Luke 17:5-10

The apostles said to Jesus, “Increase our faith.” Jesus replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.”

Who among you would say to his slave, after plowing or tending sheep in the field, “Come here at once and take your place at the table.?” Would you not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink?’ Do you thank the slave for having done what was commanded?

“So also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, ‘We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!’”

Today’s Gospel reading is a strange one. We really just heard two of a collection of sayings and they don’t necessarily go together or inform each other, so I’m not going to try to make them do that. For the sake of clarity and focus, we’re just going to look at this bit about faith and mustard seeds and mulberry trees this time around. I’ll save the stuff about slaves serving supper for another day.

Some of you may have heard, I spent a few days last week at a hunting camp in the woods of Minnesota. Those of you who have known me for a while know that that’s a strange place for me to be spend five minutes, let alone a few days. I don’t even eat meat anymore, let alone kill it with my own two hands. And, until this week, I hadn’t shot anything more than a BB gun, and the last time that happened I think I was 14. So, I fished some. And I shot CLAY pigeons with a shotgun and I shot some targets with a rifle. And I had a wonderful time.

And one of my favorite things about the trip was all of the dogs. Dozens of smart, well-trained hunting dogs are as much a part of this hunting camp experience as anything else. And I heard a little bit about how they do their work.

See, this particular camp is owned and operated by my uncle and his son, and part of what my cousin does is raise and train his very own breed of hunting dog. So I heard and learned some – even though I didn’t join the fun – about how they do what they do, out there in the field.

The short-of-the-long is that the dogs lead the hunters into the densely wooded and heavily ground-covered fields in search of grouse and/or woodcock – birds about the size of a large pigeon, I’d say, but much more attractive. The dogs go “on point” as a way of alerting their humans that they’ve found some birds, on the ground, in the brush. Then, on the hunters’ command, and when the humans are ready with their guns, the dogs flush the birds into the air, wait for them to be shot out of the sky, retrieve them, and return them to the hunters before everyone moves on in search of the next “flush.”

Part of the whole hunting camp experience includes gathering in the main lodge each afternoon and evening for dinner and drinks and around the campfire for conversation about the day’s adventures. And it was there that I heard one of the camp regulars say something that made me think about today’s Gospel – or at least this little ditty many of us have heard before – about having faith the size of a mustard seed.

In talking to some of the frustrated, rookie hunters about proper technique and about the art and patience it takes to successfully shoot one of these birds out of the sky, he said, “You always have more time than you think, but not as much time as you want.”

“You always have more time than you think, but not as much time as you want.”

What he means is, when those birds get flushed into the air from their hiding places, a hunter is flushed, too, with adrenaline and hope and expectation that he’s gotta get what he came for. So, in that moment, he feels rushed and hurried and pressured to get ready, to aim, and to fire, before his target flutters and flies away, out of sight and out of reach and gone for good.

What it takes some time to learn, apparently, and some measure of experience and faith, if you will, to trust, is that you don’t have to panic once you see your target. “You always have more time than you think.” Time, presumably, to see your target. Time to ready yourself. Time to take aim. And time to shoot and hit your target, too. But no matter how true that is. No matter how many times a hunter proves that to himself by being patient, by taking good aim, and by getting what he came for, every new flush of birds, every rush of adrenaline, and every missed shot makes him wish he had just a little more time to take each shot. “You always have more time than you think, but never as much as you want.”

So, I couldn’t help but wonder if that’s the same lesson Jesus means to teach us about faith today, too. “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed…,” he says, “you could do some pretty amazing things,” remember? What if he meant something like, “You always have more faith than you think, but never quite as much as you want.”

And Jesus, himself, had plenty of moments where his faithfulness proved “enough,” more than even he would have thought, perhaps – like every time he set out to heal someone, and it worked; every time his prayers were answered; every time he worked a miracle; every time he fed the masses; every time he stood up to his enemies. Who wouldn’t want more of that kind of faith? But it doesn’t take much, according to Jesus. And enough is enough – even just as much as a mustard seed will do it. “You always have more than you think.”

