas about how to join the conspiracy, visit the campaign’s website at www.adventconspiracy.org  

The season of Advent is meant to be a time of spiritual renewal and active expectation as we celebrate “God with us.”  We are meant to watch, wait and pray, and to be alert for the movement of God’s spirit in the world.  Join me in the conspiracy, and let’s see if Christmas can once again change the world.

The Risky Business of Sharing Our Gifts: Matthew 25:14-30

Generally speaking, when it comes to the parable of the talents, I find myself in agreement with biblical scholar Phyllis Tickle, who has written in regards to this parable: “Welcome to one of the most difficult and contrary passages in our entire canon. One which, on the surface at least, is fraught with unattractive paradox.” It’s not too difficult to understand why she says this. To begin with, the harsh judgment that is carried out upon the third servant seems so unlike the merciful and forgiving God that we so often proclaim. Furthermore, it’s hard to understand why the servant is punished so harshly for simply trying to keep his master’s property safe. After all, a “talent”, in Jesus day, was no meager amount of money. For the average daily worker, it was the equivalent of about 15 years worth of wages. It was the largest unit of currency imaginable, and thus for a servant, it was an incredible amount of wealth to be responsible for. Who can blame him for wanting to keep that money safe? It’s not as if he spent the money— squandering it on fine clothes and food for himself. So why is he punished so harshly?

And then finally there are those troublesome last few lines—“For all those who have, more will be given; but for those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.”

I would imagine that by now, most of you have heard of the Occupy protest movement which began on Wall Street several months ago and has since spread to almost every major city in the country. The protesters call themselves the 99%-- referring to the growing income disparity between the richest 1% in our country and everyone else. One sign that I have seen quite a few religious protesters carrying is one that says: Jesus is with the 99%.

That seems easy enough to understand-- after all Jesus stands with the poor, the outcast, the common man… right?

But if that is true, then what is the last line of this parable all about? It almost sounds as if Jesus is positioning himself with the 1%. It sounds an awful lot like the reality of our current economy— the rich get richer, and the poor get poorer. For those who have much, more will be given. For those who have little, even what they have will be taken away.

So what do we make of all this? How can we possibly make sense of this parable?

To answer that question, there are some who would argue that it is merely a story about how we should always be willing to share the skills and talents that God has given us. That if we don’t use those skills and talents, they might grow stale or wither away. Now I don’t necessarily disagree with that idea, but I’m not sure that message alone really gets to the heart of what Jesus is saying. Remember that a “talent” in Jesus’ day was not a reference to gifts or skills, but was in fact a ridiculously large amount of money. Jesus consciously chose to use as an example the largest unit of currency he could think of— he must have done so for a reason.

Knowing this, there are others who argue that this really is a story about money--about the responsible investment of material wealth. Indeed, this is a popular parable for annual stewardship campaigns, and it does contain a valuable message about the need to use our resources in service of the gospel, rather than simply store them up to protect them. As today is stewardship Sunday, it would be very easy for me to tell you that this parable is about taking our financial resources and investing them in the church. But I’m not going to do that, because I don’t think that tells the whole story either.

To really get at the core of what Jesus is trying to tell us here, I think it’s first helpful to look at where this parable occurs in the larger narrative. This is in fact the last parable that Jesus ever told. Jesus tells his disciples this story right before heading into Jerusalem, where he knows he will likely be arrested and condemned. He knew he would be leaving them, and he wanted to give them something that would prepare them for the journey ahead. At the heart of this message to his disciples was a deep and profound challenge. I am going away, he is telling them, but I am leaving you with the great responsibility of carrying on in my name. I am leaving you with a gift greater than any you could imagine-- good news for the poor, salvation for all people-- in other words— the gospel— and I’m entrusting you to do something with it.  That is why Jesus uses the example of the “talent”—a measure of wealth that is practically unimaginable. Because the gift that he is really talking about— God’s grace and love— is also a gift that is immeasurable. And as recipients of such a gift, we are not meant to hide it away or keep it to ourselves, but to do something with it. 

