The Economy and the Church

I keep hearing about how bad the economy is. Unemployment is around 10%. Not quite as bad as the 25% of the Great Depression, but significant nonetheless. I’ve heard lots of people talk about the way that it is affecting them. I’ve heard Christians say that God can use this terrible situation for something good. I’ve heard people pray for the economy.

But I’m not convinced that Christians should be worried about the economy. I’m not convinced that the church has a stake in “fixing” it. And I’m not convinced that fixing it is in the interest of the common good of man either.

If anything, I suspect that what is happening is an opportunity God is giving to church to renew is practices of mercy and to be holy.

Unemployment is up, homelessness is up, evictions are climbing. But we ought not despair, for its not that there is not enough to go around. We still have plenty of food and plenty of beds for all these people. That is not the issue. The problem is not scarcity. The problem is the way that people act, the way that people decide to allocate resources in their control. Fixing a mechanism will not fix the problem. Let me say that again. We have all the goods we need.

The problem is greed, fear, selfishness, pride. The problem is sin. What else can explain that we have more than enough and yet so many go without?

And what this means is that everyone crying about the terrible state of things is really crying about themselves. The rich are crying about taking huge losses to their portfolios - losses will never really threaten their immediate needs. The middle class is crying because that house they thought would make them secure has been taken away from them.

Many are indignant that the economy is taking a toll on the poor. But why be indignant? We have everything we need. If there is crying to do, it is crying because our economy was so good to us. It let us believe that the best way to help everybody, the best way to serve the poor, was to be greedy. There is crying because it is looking less and less like that is going to work. It is looking less and less like any kind of system is going to work. For we have more than enough.

But there is no way to give it to the poor, except to give it to the poor. We are crying because we can no longer be indignant about the poor without being hypocritical. For we can no longer support the system, since the system is broken. If we cry about the plight of the poor we are struck by the fact that we have some of that everything needed to help the poor, so not to give is tantamount to stealing. At the very least, it is hard to be indignant and well-off without being hypocritical.

Is your goal to end poverty? The simplest and quickest way to do that, requiring basically zero changes in infrastructure, would be to take a poor person into your home and feed them. One less homeless person. If everyone with the means to do so did that, we would wipe out poverty and homelessness. Period. And you don’t even have to take in complete strangers. Some might be strong enough or brave enough to do that. I am not yet. The homeless man living with me is my friend. I got to know him for two years before he moved in. And you’d be wrong to think that was because I didn’t trust him before then. It was more that he didn’t trust me. The rich are scared of the poor (why?) and the poor are scared of the rich (why?).

This simple solution gets down to the heart about arguments about performing the works of mercy. It is often objected that they are simply impractical for solving our society’s problems. They are a palliative, a bandaid. The real way to change the world is to get involved in politics, to write letters to congressmen, to vote the right candidates into office. To this the church should rightly reply in the first instance that it is not a club or a government whose job is to work on solving society’s problems. I joined the church whose mission is to follow Jesus, and he told me to perform the works of mercy and give up my possessions and so I do it. He told me to. That’s it. Even if its not efficient.

But then slowly it begins to dawn on me just how deeply practical and efficient the works of mercy are. They provide the remedy for societal ills not by reforming a bureaucratic system but by transforming people. They offer, right now, the most efficient way to end poverty. They say that the way that you help people is, well, by helping them. What we need is a revolution of the heart.

And this shows that it is not the works of mercy that are the palliative. The state and its institutions are the palliative. They, no matter how reformed, are the morphine for the cancer. They, no matter how just, strike at the weed but leave the root. They, no matter how large or small, are inefficient.

And so I don’t think that I have a stake in the economy. It is, after all, really the state’s economy, and the economy’s state. But this is not because I just want to “let it burn” – although that might not be a bad idea. Rather, I don’t think that the state of the economy is a bad thing for the church because I don’t think the economy is the problem in the first place. The way that the changed economy shifts around materials in a different way just gives us a different view of the effects of sin.

The state of the economy gives the church a chance to be the church. To feed the hungry, to clothe the naked, to house the homeless.

--Colin Miller

This is the sermon preached by Vicar Rhonda Lee at the Great Vigil at St. Joseph's on Easter Eve 2009. The text is Isaiah 55: 1-11.

“Everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters,
and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without
price.”

By human standards, this passage from Isaiah is a very strange invitation.

It’s addressed to “everyone,” answering the ubiquitous questions about who else will be there, and whether children are included. And not just “everyone” is invited, but, more specifically, “everyone who thirsts,” and those “that have no money.” An open bar and all-you-can-eat buffet for people who don’t eat out: the host is either extremely wealthy, unusually generous, or both.