But if Jesus was anything like the rest of us – and we know that he was – he must have understood what it meant to want more faith than he felt like he had at times, too. Like that time in the desert when he was tempted by Satan. Or that moment when he wept with sadness for the people of Jerusalem. Or the day his friend Lazarus died and was buried. Or that night in the garden, before his crucifixion, when he prayed that God might come up with another plan.

“You always have more than you need, but never quite as much as you want.”

So, if nothing else, maybe we’re supposed to find some comfort in the experience of faith we share with Jesus. And maybe there’s hope that if “enough” is “enough” for him, then “enough” – even faith the size of a mustard seed – could be enough for us, just the same.

Because we’re all hunting for so many things in this life that we share, aren’t we?

We want safety and success for our kids…

We want health and healing for so many of our friends and family…

(Maybe we need that health and healing for ourselves, right about now.)

We want to live lives with purpose and meaning…

We want a job or a relationship or courage or joy or comfort or forgiveness…

And on those days – in those moments – when it all comes rushing at us like so many birds from the brush; like so many moving targets, more fast and furious than we’re ready for; we just want faith enough to trust that God has a hand in all of it, somehow, somewhere, some way.

And Jesus wants us to know that God does. And that no matter how much more faith we think we want or need, we have more than enough, by God’s grace, already.

And if we can rest assured in the truth of that more often than our fears and our doubts tempt us… If we can live differently in response to whatever faith we can muster … we might move more than mulberry trees. We might forgive more sins. We might love more enemies. We might feed more people. We might give more money. We might share more grace in every way, thanks to the generous gift of faith which is always more than enough, no matter how much more we pretend we need.

Amen

Luke 16:19-31

"There was a rich man who was dressed in purple and fine linen and who feasted sumptuously every day. And at his gate lay a poor man named Lazarus, covered with sores, who longed to satisfy his hunger with what fell from the rich man's table; even the dogs would come and lick his sores. The poor man died and was carried away by the angels to be with Abraham.

The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was being tormented, he looked up and saw Abraham far away with Lazarus by his side. He called out, "Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue; for I am in agony in these flames.' But Abraham said, "Child, remember that during your lifetime you received your good things, and Lazarus in like manner evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in agony. Besides all this, between you and us a great chasm has been fixed, so that those who might want to pass from here to you cannot do so, and no one can cross from there to us.'

He said, "Then, father, I beg you to send him to my father's house—for I have five brothers—that he may warn them, so that they will not also come into this place of torment.' Abraham replied, "They have Moses and the prophets; they should listen to them.' He said, "No, father Abraham; but if someone goes to them from the dead, they will repent.' He said to him, "If they do not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.' "

Namaste.

This is the Sanskrit word in Hindu culture used to signify a greeting of respect.

Namaste literally means “I bow to the divine in you.” And so, as you say namaste you push your hands together with fingers pointed to the sky and slightly bow at the waist.

If you’ve encountered this expression it was probably from an encounter with a colleague of Hindu descent; or it had something to do with yoga, as instructors often begin and end with this greeting and bow as a sign of respect and thankfulness.

Namaste is a recognition that there is something in the person whom you are greeting that is worthy of respect and honor. For Hindus, it is a recognition that the divine is within the other person, just as the divine is inside you. It is a claim of acknowledgement, respect, and a shared spirituality.

I’m curious if there is a word in Sanskrit that communicates the opposite – the idea that another person is not worthy of respect – a statement that God must obviously have abandoned that person because there is no trace of the divine in him or her.

That word might exist, and if it does I probably shouldn’t say it in church. But I doubt there is a word to describe the opposite of namaste…because I think the best way to un-namaste someone is to simply ignore him or her. Pay no attention, act as if the other person’s existence is completely meaningless and inconsequential. Act like you have so little in common with the other person that there is no reason to acknowledge their existence.

Not long ago I came across a theory regarding what happens to us psychologically when someone fails to acknowledge us. This theory posits that the reason being ignored bothers us so much is because deep down our greatest fear is that life is meaningless, arbitrary, and inconsequential. When someone fails to acknowledge our existence, they legitimize this primal fear.