And so at the end of the day, this is indeed a parable about stewardship. But it’s not just stewardship of our money. It’s stewardship of the gospel itself. And I suspect that for many of us, this is actually a lot harder than simply putting money in the offering plate every Sunday.  As our parable suggests, there is a certain amount of risk involved in sharing God’s greatest gift. Indeed, if it was easy and risk-free, I don’t think we would be living in the kind of world that we do-- a world where so many people are concerned more with their own security and comfort, than they are with the millions of people who live in poverty all over the world. A world where instead of sharing what we have and contributing towards abundant communities, we safeguard what belongs to us. We draw lines to delineate between what’s mine and what’s yours, what’s ours and what’s theirs.  We create boundaries to say who's in, and who's out.  This is a world that is desperate for a gospel of grace and hope.  This is the gospel we have been given, and we are meant to share it.  Indeed, we have a responsibility to share it.

Make no mistake--what Jesus is asking us to do here is not easy. And it can be scary to recognize the enormity of the gift that God has entrusted us with, and the responsibility that gift carries with it. Indeed it is fear which causes the third servant to bury his talent instead of using it. It is fear which has the potential to paralyze God’s gift within each of us-- fear that we don’t have enough, that we can’t make a difference, or that we are powerless. Fear of what other people will think of us, that we may be rejected, that we may fail. But if we draw back in fear, we lose our moral imagination for what is possible, we become timid, and we lose hope. We lose the ability to believe that God’s grace can truly transform lives. And at that point, it is we—not God-- who have consigned ourselves to the darkness.

In contrast with the fearful reactions that can hold us back, however, I want to share with you one illustration of what can happen when we are willing to put ourselves on the line in order to share God’s love and grace.

A few years ago, a group of homeless families in North Philadelphia decided to take up residence in an abandoned church. They had been living in a tent city a few blocks away, but the conditions outside had become unlivable— with rats and flooding making it especially dangerous for children. The church had been vacant for years, and so, the families moved in. Unfortunately, the denomination that owned the building was more concerned with protecting its property than caring for the homeless. As soon as they got wind of what was going on, they announced that the families had 48 hours to get out, or get arrested.

Well, a handful of Christians heard about this. They didn’t think that the church should be kicking homeless people out of a building that they weren’t even using. And so they decided to do something about it. At first it was maybe a dozen people who came to the church with sleeping bags and food. The said “we stand with you, and if they arrest you, they’ll have to arrest us to.” They took a big risk. It could have been a total failure. It could ended the next day, with the protesters getting arrested and the homeless people back out on the street. But that’s not what happened. Here is what did. 

The media found out what was going on, and word slowly started to get out that a church was kicking out homeless people. People from the neighborhood came by with donations of food and blankets. College students got involved and started camping out with the families. The fire department came by with smoke detectors, and helped the families make the building safe so they wouldn’t be evicted for violating fire codes. The church, once abandoned and locked up on Sunday mornings, became alive again. Sounds of music and laughter and praise rose up out of the building. People from all walks of life worshiped side by side-- homeless people and college students, activists and businesspeople. Eventually, after many weeks of continued action, the families held a press conference. And having watched all of this unfold on the news, people were moved by compassion and wanted to help. Some people donated homes. City agencies helped others find permanent housing. People pulled together to make sure everyone was taken care of.**

This is a true story. And it’s an incredible example of how grace can multiply and transform lives, if only we are willing to risk giving it away.

And so, the question we have to ask ourselves this morning is this: is our faith life about safety and reassurance and security? Or is it about risk-taking and openness and courage? Are we willing to let the gospel loose in the world—to invest our gifts in others, to make the invisible God visible? This morning, as we celebrate Stewardship Sunday, do we see ourselves merely as stewards of an institution? Or do we see ourselves as stewards of the gospel?

As we ponder these questions, I ask you to ponder one more. God has entrusted us with unimaginable gifts— the gifts of love, grace, and indeed the gift of life itself. God has entrusted us— despite all of our imperfections, and faults, and failings— with the ministry of grace and reconciliation. God has made us partners in that work. And so it would seem that the biggest risk taker of all, is in fact God. God has given us the gifts of life and grace so that we might begin to use those gifts to create more life, to create more grace. And if God is willing to take that risk with us, well then, what is stopping us from doing the same?

 **Read more about this story in "The Irresistible Revolution"  by Shane Claiborn.  Buy it here!