There are a couple of things the invitation doesn’t mention. There’s nothing about gifts: no indication of where the host is registered. Not even a discreet line of small type stating “no gifts please,” or suggesting a donation to your favorite charity instead. Perhaps because those who can’t afford food and drink are specifically invited, this invitation doesn’t specify the type of attire guests are expected to wear.

This really is a very strange invitation.

It sounds strange to us, and it would have sounded strange twenty-five hundred years ago when God issued it through the prophet Isaiah. Back then, God said, “My thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways,” and that’s still true.

The invitation to God’s banquet isn’t just strange. It’s threatening to anyone who would rather keep their guest lists exclusive—and all of us, if we’re honest, fall into that category at some time or another. If everyone’s invited, that includes not only Democrats and Republicans, but ex-wives and former lovers too. Debutantes and street people. Foreigners and fellow citizens: God specifically says that the heralds of the banquet “shall call nations that you do not know, and nations that do not know you…” Notorious sinners, and those who have simply offended us. Everyone’s invited. All our host asks is that guests heed this call, “let the wicked forsake their way, and the unrighteous their thoughts,” and trust in God’s generous promise that, as Isaiah says, “he will abundantly pardon.” That pardon is good news to everyone who knows herself to be a sinner, but it feels like bad news at those moments when we can’t imagine sharing a table with him—whoever he may be.

If the breadth of the invitation to this banquet challenges us personally, it’s also a political threat. Crowds of people gathering in one place for no commercial purpose, without a permit? That’s called loitering in most places, and sedition in many; depending on how the offense is defined, it may be punishable by a fine, jail term, or death. Giving away wine, milk, and food to any and all who show up? Add public drunkenness, contributing to the delinquency of minors, and undermining the moral fiber of the poor to the list of charges. Call the Health Department while you’re at it, because that banquet’s a hazard. And by the way, who’s going to do the dishes afterward?

It’s true: God’s thoughts are not our thoughts, and our ways are not God’s ways.

That’s the lesson of the resurrection. That’s the lesson of baptism. By the standards of the world, God’s ways don’t make sense; they’re not rational, reasonable, or profitable. But for us as a Christian community, those paradoxical ways are the wellspring of joy and compassionate love.

That’s why we believe that our sister Kenetta was drowned in water and the Holy Spirit tonight, even though most of her body stayed dry. That’s why we’ve been looking forward to her death for months, and why we now proclaim that this adult woman has just been born.

Our ways are not God’s ways. But, by divine grace God’s thoughts have been revealed to us in Scripture; God’s love has been shown to us in the law and the prophets, and made incarnate in Jesus Christ. God’s ways can become our ways, when we accept the mysterious invitation to his banquet.

Tonight Kenetta has accepted that invitation. She has been baptized, and she will take Communion. Kenetta has already participated in, and even hosted, fellowship meals here at St. Joseph’s. Tonight, she has said she wants to be a part of all the Holy Spirit’s banquets. She has said yes, she wants to feast at the table where seats are never sold, and where’s there’s always room for everyone. She wants to share in the meal hosted by the man who never raised a hand to hurt, only to heal, and yet was executed by a brutal empire whose governors believed, accurately, that he posed a threat to their way of doing business.

Kenetta is proclaiming with all the baptized, here at St. Joseph’s, around the world, and through the ages, that death can be the gateway to life, that bread and wine can become the very body and blood of God, and that by sharing holy food and drink, we can become holy people. She knows that together, we can turn away from empty foods—in Isaiah’s words, from “that which is not bread…that which does not satisfy”—and accept the nourishment God offers, as hungrily as a baby accepts the milk that is the only food it has ever known. We can resist the temptation to measure our worth by whether or not we appear on some exclusive guest list, and instead relax into the joy of knowing we’re loved, and we’re free to love others.

“Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” That’s God’s simple, profound recipe for transformation: accept the invitation to his banquets. If you’re baptized, feast often. Take a seat at the Lord’s table wherever you find it, and make room there for everyone who hungers and thirsts. If you’re wondering whether the Holy Spirit might be calling you to baptism, know that the sacraments and fellowship are God’s gifts to everyone who will accept them, and that his invitation has your name on it. As we share food and drink—bread and wine here at the altar, and rice and beans, sausage and eggs in the parish hall—we will become God’s people. We will be one body in Jesus Christ, and he will teach us to walk in his ways together. Amen.