Being ignored makes us feel like we are dead. Not dead and living eternally in joyful heaven or tormenting hell; but rather, dead as in just not existing – what our first testament Hebrew scriptures refer to as Sheol – the place of the dead where God is not in relationship with us. It is a place of nothingness because the Creator God is not there.

Our brains equate being ignored with not existing. Namaste, on the other hand, is acknowledging that not only does someone exist, but their life has value because the presence of the divine is within them. The heartfelt acknowledgement of another makes us feel like we’ll live forever.

Today’s scripture is a powerful story about failing to recognize the divine in one’s neighbor. It is a story about the eternal consequences of failing to acknowledge and value another person’s life.

There are very few facts offered about the rich man and the poor man in today’s gospel story. Essentially, one person has too much wealth; the other doesn’t have enough. And despite having the means to help the poor man at his gate, the rich man does not help him.

We can imagine what the rich man thinks every time he looks out and sees the man covered in sores lying by his gate:

“Why doesn’t that bum get a job?”
“I can’t help someone who can’t help himself”
“I have bills to pay, I can’t afford to just give my money away”
“God must be punishing this guy for doing something wrong – he must have got what he deserved”

Or, worse, maybe the rich man looked out his window and never even saw Lazarus. Maybe Lazarus’ broken body simply blended into the dirt. Maybe Lazarus was so weak and powerless that he couldn’t draw attention to himself each time the rich man walked past. If that’s true, this parable just went from troubling to terrifying – terrifying because it makes me wonder how many times each day I pass by or step over people who are in need of something I could provide if I only stopped to take notice.

One of the great dangers of wealth is that it can so easily be used as a cocoon. Some people have so much money that we can afford to ignore the painful truths of poverty in the world. Others are so tempted by the lure of wealth that we put blinders on, ignoring (even vilifying) anyone or anything that would divert us from our primary objective of earning more and more for ourselves in our pursuit of comfort and ease.

Billionaire investor Warren Buffet has a perspective about wealth that raises a similar point: He has said,
"I want to give my kids enough so that they could feel that they could do anything, but not so much that they could do nothing."

The parable seems to be saying that doing nothing simply isn’t an option for a follower of Christ. If we cannot acknowledge, much less act compassionately toward the poor and neglected then we have lost something that is deeply and genuinely human.

In time, the wealth that has alienated us from our neighbors deludes us into imagining that we ourselves have no need, that we are self-sufficient, and can easily substitute hard work and a little luck for grace and mercy. At that point, we are, indeed, lost and separated from the divine spark within us.

But, fortunately, the reverse is also true – as we become more generous and responsive to the pain and needs of others we become more acutely aware of our own humanity, of our own longings and insufficiency. Only then can we truly appreciate the grace of Jesus Christ – the one who took on our need, our humanity, our lot and our life, all in order to show us God's profound love for each and every one of us. If we cannot recognize the divine in others, we cannot recognize the divine in ourselves.

As your pastor, I want you to be so motivated by today’s scripture that you would leave Cross of Grace this morning and start to see the people that have previously been hidden from you; but I realize the this is impossible unless you first recognize that God dwells within you.

So, here are a couple suggestions to make this happen:

Start by thinking about someone in your life who has seen you and truly known you – someone who understands that God is present in you and has treated you accordingly. Picture this person in your mind. Recall how, specifically, this person treated you. What did he or she say to you to make you feel affirmed? Meditate on these memories.

Next, move from meditation to action. Write this person a letter, thanking them for what they have done to make you feel honored and important.

And finally, I want you to practice the expression of namaste. Stand in front of a mirror and look at yourself. Push your palms together with fingers pointed to the sky, bend slightly at the waist, and say, “I bow to the divine in you.” (Feel free to laugh uncomfortably when doing this. I do believe laughter is one of the primary ways that God takes a hold of our hearts).

This practice might just open your eyes to the presence of various people and needs in and around your life. Only then can you authentically bear the presence of a loving God to the people whom might otherwise blend into the background of your life.

Amen and namaste.

Hunting Faith, More or Less - Luke 17:5-10

Namaste – Luke 16:19-31